Chapter 4 - THE PERFECT FAMILY
The headline appeared Thursday morning.
PREGNANT INFLUENCER LAUREN WEST “DRIVEN FROM HOME” AMID STEPKID CRISIS.
Daniel read only the first paragraph.
Then closed the article.
His publicist, Evelyn Brooks, stood across his desk.
“You need to answer.”
“No.”
“Daniel.”
“No details about Sophie.”
“They’re calling her violent.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“They’re saying you asked Lauren to leave after Sophie had a tantrum.”
“I know.”
“They’re saying Sophie assaulted her.”
“I know.”
“And you’re comfortable saying nothing?”
“No.”
Daniel stood.
“I’m comfortable protecting my daughter.”
Evelyn sighed.
“You can do both.”
“How?”
“We say the allegations about Sophie are false. We confirm there is evidence of unauthorized documents. We say attorneys are handling it.”
“Nothing about Rachel.”
“Agreed.”
“Nothing about Sophie’s therapy.”
“She isn’t in therapy.”
“She will be.”
Evelyn paused.
“Good.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Don’t turn that into a statement.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Everything in this house has become content.”
That was the part he hated most.
Lauren’s followers knew what flowers had been on their wedding tables.
They knew which room became the nursery.
They knew what stroller she wanted.
They knew the baby’s estimated birth month.
And now strangers thought they knew his daughter.
Daniel had allowed that machine inside his home because he considered it harmless.
He had been wrong.
That afternoon, Dr. Camille Harper came voluntarily to speak with Daniel’s attorneys.
She looked deeply uncomfortable.
“I was misled.”
Daniel sat across from her.
“You wrote notes saying Sophie displayed pregnancy-related jealousy.”
“I wrote that Mrs. West reported jealousy.”
“Did you observe it?”
“No.”
“Did you observe aggression?”
“No.”
“Did Sophie threaten the baby?”
“No.”
“Did she say she wanted to leave?”
Dr. Harper shook her head.
“In fact, she said the opposite.”
Daniel went still.
“What did she say?”
The psychologist looked down at her notes.
“She said she thought everyone would be happier once she left, but she didn’t want to go.”
Daniel’s throat tightened.
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you contact me?”
“I believed you were aware of the sessions.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I was given a signed parental-consent document.”
Mark placed a copy on the table.
“Daniel’s signature?”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at it.
Another forgery.
Dr. Harper continued.
“I became concerned during the second meeting.”
“Why?”
“Sophie kept asking me whether loving her mother made Lauren sad.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
The psychologist’s voice softened.
“She also asked whether there were rules for how much a child was allowed to remember someone who died.”
Daniel looked away.
He saw Rachel in his mind.
Laughing in the kitchen.
Sitting cross-legged on Sophie’s nursery floor.
Singing badly.
Always badly.
He had spent years trying not to make Rachel’s death define Sophie’s childhood.
Lauren had turned Rachel’s memory into a rival.
“What did you tell her?”
“That there were no rules.”
Daniel nodded.
“Thank you.”
Dr. Harper hesitated.
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“Sophie told me Lauren had asked her to choose which five things from her mother she wanted to keep.”
Daniel looked back.
“What?”
“She said everything else was going into storage because the house needed ‘new-family energy.’”
He remembered boxes.
Half-empty drawers.
Missing books.
Not random.
Not clutter reduction.
Erasure.
That evening, he went through the storage room.
Maria helped.
There were eleven labeled boxes.
SOPHIE — BABY.
SOPHIE — OLD BOOKS.
RACHEL PHOTOS.
RACHEL CLOTHING.
CHRISTMAS OLD.
Daniel opened one.
Inside were framed pictures.
Rachel holding newborn Sophie.
Rachel standing beside Daniel on their wedding day.
Sophie at age three on Rachel’s shoulders.
A photograph of Rachel pregnant.
Daniel sat on the concrete floor.
He hadn’t known Lauren had removed them.
Had he really been that absent?
Maria stood nearby.
“She started slowly.”
Daniel looked up.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The housekeeper’s face tightened.
“She said you wanted it.”
“And you believed her?”
“At first.”
“Then?”
Maria looked toward the boxes.
“Then I didn’t.”
“So why didn’t you call?”
She took a breath.
“Because Mrs. West fired Anna when Anna questioned her.”
Daniel frowned.
“Anna from housekeeping?”
“Yes.”
Daniel remembered being told Anna had moved back to New Jersey.
“She was fired?”
“Yes.”
“Who told me she resigned?”
Maria didn’t answer.
He already knew.
Lauren.
Daniel stood.
“Who else?”
“Mr. Gibbs.”
The gardener.
“Fired?”
“Reduced hours until he quit.”
“Why?”
“He helped Sophie build the memorial garden for her mother.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
There was a little garden near the back stone wall.
White roses.
Lavender.
A wooden bench.
Rachel’s favorite flowers.
Daniel hadn’t been there in months.
“Anyone else?”
Maria hesitated.
“Mrs. West stopped using Mrs. Foster.”
Sophie’s longtime babysitter.
“Why?”
“Mrs. Foster told Sophie stories about her mother.”
Daniel leaned against the shelving unit.
Lauren had removed people.
Objects.
Photographs.
Traditions.
Not all at once.
One at a time.
Small enough that a traveling father wouldn’t see the pattern.
By Friday, Mark filed for an emergency domestic order preventing Lauren from removing Sophie, altering her school enrollment, or using Daniel’s signature on any child-related documents.
The court granted temporary restrictions.
Lauren’s attorney responded aggressively.
They claimed Daniel was using his wealth to intimidate a pregnant spouse.
They requested access to the marital home.
They accused him of alienation.
Then came the photograph.
Lauren outside an obstetric appointment.
Tears on her face.
One hand on her stomach.
Caption:
Trying to protect my unborn child while grieving the family I thought we were building.
Daniel stared at it.
Then someone knocked on his study door.
Sophie.
“Come in.”
She held a school paper.
“Family-tree project.”
Daniel’s chest tightened.
Of all weeks.
She put it on his desk.
There were branches.
Parents.
Grandparents.
Siblings.
“Can you help?”
“Yes.”
She sat beside him.
“Where do I put the baby?”
“Here.”
He pointed to sibling.
“Even though it’s not born?”
“Still your sibling.”
“Okay.”
She wrote BABY.
Then looked at the mother branch.
“Do I put Mommy or Lauren?”
Daniel paused.
“What does the assignment say?”
“Family can be people who are important.”
“What do you want?”
“Mommy.”
“Then Mommy.”
Sophie wrote RACHEL.
Then hesitated.
“Will Lauren get mad?”
Daniel’s heart hurt.
“She doesn’t get to choose your family tree.”
“What about when the baby makes one?”
He looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“The baby will put Lauren.”
“Yes.”
“And you.”
“Yes.”
“And me?”
Daniel smiled.
“If the baby has any sense.”
Sophie smiled too.
Then became serious.
“Can families have people who don’t live together?”
“Yes.”
“Can families be mad?”
“Yes.”
“Can they still be family?”
“Sometimes.”
She nodded.
Then drew a small line between herself and BABY.
Daniel watched.
“What’s that?”
“So the baby knows where I go.”
He had to look away.
That night, Evelyn called.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“One of Lauren’s old brand partners contacted us.”
Daniel frowned.
“Why?”
“They’re worried about being pulled into litigation.”
“What does that have to do with Sophie?”
“They have emails.”
Daniel’s stomach tightened.
“What emails?”
“Campaign planning.”
“For the pregnancy?”
“Yes.”
Evelyn paused.
“And there was a proposed family campaign worth approximately two million dollars.”
Daniel went still.
“What campaign?”
“A luxury maternity and home collection.”
“Why does Sophie matter?”
Another pause.
“Because the brand rejected the first concept.”
“What concept?”
“They said Lauren’s audience responded better to the idea of ‘a young couple becoming parents together’ than a blended-family storyline.”
Daniel stared at the wall.
Evelyn continued.
“After that, Lauren’s team proposed reducing Sophie’s presence online.”
His jaw tightened.
“How far back?”
“Four months.”
Before the boxes.
Before the photographer.
Before the guardianship petition.
May you like
The “perfect family” had a price tag.
And Sophie had been bad for the brand.
