“You chose someone to share your life with. I believe you chose someone capable of loving your daughter.”
Then I raised my glass.
“To Emmett and Claire. And to the family they are building. May there always be enough room in it for everyone who belongs.”
I sat down.
For three seconds, nobody said anything.
Then the room erupted in applause.
Later, Emmett found me outside.
He stood beside me beneath the evening sky.
“You heard what she said to Margot.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
He remained quiet.
Finally, he asked,
“What am I supposed to do now?”
“Talk to your wife.”
“About the toast?”
“No. About Margot.”
I looked at him.
“Tell her what your daughter needs. Tell her what cannot happen again.”
“She said something awful to a five-year-old.”
“Yes. She did.”
Then I added something important.
“But give her the opportunity to become better than that moment.”
He looked at me.
“Because the worst possible future is Margot growing up believing her stepmother resents her. What she needs is someone who chooses her.”
“And if Claire doesn’t?”
“Then we deal with that when it happens.”
An hour later, Claire found me.
I was drinking coffee and watching Margot dance barefoot on the dance floor.
Claire sat across from me in her wedding dress.
“You heard me,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Through the door.”
“Yes.”
She stared at her hands.
“What I said was terrible.”
I waited.
“I’ve been scared,” she admitted. “I know that isn’t an excuse.”
She explained that everyone still talked about Phoebe.
Phoebe’s photographs were still in Emmett’s home.
Phoebe was part of every story about Margot.
And somewhere along the way, Claire had begun feeling as though she were competing with someone who wasn’t even alive to compete with her.
“I took that insecurity out on a five-year-old,” she said.
“Yes.”
“That’s unforgivable.”
“No,” I said. “It isn’t unforgivable. But it cannot happen again.”
She looked toward Margot.
“How do I fix it?”
“Apologize.”
“To Margot?”
“Yes. Tomorrow. When everything is quiet.”
I leaned forward.
