After years of heartbreak and quiet dinners where no one had the guts to say “what if,” Simon and Claire’s fertility treatments came to an end. They had lost money, energy, and hope with every surgery, and even though they were told over and over to “just keep trying,” they all agreed that they couldn’t go on like this. There was more to it than just having a baby. It was about dealing with the anguish of not having one.
Adoption has always been a quiet choice, like a song you hear but don’t know the words to. But after years of being let down, it was the only song they had left. They got it when they saw Sophie, who was just four years old and had unkempt hair and eyes that were too smart for her age. Not with faith or blind hope, but with something deeper: recognition. Later, Simon said it was like meeting someone he had loved his whole life without knowing it.
When Sophie first ran into Simon’s arms, she didn’t say anything. She just kept holding on. Tight. It was like she knew this was her last chance to fit in anywhere. Simon, who was shocked, knelt down and murmured, “You’re safe now.” She didn’t say anything, but the way she hung on to him made it plain that she had heard all he said.
In those early days, there were things to do every day, including taking a bath and reading before bed, having cereal with too much milk in the morning, carrying backpacks full of crayons, and saying goodbye at preschool. Sophie was careful; she saw and felt everything. Claire smiled and tried her best, but there was a subtle strain under her eyes from the outset. She would hold Sophie like she was a piece of china. Say “sweetie” in a way that was a little too forced.
Simon saw it and told himself it would go gone. Adoption was more than just a gift; it was also a change. And everyone handles it in their own way.
But the stress didn’t go away.
Claire began to pull away. She stopped helping with the nightly routine. When Sophie cried, she would turn up the TV. Her smile became tight and impatient. The mess in the playroom that used to make her giggle now made her jaw hurt. She was slowly moving away from both of them, one cold stare at a time.
The day arrived when everything fell apart.
Claire had placed her wedding dress in a wooden trunk in the guest room. Sophie found it by accident while looking for art supplies. She thought she was doing something meaningful. She had seen moms in movies wear fancy dresses and dance around. She wanted to surprise Claire so that she would be happy. She painted a glittering flower on the bottom of the skirt with her small watercolors.
Claire’s heart broke when she found it.
She yelled. Not just because they were mad, but because they were angry. Sophie screamed in a loud, harsh, cutting way that made her fall back, drop the paintbrush, and cry. Claire muttered something harsh and quick: “Do you know what you’ve done?” That was the most important thing I have! Her speech was wobbly, and her hands were shaking.
Simon rushed in, saw Claire standing erect and Sophie collapsed, and pulled his daughter close immediately away.
At that point, Claire whispered the words that would end their marriage.
“She goes,” she said. “I do.”
Simon stayed still. He didn’t ask for help. He looked at Claire and said, “I guess you’ve made your choice.”
Claire left that night.
No hug. Not a farewell. The door shut, and the sound it made echoed.
In the weeks that followed, their house was calm again, but not like it used to be. This time, it was the melancholy silence. Sophie didn’t get it all the way. She asked when “Mom” will be back. She waited by the window on the weekends. She stopped coloring for a while. The nights were the worst. That’s when the inquiries came in a quiet voice: “Was it my fault?” Did I make a mess of everything?
Simon’s heart broke every time. He hugged her, calmed her down, and sang to her softly as he used to do when she first arrived there. The shadows began to fade as time went on. In a slow way. She started to color again. She thought cartoons were funny. She didn’t mean to, but she started calling Simon “Daddy.” Finally, she stopped standing by the window.
Claire got in touch after a few months. She told me I was too much. She stated she wanted to try again and come back to be a family. She said phrases like “healing” and “therapy.” Simon has cradled a little girl with a broken heart too many times for her to go through that sorrow again.
They met up at a coffee shop. Claire looked different—more tired and softer around the edges. She said all the right things, but Simon had already made up his mind as she walked out the door and didn’t look back.
He said in a hushed voice, “You didn’t just leave me.” “You left her. No one is going to hurt her like that again.
Claire didn’t fight. She only nodded, a tear running down her cheek, and left.
A year later, Sophie has scars. They are there, but you can’t see them on the outside. When people yell at her, she still flinches. She still looks at the door twice to see whether Daddy is home. But she is laughing again. Having faith. Growing larger. Improving.
She still asks the same question before bed every night. It’s become a habit. “Will you ever leave me, Daddy?” she asked in a soft, dreamy voice.
Simon always gives the same answer, too. Without ceasing. He answers right away.
“Never, baby.” “Never.”
Love that is real stays.
Love that is real lasts.
