Chapter 4
Monday afternoon. We drove home from Westport Elementary.
"Mom, Coach Amy said I'm her most promising player!" Sophia bounced in her booster seat, backpack clutched against her chest like treasure. "She's giving me private lessons."
My hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Private lessons? When? I don't remember signing up for those."
A pause.
"Well... daddy arranged it." Her voice grew smaller. "He said it's a surprise and I shouldn't mention it until... until it's official."
Official. Like my husband was negotiating a business deal instead of destroying our family.
I asked, "What kind of surprise, sweetheart?"
Sophia replied, "Just... special training. Daddy says I have potential, and Coach Amy knows how to help me reach it."
I pulled into our driveway, my chest tight with fury and heartbreak. Tom wasn't just having an affair. He was systematically recruiting our daughter as his accomplice.
In our kitchen, Sophia dumped her backpack on the island counter with her usual nine-year-old carelessness. Books and papers scattered, revealing something that made my breath catch.
Nike cleats. Still tagged. $180 according to the price sticker that hadn't been removed.
I remarked, "Sophia, where did these new cleats come from? They must have cost a fortune."
She beamed with pride. "Coach Amy gave them to me! She said every champion needs proper equipment."
I lifted the shoes, examining them like evidence. Beside them lay a complete Under Armour training outfit, also tagged, also expensive. Small stickers adorned each item: [From Coach Amy with Love.]
I continued, "This is very expensive, honey. Are you sure it's appropriate to accept such gifts?"
Sophia's face crumpled slightly. "But Coach Amy said I earned them. And daddy said—"
I pressed, "What did daddy say?"
Sophia's eyes darted away. "That Coach Amy picked them out because she knows what's best for my feet."
My nine-year-old daughter had been trained to deceive me.
I said, "Sophia, I need you to tell me the truth. Did daddy buy these for you?"
She squirmed on her stool, suddenly fascinated by the granite countertop. "He... he said Coach Amy picked them out because she knows what's best for my feet."
I asked, "But why did daddy want you to say they were from Coach Amy?"
No answer. Just the sound of her swinging legs bumping against the cabinet.
By 6:00 PM, we'd settled into Sophia's bedroom for homework time. Pink walls covered with soccer trophies and photos of her with Tom at various games.
I asked, "You really admire Coach Amy, don't you?"
Sophia's eyes lit up like Christmas morning. "She's amazing! She knows so much about life, not just soccer. She even gives me advice about boys and stuff."
My pencil snapped in my hand. "What kind of advice about boys?"
"Oh, just... how to be confident and pretty. She says I'm going to be a heartbreaker when I grow up, just like her." Sophia giggled, then grew serious. "She's so smart about everything. Sometimes I wish..."
"Sometimes I wish I had someone like her around all the time. Someone who understands about sports and fashion and... and grown-up things."
Someone like her. Not me. The woman sleeping with her father had successfully positioned herself as the cool, understanding adult while I remained the boring, out-of-touch mom.
I said, "Sweetheart, has daddy seemed different lately? Happier, maybe?"
She nodded sleepily. "Daddy's been really nice to Coach Amy. She was having problems with her apartment and daddy helped her find a better place."
My heart stopped. "Oh? What kind of problems?"
"I don't know exactly, but daddy said grown-ups sometimes need help from friends." She yawned, innocent and trusting. "Daddy's good at helping people solve their problems."
Problems. Like a young woman needing financial support to afford a waterfront apartment.
"And you think that's... nice of daddy?"
"Uh-huh. Coach Amy was so grateful. She said daddy was her knight in shining armor." Sophia giggled at the fairy-tale language. "I think she really likes our family."
Our family.
I was almost at the door when Sophia's voice stopped me cold.
"Mommy, would it be okay if Coach Amy came to live with us? She doesn't have a family."
I gripped the doorframe, feeling the world tilt. "Why would you think that's a good idea, sweetheart?"
"Daddy said sometimes families can grow bigger when someone special joins them. And Amy makes daddy smile so much." She sat up, animated again. "Plus, she could help with my training every day! We could be like... like a soccer family!"
The innocence in her voice was devastating. My daughter was planning her own family's destruction, believing she was creating something beautiful.
I asked, "Did daddy... did daddy suggest that Coach Amy might join our family?"
"Not exactly. But he said special people deserve special places in our lives." She paused, then delivered the final blow: "Could Amy be like... my second mom? I think she'd be really good at it."
Second mom. I stood frozen in that doorway, watching my daughter smile with anticipation, completely unaware that she was asking me to welcome my replacement.
"We'll... we'll see, baby." I kissed her forehead, tasting my own tears.
The house settled into silence, and I sat alone in our living room, staring at the family photos that lined the mantle.
My phone buzzed. Tom: [I love you. See you soon.]
I stared at the message while upstairs, my daughter dreamed of expanding our family to include her father's mistress. The same woman who was systematically replacing me in every aspect of our lives.
Tom wasn't just having an affair. He was conducting a hostile takeover, using our daughter as his inside agent. And Sophia, in her nine-year-old innocence, was helping him tear apart the only life she'd ever known.
The cruelest part? She thought she was helping. In her child's logic, if Coach Amy made daddy happy, and daddy's happiness made the family better, then Coach Amy belonged with us. She couldn't see that there was no room for both of us in this equation.
I set my phone aside and sat in the darkness, listening to the house breathe around me.
Upstairs, my daughter slept peacefully, dreaming of her perfect soccer family. Down the hall, Tom's side of the bed remained empty.
And here I sat, the discarded wife, realizing that in this war for my family, I'd already lost the most important battle. My own daughter had chosen sides without knowing there was a war.
It was watching my child become his unwitting accomplice in erasing me from our lives.