Sophie ran out twenty minutes later, her backpack bouncing. She threw herself into Drew’s arms with the force of a small hurricane.
“Daddy! Grandma bought me new shoes, but they pinch. And Mom says I have to wear them anyway, and I told them I wanted my sneakers, but—” She took a breath, shoulders heaving. “—breathe, sweetheart.”
Drew kissed the top of her head. She smelled like the lavender soap Miranda’s mother kept in the guest bathrooms.
Margaret appeared at the doorway, immaculate in cream cashmere.
“Drew. Miranda’s staying for dinner again.”
“I see.”
“She needs support right now. This situation with you two is very stressful for her.”
Drew set Sophie down, kept his voice level. “What situation?”
Margaret’s smile could have cut glass. “Marriage is difficult when one partner has limited means. It creates tension.”
Sophie tugged his hand, oblivious to the subtext.
Drew nodded once and led his daughter to the car.
As they drove away, Sophie chattered about her day.
“Grammy said I should call you Dad, not Daddy, because I’m getting too old. Is that true?”
“You can call me whatever feels right to you, Sophie. Grammy says a lot of things.”
Sophie kicked her new shoes off. “These really do pinch.”
Drew glanced in the rearview mirror. His daughter was staring out the window, her small face thoughtful beyond her years.
“Hey, Soph… you know you can always tell me if something’s wrong, right?”
“I know, Daddy.” But there was something in her voice that made his chest tighten.
That evening, Drew made Sophie’s favorite dinner—spaghetti with meat sauce and garlic bread. They ate at the small kitchen table, Sophie telling him about her teacher, Mrs. Chun, and the class hamster named Alexander the Great.
“Because you said Alexander conquered lots of places,” Sophie explained. “So I told Mrs. Chun we should name the hamster that, and she said that was very clever.”
Pride swelled in Drew’s chest. “That is clever.”
After dinner, they built a fort in the living room using couch cushions and blankets. Drew read her three chapters from The Chronicles of Narnia before she fell asleep against his shoulder.
He carried her to bed, tucking her in with her favorite stuffed elephant.
As he pulled the door closed, Miranda’s headlights swept across the house.
She came in quietly, kicking off designer heels in the entryway. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Her makeup was still perfect even at nine p.m.
“She asleep just now,” Drew said.
He followed her to the kitchen. “We need to talk about Thanksgiving.”
Miranda poured herself white wine from a bottle he hadn’t bought. “What about it?”
“Your mother’s been vague about the time. What should I bring?”
She took a long sip, not meeting his eyes. “Actually… Mother thought it might be better if it was just family this year.”
The words landed like a punch.
“I’m your husband.”
“You know what I mean. The extended Turner family. It’s already twenty-three people. The table’s full.”
“Sophie’s going.”
“Sophie’s a Turner.”
“You—” Miranda trailed off.
“I’m what?” Drew’s voice sharpened. “Say it.”
She set the glass down hard. “This isn’t easy for me either, Drew. Do you know what it’s like having my mother constantly point out how much better Charlotte’s husband is doing? How Frederick Charles just made partner at his law firm? How Darren Proctor’s tech startup just got valued at fifty million?”
“I don’t care about Frederick Charles.”
“Well, maybe you should.” Miranda’s voice rose. “Maybe you should care that I have to make excuses for why we can’t vacation in Europe, or why Sophie goes to public school, or why you’re still teaching the same classes you were teaching when we met.”
Drew felt something break inside him, clean and final.
“Is that what you want?” he asked quietly. “A husband who makes more money.”
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