Page 9 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
"Sadie?" Her voice was thick, slurred in a way that made my stomach clench with familiar dread.
She was drunk.
Again.
"Sadie, I need… I don't feel good, honey. I'm really sick this time."
The charm of the day evaporated instantly, replaced by the cold weight of responsibility and fear.
In the space of a single phone call, I went from thinking about attractive single fathers and uncertain job prospects to calculating how much money I had in my checking account and whether Mom needed to go to a doctor this time.
"What's wrong?" I asked, already reaching for my keys. "What kind of sick?"
It wasn't the first time I'd gotten a call like this, and I knew unless Mom got sober it wouldn't be the last.
It made the bittersweet ache of leaving work with such sweet children even worse, knowing at home I was the parentified child and I would be for the foreseeable future.
3
HARRISON
Board Chairman Robert Caldwell cleared his throat and opened the manila folder before him.
"Gentlemen, Ladies, thank you for attending this emergency session. As you know, we're here to discuss the… unusual terms of Edmund Vale's will."
Dr. Patricia Sterling adjusted her reading glasses with sharp movements. "Unusual is one word for it. I prefer archaic."
"The clause is perfectly legal," said David Henley, the treasurer. "Theodore Blackwood confirmed that before his unfortunate dismissal."
"Legal doesn't mean reasonable," Sterling snapped. "We're talking about a marriage mandate in 2024. It's Medieval."
I remained silent, letting them air their grievances while I studied their faces.
These people had worked alongside my father for decades, but their loyalty clearly ended with his death.
"Harrison," Caldwell said, turning his attention to me. "We need to discuss your intentions regarding the inheritance. Several board members have expressed concerns about your… qualifications to lead an institution of Hawthorne's caliber."
"What specific concerns?" I asked evenly.
Dr. Margaret Thornfield, the head of student services, leaned forward. "With all due respect, you've been absent from this community for twenty-two years. You rejected everything your father built, refused all attempts at reconciliation. Now you expect us to believe you're suddenly committed to preserving his legacy?"
"I'm committed to preserving what this school was meant to be," I replied. "There's a difference."
"And what was it meant to be?" Sterling challenged. "Because from where I sit, your father spent four decades building Hawthorne into one of New England's premier preparatory academies. Your sisters understand that vision. They've remained involved, donated generously, served on committees."
"They want the money," I said quietly. "I want the school to survive."
The words fell into uncomfortable silence.
Caldwell shuffled his papers with deliberate and entirely unnecessary movements meant to give him something to do with his hands in order to stifle his reaction.
"Your sisters have master's degrees," he said finally. "Caroline holds a doctorate in educational administration. Margot's legal background would be invaluable for navigating the regulatory landscape. You have… project management experience."
"I've managed budgets exceeding fifty million dollars. I understand personnel, timelines, and operational logistics." I kept my voice level despite the condescension dripping from his tone. "Those skills translate."
"To construction sites, perhaps. Not to academic institutions." Dr. Thornfield's expression suggested she'd tasted something sour. "We're talking about shaping young minds, not pouring concrete."
"I was shaped here too," I said. "That gives me perspective you might find valuable."
