Sophie’s POV
I arrive at Dad and Emma's house at noon, one full night of sleep behind me and guilt already eating at my chest. Amelia's first overnight away from home.
I was desperate—so desperate for uninterrupted sleep that I asked if they'd take her for one night. They agreed immediately, and seemed almost eager to have their granddaughter to themselves.
Emma answers the door with Amelia on her hip, the baby looking content and well-fed in a way that makes something twist in my stomach.
"She was perfect," Emma says, stepping aside to let me in. "Slept six hours straight."
Six hours. She's never done that for me.
Dad appears from the kitchen, face lighting up when he sees me. "Sophie! Come see what we got her."
He leads me to the living room where there's a new play mat spread across the floor, colorful toys hanging from arches. "Thought she could use some stimulation when she visits. Emma picked it out."
"You didn't have to…"
Dad kneels beside the mat, demonstrates how one of the toys makes music when touched. "Our granddaughter deserves the best."
I watch him interact with Amelia, watch Emma settle onto the couch with practiced ease. They look natural with her in a way I still don't feel. Three months in and I'm still fumbling through every task while they make it look effortless.
"How was your night?" Emma asks, reading my expression with that unnerving accuracy she has.
"I slept." The understatement of the century.
"And Adrian?"
The question catches me off guard. "What about him?"
Emma exchanges a look with Dad. "Did he enjoy the break too?"
"He slept in his study." The admission escapes before I can stop it. "We're not... we're in separate rooms right now."
The silence that follows is heavy.
"Sophie." Emma's voice is gentle. "Shall we talk?"
Dad immediately scoops up Amelia. "I'll take her outside, show her the garden."
He disappears with the baby, leaving me alone with Emma in the living room. My stomach knots.
Emma pats the couch beside her. "Sit, sweetheart."
I sit, hands twisting in my lap.
"You Dad and I are worried about you," Emma says without preamble. "About your relationship with Adrian, about the environment Amelia is growing up in."
"We're fine."
"You just told me you're sleeping in separate rooms." Her voice is firm but kind. "That's not fine."
I look away, unable to meet her eyes. "We're going through a rough patch. All couples do after a baby."
"This isn't a rough patch, Sophie. This is..." Emma chooses her words carefully. "This is a relationship that might be broken beyond repair."
The words hit like a physical blow. "Don't say that."
"I need to say it." Emma shifts to face me fully. "I've been watching you deteriorate for weeks. You're exhausted, isolated, trying to hold together a relationship with a man who isn't showing up for you or his daughter."
"He's trying."
"Is he?" Emma's eyebrow raises. "Because from what I've seen, he's present physically but absent in every way that matters. And that's worse, Sophie, because it gives you false hope that things might change."
Tears prick my eyes. "What are you saying?"
Emma takes my hand. "I'm saying you might need to consider what's truly best for Amelia. Long-term, not what you wish were true, but what actually is."
My chest tightens. "You think I should leave him."
"I think you should consider whether staying is healthy for any of you." Emma's voice is gentle but unwavering. "If Adrian isn't fully committed, if the relationship has become toxic, separation might be healthier for everyone. Especially for Amelia."
"She's three months old."
"Which means she's absorbing everything." Emma squeezes my hand. "Children sense tension even when they're too young to understand it. They feel their parents' unhappiness. It shapes them."
"I can't…" My voice breaks. "I can't be a single mother. I can't admit that I destroyed my entire life for a relationship that failed."
"You didn't destroy your life. You had a baby—that's not destruction, even if the relationship doesn't survive." Emma's expression is compassionate but firm. "And being a single mother isn't failure, Sophie. Sometimes it's the healthiest choice available."
I pull my hand away, stand abruptly. "I need to get Amelia home."
"Sophie…"
"Please." I can't hear any more. Can't process the suggestion that everything I've been fighting for might need to end. "I just... I need to go."
Emma stands but doesn't push. "Think about what I said. Really think about it, what's actually best for your daughter."
I nod mechanically, not trusting myself to speak.
Dad returns with Amelia, who's babbling happily in his arms. "Ready to go?"
"Yeah." I take Amelia from him, secure her in the carrier with shaking hands. "Thank you for watching her."
"Anytime." Dad hugs me carefully, mindful of the baby between us. "We love having her. And we love you. Whatever you need, we're here."
The kindness nearly breaks me. I manage goodbye without crying, but barely.
The drive home is silent except for Amelia's babbling from the backseat. Happy sounds. Content sounds. She had a wonderful night with her grandparents while I slept alone and her father worked in his study like we don't exist.
Emma's words replay in my head. What's truly best for Amelia.
I test the weight of that question. What is best for her? Growing up in a home where her parents barely speak? Where tension crackles through every room? Where her father can't look at her without visible resentment?
Or growing up with a single mother who's struggling but present? Who chooses her every time instead of treating her like an obligation?
I don't know. God, I don't know.
The apartment building appears too soon. I park, extract Amelia from her car seat, steel myself for whatever awaits inside.
The apartment is thick with tension when I enter. I can feel it before I see anyone—the electric charge in the air that means something happened while I was gone.
Adrian emerges from his study as I'm setting down the diaper bag. "You're back."
"Yeah." I adjust Amelia in my arms. "We're back."
"How was it?" The question is perfunctory, delivered without genuine interest.
"Fine. She slept well." I wait for him to ask for details. To reach for Amelia. To show any interest in how his daughter's first night away went.
He doesn't. Just nods. "That's good. I have some work to finish…"
"Of course you do." The bitterness escapes before I can stop it.
Adrian's jaw tightens. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Go work."
He studies my face for a moment, clearly debating whether to push. Decides against it, returns to his study without another word.
The door closes with careful precision.
Bellamy appears from the kitchen, maintaining careful professional distance. He looks different today—more formal, more guarded. Whatever ease existed between us yesterday has been locked away behind proper boundaries.
"Everything okay?" he asks, voice neutral.
"Fine." The lie tastes like ash.
He nods, doesn't push. Returns to his post across the room.
I stand in the living room holding Amelia, surrounded by people yet feeling completely alone. The two men in my life—one emotionally absent in the next room, the other deliberately distant across the living room—leaving me to navigate motherhood and heartbreak in isolation.
Emma's question echoes in my head. What's best for Amelia?
I look down at my daughter, who's staring up at me with those huge eyes that are definitely Adrian's. She deserves better than this.
Better than parents who can't be in the same room without tension. Better than a father who treats her like an interruption to his real life.
Maybe she deserves better than me too. Maybe I'm failing her just as badly by staying, by trying to force this family to work when it's clearly broken.
The thought terrifies me more than leaving ever could.
Because if I can't make this work—if I have to admit defeat and walk away—what does that say about me? About my choices? About the life I destroyed to be here?
I don't have answers. Just exhaustion and doubt and a baby who needs me to figure it out before the damage becomes permanent.
‘What's best for Amelia?’