We headed to the kitchen, tied on our matching aprons, and baked chocolate chip cookies like nothing had happened. Emma licked the spoon, I pretended not to see her sneak extra chocolate chips, and we talked about everything except the weird visit from her dad.
As bedtime came and I tucked her in, she wrapped her arms around my neck. “You really are both my parents,” she whispered against my skin. I kissed her forehead, letting that single sentence settle in deeper than any courtroom win or social media takedown ever could.
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