Page 33 of The One Who Changed Everything

I didn’t even know if Evan realized what he had said—that he had casually referred to her ashisdaughter, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe, for him, it was.

For three weeks now, he had been there. Steady. Present. Sophia had latched onto him in a way I hadn’t expected, and now, watching her look at him with so much admiration, I felt an uncomfortable twist of emotions coil in my stomach.

Pride.

Fear.

Possessiveness.

She was mine. She had always been mine. I had been the one awake with her in the middle of the night when she was sick. The one who had packed her lunches, tied her shoes, taught her how to ride a bike. Evan hadn’t been there for any of it.

And yet, here he was, effortlessly slipping into a role it had taken methirteen yearsto grow into.

I forced a smile. “Well, I’m glad you got your homework done, Soph. Maybe now Evan can go rescue someone else from the horrors of eighth-grade history.”

Sophia rolled her eyes, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks again, Evan.”

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze flicking to me for the briefest second before he nodded. “Anytime.”

And somehow, I knew he meant it.

Which should have been reassuring.

So why did it feel like the ground was shifting beneath me?

"Promise you'll come back again?" Sophia asked, a hopeful lilt in her voice as she began gathering her belongings.

"Of course," Evan answered, his hand lifting to ruffle her hair, a gesture so achingly familiar. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. I'm in this for the long haul, kiddo."

"Good." Sophia beamed, her satisfaction simple and pure.

"Ready to go, Mom?" Sophia's voice, bright and expectant, pulled me forward.

Stepping out of the Minden Public Library, the evening air warmed my cheeks, a reminder that although autumn was on its heels, summer hadn't quite loosened its grip. Sophia matched her steps with mine, her shoulder occasionally bumping against mine in that easy rhythm we'd always shared.

"Mom?" Her voice was a timid intrusion into the quiet that had settled between us.

"Hmm?" I glanced down at her, caught off guard by the intensity in her gaze.

"Do you think you and Dad will ever be... friends?" The way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a simple gesture marred by hesitation, told me this question had been weighing on her mind far longer than just this moment.

"Friends?" I echoed, stalling for time as my heart did a precarious dance.

I wanted to brush the question aside, to laugh it off with a quip about how adults have complicated friendships. But this was Sophia, her perceptive eyes searching mine for something I wasn't sure I could promise.

"Friendship would be... complicated," I started, trying to keep my tone light despite the tightness in my chest.

"Mom?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Even if you're not friends... you both love me, right? That part's not complicated?" Her question was earnest, seeking assurance in the one constant she hoped remained untouched by the complication of grown-up feelings.

"Absolutely," I responded without hesitation, my voice firm and unwavering. "That's the simplest thing in the world."

Reaching out, I took her hand in mine, squeezing it gently to punctuate my words. Our bond, at least, was something I never had to question, even when everything else felt uncertain.

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