“Only if you layer up. Coats, hats, gloves, the works. It’s bitter out there.”
“I know, I know. But can we, Dad?”
“Sure, Soph. As long as you don’t go anywhere near the lake.”
“They wouldn’t be that stupid,” Margot says from my other side, giving them both a wink.
“Yeah! We don’t wannadrown,” Sophie says with a quiet dignity as she heads for the car and Dan, who’s back hauling the next load of stuff in.
“See you upstairs,” I say to Margot and head back out to the car for a few last things. We’re not here for that long, so we shouldn’t have that much stuff, but somehow, we still have a carful, more than half of it for the kids.
When I get back upstairs, Margot’s in her old bedroom, the window cracked and a viciously cold breeze sneaking through the gap. There’s something charming about the beauty of her silhouette against the white landscape outside.
I’m lost for words.
Some people are worth the fight.
Worth the fuss, the blood, the sweat, the tears.
Worth the road to forever, paved with hell.
I know that deeply now, just like my failed marriage taught me some people are worth cutting loose.
Margot showed me how good it feels to love, if you can find the right person.
“Thinking about how it feels to be a famous designer yet?” I ask as I go into the room fully, and she laughs, turning around.
“Just checking some emails. And I don’t feel famous yet.”
“You’re on your way.” I hold up her iPad. “Especially once Blackthorn Wings launches Orthique in a few months.”
She’s still so shy.
She blushes adorably. Like she can’t believe the whole design world noticed Sophie’s bubblegum shoes.
“It feels too good to be true,” she admits, glancing up from her tablet.
“What does?”
“To do something I’m actually passionate about.”
“You’ve always been passionate about shoes,” I say.
“No, I meanorthopedicshoes.”
It’s crazy how lightning can strike ten times overnight.
Her new partners even offered to make Sophie one of the faces leading the marketing campaign. Daria was disgustingly thrilled, but my little girl said she needed time to think about it.
Whatever she decides, I’ll be proud as hell, knowing my daughter will never have to feel shame over her feet again.
“It’s not what I imagined. But it’s way better than making any other shoes,” she says, leaning into my chest and tipping her head back.
“You’re too good at this,” I whisper, kissing her again.
“I know! Crazy, right? I’m not eventrying.” She shakes her head. “And none of this would’ve ever happened if Sophie hadn’twalked in late one night and asked for help. I couldn’t let her down, Kane. Not for anything.”
There’s a fucking brick in my throat.
