Page 71 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
"Mom, please," Sadie said quietly.
"No, I want him to know. We're not beggars. We don't need his handouts."
I looked at this proud, broken woman and saw the source of Sadie's fierce independence. Janet Quinn had spent years refusing help, watching her daughter sacrifice her dreams tokeep them afloat, determined not to be a burden even as her body failed her.
"It's not charity," I said gently. "It's dinner, with family."
Family. That's what we were now, legally speaking. A strange, cobbled-together unit held together by necessity and a nine-year-old's joy.
The drive to my house was quiet except for Eloise's chatter from the backseat. She peppered Sadie with questions about favorite colors and foods and whether she liked scary movies. Janet sat stiffly in the passenger seat, through the winding streets of our neighborhood. I flicked a glance at Sadie a few times in the rearview mirror, but she looked upset, not joyful like Eloise.
At the house, the catering company had left everything arranged on the dining room table—roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, fresh bread. Simple, comfortable food that I hoped would ease some of the tension.
Eloise immediately appointed herself as hostess, pulling out chairs and explaining to Janet where everything was located. My daughter had a remarkable ability to charm even the most reluctant adults, and I watched as she gradually wore down Janet's defenses.
"Do you like to read?" Eloise asked as she carefully spread her napkin on her lap. "Miss Quinn—I mean, my new mom—she reads us the best stories at school."
Janet's expression softened slightly. "I used to read to your new mom when she was about your age. She loved fairy tales."
"Really? Which ones?"
As they talked, I caught glimpses of the woman Janet must have been before life wore her down. There was intelligence in her eyes, warmth when she looked at her daughter, and something almost hopeful when she listened to Eloise's endless stream of nine-year-old observations.
But she couldn't resist making pointed comments about the house, the food, the obvious expense of everything around her.
"Must be nice, having enough money to just order dinner instead of cooking it," she said, cutting her chicken with more force than necessary.
"I can't cook very well," Eloise said cheerfully, missing the undercurrent entirely. "Daddy tries, but he burns things sometimes. Maybe my new mom can teach us."
I watched Sadie's face during these exchanges. She barely touched her food, responding to conversation when directly addressed but otherwise staying quiet. The guardedness I'd noticed at the courthouse had only intensified.
After dinner, while Eloise showed Janet the living room and her collection of art supplies, I found Sadie in the kitchen, loading dishes into the dishwasher, but it looked like she was on autopilot.
"Hey." I touched her shoulder gently. "Is everything okay?"
She didn't look at me. "Everything's fine."
"Sadie." I waited until she turned around. "Your mother is dealing with a lot right now. The diagnosis, the move, all of this change. She'll come around."
"Will she?" Sadie's voice was quiet, but I caught the pain underneath. "She sees me as her failure. The daughter who couldn't make it on her own, who had to marry a rich man to solve her problems."
"That's not what this is."
"Isn't it?" Now she did look at me, and the vulnerability in her eyes nearly undid me. "She doesn't see things the way I do, Harrison. To her, I'm still that seven-year-old girl whose father walked out because we weren't worth the trouble."
I stepped closer, wanting to pull her into my arms, to tell her that she was worth everything. But before I could reach for her, she held up a hand.
"I need to ask you to keep some distance," she said gently but firmly. "I'm really trying hard to protect both of us by keeping this cordial and not letting the chemistry between us cloud my judgment."
"Sadie—"
"And there's Eloise to think about," she continued. "Her heart is going to break when I inevitably leave. The more real this feels, the harder it's going to be for her."
I wanted to argue, to tell her that maybe she didn't have to leave. That maybe this arrangement could become something more. But the rational part of my brain knew she was right. We'd set boundaries for good reasons, and crossing them would only complicate everything.
From the living room came the sound of Eloise's laughter and Janet's softer chuckle. My daughter was working her magic, offering hope to a woman who'd had precious little of it lately.
"I should get Mom's Uber home," Sadie said, drying her hands on a dish towel. "The nurse will be there soon, and I want to make sure she's settled."
