A fresh warmth erupts in my chest, despite feeling like we’re being dragged across thorns.
It doesn’t take away the crippling fear and uncertainty, no.
But it helps.
And when we get back down to the living room to wait for Margot, so does the sight of her standing in the doorway.
She’s everything.
Even now, even after the menacing note, she’s not showing an ounce of fear. Not in front of the kids. Not with me.
It makes me want to wrap her up in my arms and never let go.
She flashes a reassuring smile before kneeling next to Sophie.
“Hey, I have something for you. I was going to work on it a little while longer, but with you guys heading out…”
“It’s cool. Really.” Sophie wipes her nose and sniffles.
Margot unlocks the iPad in her hand and tilts the screen at Sophie, showing off what looks like shoes.
They’re still clearly orthopedic, but unlike any pair I’ve ever seen in her medical supply catalog.
They’re light pink with brighter delicate flowers etched along the sides with a white stripe running through them. The color obscures the bulkiness, giving them a sleeker appearance as Margot rotates the 3D model.
“I made this for you. I mean, they’re not made-made yet, but the design’s ready,” she says. “You can have them made to order soon. They use existing ortho shoe specs so they won’t have to go through any red tape getting them approved. I emailed a copy to your dad for safekeeping. We just need a manufacturer.” She darts me another look, and I flick through my emails where, sure enough, there’s an attachment from Margot. “Do you like them?”
Two big tears roll down Sophie’s face. Her lips tremble.
“Oh my God! I—yes! I… I can’t believe youmade me shoes.”
She doesn’t need to say another word.
“You asked for my help, remember? I’m still no expert in orthopedic shoe design, but I can make them look pretty.”
Her face caves in with happy sobs as she throws her arms around Margot’s shoulders.
I look at the design in my hands, holding in a breath denser than fog.
Insane.
This gesture’s kinder and more motherly than anything I’ve seen Daria do in nearly a decade of phantom co-parenting. Sophie’s never had anyone go out of their way with her shoes before.
Hell, not even me, because I didn’t know how.
I don’t think Margot can fathom how huge this is.
Her eyes meet mine over Sophie’s shoulder, and I wonder.
Does she know how generous she is?
Does she get that she’s an angel who rolled off her cloud?
I fucking don’t deserve this through my huffing and puffing and emotionally stunted confusion. But Soph, she’s had this coming her whole life.
All I can do is stand there in awe, holding myself together.
“I just want you to love your shoes and love yourself,” Margot whispers, leaning back to look Sophie fully in the eyes. “And I want you toownthem, okay? They’re a statement to the world. Every girl deserves a wardrobe that screams pretty.”
