Chapter 2 – THE NAME ON HER WRIST

“Take that off my daughter.”

My voice came out sharper than I intended.

Sophie immediately lowered her head.

“Sorry, Mommy.”

I felt terrible.

“No, baby. Not you.”

I kissed her forehead.

“You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Then I turned toward Michael.

“Why is she wearing another woman’s last name?”

He rubbed his forehead.

“It’s a temporary identification band.”

“For what?”

“For the housing program.”

I held it up.

“Then why doesn’t it say Bennett?”

Claire looked toward Marian.

Marian opened her portfolio again.

“The intake record lists Sophie as part of Claire’s household.”

I stared at her.

“She’s not Claire’s child.”

“I understand that now.”

“Then why didn’t you understand it before?”

Marian swallowed.

“Michael said the family arrangement had already been agreed upon.”

I looked at him.

“Agreed upon by whom?”

Michael’s jaw tightened.

“Lauren, we’re getting divorced.”

“That doesn’t make Claire our daughter’s mother.”

Dante placed one hand on the table.

“Michael. Enough explanations about the divorce.”

His voice was controlled.

“Tell us who authorized that name.”

Michael looked at Claire.

She took a slow breath.

“I did.”

My stomach dropped.

Claire’s eyes filled.

“I asked Marian whether Sophie could be listed under my household profile. She said it was possible for administrative purposes.”

Marian nodded reluctantly.

“The name was a household label, not a legal name change.”

Dante’s expression hardened.

“Then why put it on a child’s wrist?”

Nobody answered immediately.

Sophie lifted her head.

“Because I’m supposed to remember.”

I looked at her.

“Remember what, sweetheart?”

She glanced at Claire.

“That I’m part of her family now.”

Claire closed her eyes.

Michael spoke quickly.

“Sophie, that’s not what we meant.”

She looked confused.

“You said I had to practice.”

I felt my heart breaking.

Dante leaned toward her.

“What else did you practice?”

Sophie thought for a moment.

Then whispered, “Calling Claire Mommy.”

Claire’s eyes filled.

I looked directly at her.

“Did you know she didn’t want to?”

Claire shook her head.

“I thought she was having trouble adjusting.”

“She’s nine.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

My voice began trembling.

“She still sleeps with the stuffed rabbit my mother made when she was four. She cries when our dog has to go to the veterinarian.”

I swallowed.

“And you’ve spent weeks teaching her she’s supposed to replace me.”

Claire looked down.

For the first time, she seemed ashamed.

Michael stepped between us.

“You’re deliberately making this emotional.”

Dante gave a short, humorless laugh.

“It’s her daughter, Michael. What part did you expect to be unemotional?”

Then he turned to Marian.

“What’s supposed to happen in Room 214?”

Marian hesitated.

“It’s a furnished two-bedroom apartment.”

“Where?”

“In a building near the northern edge of Chicago.”

“Who owns it?”

Marian looked toward Michael.

“His property management company administers the building.”

Dante went still.

“So Michael arranged temporary housing through a program funded by my foundation, using a property his company manages.”

Marian nodded.

“Yes.”

“Was that disclosed?”

“It was included in the contract.”

Dante looked at Marco.

“Make sure the original contract is preserved.”

Marco nodded.

Michael folded his arms.

“You’re making an ordinary housing arrangement sound criminal.”

Dante looked at him.

“Then you shouldn’t have any trouble explaining it.”

I glanced toward Sophie.

She was quietly folding her empty cookie wrapper.

It was something she did when she was nervous.

I touched her hand.

“Sweetheart, do you know where Room 214 is?”

She nodded.

“Daddy showed me.”

“When?”

“Tuesday.”

My stomach tightened.

Tuesday.

Michael had told me he was taking Sophie to buy new shoes.

He’d returned with a pair of sneakers and said she’d been difficult all afternoon.

“Did Claire go with you?” I asked.

Sophie nodded.

“And Mrs. Keene.”

Marian looked startled.

Michael turned toward her.

“Don’t answer.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed.

“She can answer.”

Marian swallowed.

“Yes. I gave them a tour.”

I stared at her.

“You let my daughter inspect a place where she was supposed to live without telling me?”

Marian looked uncomfortable.

“I believed both parents were aware.”

Sophie reached into her overnight bag.

“I didn’t like the bedroom.”

I turned toward her.

“Why not?”

She pulled out a small drawing.

A rectangular room.

Two beds.

A window.

And a little purple square beside the door.

“That’s where they said my stuff would go.”

I looked at the drawing.

There was a tiny figure standing beside one of the beds.

Sophie had drawn herself.

But there was nobody else in the picture.

“Where’s Mommy?” I asked gently.

She pointed to the bottom corner.

She’d written one word.

Then she whispered, “They said you couldn’t come.”

I couldn’t speak.

Michael looked irritated.

“It’s temporary, Sophie.”

She shook her head.

“You said six months.”

The silence was immediate.

I turned toward him.

“Six months?”

Michael looked away.

Marian frowned.

“The intake request was for thirty days, with possible extensions.”

Dante stared at her.

“Then why was this child promised six months?”

Marian didn’t answer.

Sophie looked at me.

“Daddy said I could come home when you got better.”

I felt cold.

“Better from what?”

She shrugged.

“He said you were confused.”

My throat tightened.

For months, Michael had been telling me I was forgetful.

Too emotional.

Overwhelmed.

He’d even suggested I speak to a doctor because I sometimes misplaced things.

Now I understood why.

He hadn’t merely been criticizing me.

He’d been creating a story in which every disagreement could be blamed on my supposed instability.

Then Sophie said something that changed everything.

“But I know you weren’t confused, Mommy.”

I brushed her hair away from her face.

“What do you mean?”

She looked toward Michael.

“Daddy made Grandma leave before you got home.”

I frowned.

“Leave where?”

“Our house.”

My heart began pounding.

“Sweetheart, when?”

Sophie looked down at her notebook.

“The nights you worked late.”

Michael went completely still.

I stared at him.

Because my mother was supposed to be watching Sophie those evenings.

Then my daughter whispered:

“Daddy told Grandma she wasn’t allowed to come back until he finished proving you left me alone.”