My Daughters Were Waiting
At the airport, Sophie spotted me first. She ran toward me with her backpack bouncing against her shoulders.
“Mom!”
I crouched and hugged her. June followed a second later. “Are we really going today?”
“We really are.”
Their former nanny and now my personal assistant, Tessa Boone, stood beside our luggage. She had helped me organize the move quietly over the previous two months. My mother had relocated to England several years earlier to oversee the European investments connected to our family business. The girls already had places reserved at an international school outside London.
We were not disappearing. Preston had the address, travel documents, visitation schedule, and every legal detail required. But emotionally, I was leaving something behind.
I looked at my daughters and realized I did not miss it.
Sophie slipped her hand into mine. “Is Dad coming later?”
I chose my words carefully. “Your dad has his own home now. We’re going to build ours.”
She nodded.
Then June looked up at me. “Can our new home have a garden?”
I laughed softly. “Yes. It already does.”
Her eyes widened. That was the first moment I felt truly free.
