The first time I met Sophie, she ran straight into my arms—tiny, wide-eyed, smelling of baby shampoo and grass. Claire and I had fought for this moment through years of heartbreak and failed pregnancies. Adoption brought new hope, and finally, Sophie was ours. Sitting with the social worker, Sophie on my lap, Claire holding my hand, we heard the words we had longed for: “You’re officially parents.” But just weeks later, everything shifted. One quiet evening, Sophie clung to me in fear. “I don’t want to leave, Daddy,”
she whispered. I promised her she was home. Then Claire appeared, arms folded, face cold. “We need to talk,” she said. She wanted to give Sophie back. Claire accused our daughter—only four—of being manipulative, of ruining everything, even her wedding dress. “Either she goes, or I do,”