“Why am I getting this message?” My hands shook as I read it aloud to Michael. We exchanged a glance that carried a silent understanding: this was the defining moment.
Michael’s face set into a look of determination. “I’ll handle this,” he said, his voice steady. He took Sophie, who was busy arranging teddy bears in a picnic formation, into the kitchen with him.
I stayed in the living room, watching through the window as the sun cast dappled patterns across the backyard, where we were setting up for the party. Guests would start arriving soon, and I wanted everything to be perfect. Not for us, but for Sophie. She deserved to feel celebrated, loved, and included—everything she was cruelly denied two weeks ago.
