The first time I saw Sophie, she ran into my arms—wild curls, wide brown eyes, clinging like she already knew I was hers. Claire and I had fought for this moment. Years of heartbreak, then adoption. We were finally parents.

At first, Claire adored her. But things changed.

“She ruined my wedding dress,” Claire snapped one day. “Paint all over it. I don’t want this anymore, Simon.”

“She’s just a child,” I said, stunned.

“She’s manipulative. It’s her or me.”

I chose Sophie.

Claire left that night. Our daughter cried herself to sleep for weeks, asking why Mommy was gone. I held her every time, whispering, “You’re home now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Weeks later, Claire returned.

“I made a mistake,” she said. “I want us back.”

“You didn’t just leave me,” I said. “You left her.”

“I was overwhelmed.”

“We both were. But I stayed.”

She looked at me, eyes full of regret. “I still love you.”

“I don’t love you anymore,” I said.

Because she had broken something that couldn’t be mended.

Now, a year later, Sophie still hesitates before calling me Daddy. She still clings to me in crowds and flinches at loud voices.

But she laughs more. She trusts more.

Tonight, as I tucked her in, she whispered, “You won’t leave me, Daddy?”

“Never,” I said.

Her fingers wrapped around mine.

And just like that, she slept—finally safe. Finally home.