Chapter 13 - SOPHIE’S QUESTION
Sophie came home from the hospital with a bandage near her temple and strict instructions to rest.
For several days, I refused every interview.
Reporters gathered outside the hotel.
News vans parked near our building.
My phone filled with messages from relatives who had remained silent during the wedding.
Some apologized.
Some blamed alcohol.
Some said Preston had always been difficult.
A few claimed they had been “about to intervene.”
I deleted those.
Sophie didn’t ask about the company.
She didn’t ask about the police.
She asked one thing.
“Is Grandma coming?”
I sat beside her on the couch.
“Do you want her to?”
She thought about it.
“I don’t know.”
That answer hurt more than yes or no.
“She called.”
“Did she say sorry?”
I hesitated.
“Yes.”
“To you?”
“Yes.”
Sophie looked down.
“Did she say sorry to me?”
No.
Not directly.
My mother had said she regretted how the evening unfolded.
She regretted that Sophie had been frightened.
She regretted Preston losing his temper.
Words carefully built to avoid responsibility.
“No.”
Sophie nodded as though she had expected it.
Then she asked another question.
“Why does Grandma love Uncle Preston more?”
I had spent thirty-five years trying to answer that.
At eight, Sophie saw the question more clearly than I ever had.
“I don’t know.”
“Because he’s a boy?”
“Maybe that mattered to her.”
“Because he’s rich?”
“He isn’t as rich as he pretended.”
That earned the smallest smile.
Then she became serious again.
“Is it because I’m bad?”
My heart broke.
I pulled her close.
“No.”
She rested her head against me.
“Then why?”
“Sometimes adults make bad choices for so long that admitting the truth feels scarier than continuing the bad choice.”
She listened.
“That doesn’t make them right.”
“No.”
“Do we have to forgive them?”
I looked at her.
“No.”
That seemed to surprise her.
“You don’t have to forgive anybody because they share your last name.”
“Can I someday?”
“If you want.”
“Can I not?”
“Yes.”
She leaned against me again.
After a while, she whispered.
“I don’t want Uncle Preston at my birthday.”
I smiled sadly.
“That will not be a problem.”
Then my phone rang.
Detective Torres.
I answered.
“We arrested Preston.”
I glanced at Sophie.
“For the assault?”
“And financial charges.”
“What about my parents?”
“We’re still reviewing evidence.”
There was a pause.
“Evelyn, we also recovered something from Preston’s penthouse.”
“What?”
“A folder labeled Sophie.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What was inside?”
“School schedules.”
“Photos.”
“Copies of your custody documents.”
The room went cold.
“This wasn’t the first time Preston considered using your daughter.”
I stood.
“What was he planning?”
“We don’t know yet.”
May you like
Then Detective Torres said something worse.
“But the oldest document is dated eighteen months ago.”
