Her Money, His Pride

Chapter 17: The Family Tree

Sophie brought the assignment home folded into quarters.

I found it beneath her dinner plate after she went upstairs to change.

**MY FAMILY TREE**, the top of the page read.

Below it, the teacher had drawn empty branches for parents, grandparents, and siblings.

Most children would fill them without thinking.

Sophie had written her name in the center and nothing else.

I was still staring at the page when she returned.

“Do I have to do it?”

Her voice was careful.

I placed the worksheet on the table. “What did Miss Ashford say?”

“That we could talk to her if it was difficult.”

“Did you?”

She shook her head.

Sophie hated being treated differently. She also hated questions about Emma.

Those two things rarely worked well together.

“We can write Mom’s name,” I said.

“But then people will ask where she is.”

“They might.”

“I don’t want them to.”

I understood.

The next morning, I walked Sophie into school instead of leaving her at the gate. Victoria was arranging books when we reached the classroom.

She looked up immediately.

“Is everything all right?”

I handed her the worksheet.

Her expression changed as soon as she saw the empty branches.

“I should have considered this,” she said.

“It isn’t your fault.”

“It’s my assignment.”

Sophie stood close to my side, watching her.

Victoria crouched until they were at the same height.

“You don’t have to make a traditional family tree,” she said. “You can create a garden instead.”

“A garden?”

“You can draw flowers for anyone who is important to you. Family, friends, even people you remember.”

Sophie looked at the page.

“Can Mom be a yellow flower?”

“Of course.”

“And Mrs. Lewis?”

“She can be any flower you want.”

Sophie’s shoulders relaxed.

“Can Dad be a cactus?”

I looked down at her.

Victoria pressed her lips together.

“Why a cactus?” I asked.

“Because you’re prickly.”

Victoria lost the fight and laughed.

I should have been offended.

Instead, I found myself watching her.

She wore a simple gray dress that probably cost more than my first truck, but there was nothing distant about her when she looked at Sophie.

“Go put your backpack away,” I said.

Sophie hurried inside.

Victoria stood.

“I’ll give the option to the whole class. That way she won’t feel singled out.”

“Thank you.”

“I should have thought of it before.”

“You can’t predict every difficult thing.”

Her eyes met mine.

“No,” she said quietly. “I suppose not.”

For a moment, I wondered what she was remembering.

Then Nora entered carrying a stack of folders.

“Daniel, good. You’re here.”

I looked at Victoria. “Should I be worried?”

“Usually,” she said.

Nora handed me a form.

“The school auction needs donations. Services, products, restaurant vouchers—anything parents can bid on.”

“I can donate a restoration consultation.”

Victoria’s expression tightened.

I noticed.

“You don’t have to,” she said.

“I know.”

Nora looked between us. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Victoria answered too quickly.

I filled out the form.

One two-hour consultation. No obligation to hire my company.

When I handed it back, Victoria was still watching me.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“That silence is becoming less expressive.”

She ignored the comment.

After Nora left, Victoria lowered her voice.

“You realize many of the bidders will be connected to my family.”

“It’s a school auction.”

“Yes.”

“And Sophie attends the school.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m donating because of Sophie.”

Her face warmed slightly.

“I wasn’t accusing you.”

“Not yet.”

She looked away.

I regretted the words as soon as they left.

“I’m trying,” she said.

There was no arrogance in her voice.

Only honesty.

I softened mine.

“I know.”

The children began entering, filling the room with noise.

Sophie returned carrying a blank sheet of paper.

She had already drawn three flowers.

One yellow.

One purple.

And one cactus with angry eyebrows.

Victoria leaned closer to me.

“The resemblance is impressive.”

I looked at her.

She was smiling.

Not at my company.

Not at my clothes.

Not at the Ashford name or what it could offer me.

Just at me.

And that should not have mattered.

But it did.