Chapter 4
Sarah
Emma's bedroom looked like a pink princess explosion had collided with a science lab. Her little volcano sat proudly on her desk, made from paper-mâché and painted in careful stripes of red and brown.
"Mommy, look! When I pour the vinegar in, it goes BOOM!" Emma demonstrated with wild hand gestures, her eyes bright with excitement. "And then the baking soda makes a chemical reaction!"
I sat cross-legged on her unicorn rug, watching my brilliant little scientist rehearse for tomorrow's STEM showcase at Bright Minds Academy.
"That's amazing, sweetheart. You've worked so hard on this." I reached over to smooth down a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail.
Emma's face lit up even brighter. "Will Daddy really come tomorrow? He's missed my last three school events."
I forced my voice to stay cheerful. "Of course, sweetheart. He promised, didn't he?"
Emma bounced on her toes. "I want to show him my volcano! And I practiced saying 'chemical reaction' ten times! Watch—chemical reaction, chemical reaction, chemical—"
She skipped to her dresser and picked up the pink butterfly hair clip Jake had complimented months ago, back when he still noticed things like that. "I want to wear this one. Daddy said it looked pretty."
My throat tightened.
Emma climbed into bed, still chattering about volcanoes and experiments. As I tucked her in, she grabbed my hand.
"Mommy? Do you think Daddy will bring his phone to watch me, or will he just watch with his eyes?"
The innocence of the question nearly broke me. I replied, "He'll watch with his eyes, baby. The whole time."
Saturday afternoon, 2 PM.
Emma skipped beside me, her small backpack bulging with volcano supplies. She'd changed her outfit three times before settling on a yellow sundress and those butterfly clips.
She said, "Do you see Daddy's car, Mommy?"
There—Jake's black Tesla Model S gleamed in the VIP section near the entrance.
I replied, "Yes, honey. There it is. He's here."
Emma squealed and broke into a run toward the school entrance. I hurried to catch up, my own pulse quickening. Maybe I'd been wrong. Maybe this was Jake's way of showing us we still mattered.
Emma weaved through the crowd, searching.
"There! There's Daddy!"
I followed her pointing finger and felt my stomach drop.
Jake stood near the sign-in table. Beside him, Madison looked effortlessly elegant in a cream silk blouse and tailored pants. And holding her hand was Isabella. Madison's daughter.
"Mommy, why is Daddy with that pretty lady and little girl?" Emma's voice was small, confused. She'd stopped running and now stood frozen beside me, her excitement deflating like a punctured balloon.
"Maybe they're... business partners, honey. Let's go say hi."
But even as I said it, I knew. The way Jake's face had lit up when Madison laughed. The protective way he'd placed his hand on Isabella's shoulder. The intimate distance between them, like a family unit.
Emma tugged my hand, her voice brightening again. "Maybe the little girl wants to see my volcano too!"
I gripped her hand tighter. "Come on, sweetheart."
The lobby buzzed with networking energy. Parents clustered around sign-in tables, business cards changing hands as casually as playground schedules. Jake stood in the center of it all, clearly in his element.
Emma broke free from my grip and ran toward him.
"Daddy! Come see my volcano! I made it explode three times!"
She launched herself at Jake's legs, wrapping her small arms around them. For a split second, his face showed pure, instinctive love—the old Jake, the one who used to read her bedtime stories and make pancakes shaped like dinosaurs.
Then reality crashed back.
Jake's hands shot out, pushing Emma away from him with startling force. "What did you call me? Use proper manners in public!"
His voice was cold, sharp enough to cut. Emma stumbled backward, confusion and hurt flooding her face.
The conversation around us faltered.
Emma looked up at Jake with those trusting brown eyes. "But Daddy, don't you want to see my chemical reaction?"
"I'm not your—" Jake caught himself, glancing around at the watching faces. "We'll discuss this later."
Emma's volcano sat on a small table between a sophisticated robotics display and a DNA model that probably required a PhD to understand.
She stood behind her table in that yellow sundress, trying to recapture her earlier excitement, but I could see the shadow in her eyes.
Isabella appeared beside the volcano table like a blonde storm cloud.
"This baby volcano is so stupid," she announced loudly, drawing the attention of nearby kids. "My robot can solve math problems and speak three languages."
Emma's small hands curled into fists. "But Daddy will be proud of my chemical reactions..."
Isabella laughed—a sound like breaking glass. "He's not your real daddy! My mommy says he pretends you don't exist!"
The words hit Emma like a physical blow. Her face went white, then red, then white again.
"That's not true..." Emma's voice was barely a whisper. "Daddy loves me..."
"Then why does he call you 'her daughter' instead of 'my daughter'?" Isabella pushed Emma's shoulder, hard enough to make her stumble. "My mommy says you're just the maid's kid who follows him around."
Emma's eyes filled with tears, but she bit her lip, trying to be brave. Her small fingers found the butterfly clips in her hair—the ones Jake had once said looked pretty—and held onto them like talismans.
I'd heard enough. I placed my hands on Emma's shoulders. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's go."
The parking lot felt like an escape route. I held Emma's hand tightly. Emma's steps were small and uncertain, not the excited skips from this morning.
"Sarah, wait!" Jake's voice carried across the asphalt. I didn't turn around.
"Sarah, please! I can explain."
His footsteps quickened behind us. I felt Emma's hand tighten in mine.
"Mommy," she whispered, "why doesn't Daddy want me to call him Daddy?"
I stopped walking. When I turned around, Jake looked almost frantic, his perfect CEO composure finally cracking.
He continued, "Sarah, you don't understand the pressure I'm under. Madison brings crucial connections—"
I said, "No need to explain, Jake. I understand perfectly."
Jake shouted, "You don't understand! This was important for funding—for our future—"
I looked at him—really looked at him. The expensive clothes, the perfect hair, the desperation in his eyes. This stranger who used to be my husband.
I responded, "You got your algorithm right, Jake. You calculated all the variables: career advancement, social status, Madison Caldwell."
I opened the car door and helped Emma into her booster seat. Her face was streaked with tears she'd finally stopped trying to hide.
"You just forgot to carry the remainder: me and Emma. But that's okay." I met his eyes one last time. "We were never part of your success equation anyway."
I got into the driver's seat and started the engine. In the rearview mirror, I watched Jake standing alone in the parking lot.
"Mommy," Emma asked quietly from the backseat, "are we going home?"
I looked at her reflection—my brave little scientist with her butterfly clips and broken heart. Then I looked at Jake's figure growing smaller in the mirror.
"Yes, sweetheart. We're going home."
But the home I meant wasn't the one with Jake in it.
That night, Emma quietly placed her pink butterfly clips on her bedside table. She never mentioned wanting to show Daddy her volcano again.