Emma
I sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on my knees, Alex’s school brochures scattered across the coffee table. My coffee had gone cold hours ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Each page I opened for educational loans or grants made my stomach tighten.
“They all want full parent profiles,” I muttered, scrolling through yet another application. “Every single one… name, occupation, income. Everything.”
Ovie, perched on the armchair with her ever-cheerful grin, leaned over to peek at my screen. “Yeah, it seems that’s the new standard, Em… They want to know the child’s background, stability, and all that jazz.”
“I can’t… I can’t give Lucas’ name,” I said, my fingers gripping the edge of the couch. “Alex already has my last name officially. I can’t just… invent somethin
