Chapter 15
June
I can't stop shaking.
Adam ended the call five minutes ago, but my hands are still trembling, my breath coming short and shallow.
Tyler. Tyler submitted a sworn statement.
Tyler—who never took me seriously, who couldn't handle my ambition, who treated my bakery like a cute hobby instead of a real business—just put his name to a document full of lies and agreed to stand up in court and repeat them to a judge.
Commitment issues. Not maternal. Using Adam for stability and business connections.
The words loop in my head, venomous and unshakable.
Adam's pacing the kitchen, jaw tight, fists clenched. "I'll kill him."
"That won't help the custody case." My voice comes out hollow. "Let's be proactive—make a list of people who can help. We need solid character witnesses who can speak to my relationship with Emma."
He stops, runs a hand through his hair, exhales hard. Nods.
We start making a list—Mrs. Henderson, Riley, Emma's teacher Mr. Thompson, Harper, Maya, Lucas, Nate. Good people. People who see me with Emma, who know I'm trying. But will it be enough? Will a judge believe them over Tyler's poison?
I feel exposed. My past, my failed relationships, my messiness—all of it weaponized. Turned into evidence that I'm not good enough.
"Maybe he's right," I say quietly.
Adam freezes. "What?"
I can't look at him. "Tyler. Maybe I do have commitment issues. I've never done this before, Adam. What if I'm not built for it?"
He crosses the room in two strides, takes my face in his hands, forces me to meet his eyes. "You're the most committed person I know. You built a business from nothing. You show up for Emma every chance you get. Tyler's a bitter ex who's lying for Sarah."
His voice is certain. I want to believe him so badly.
But the doubt is there—cold and sharp, taking root somewhere I can't reach.
This is new territory. Being responsible for a child who isn't mine.
Stepping into a family that's fragile, fractured, held together by hope and legal paperwork.
What if I mess it up? What if I fail Emma?
What if Tyler's right and I really am just playing house, using Adam for something I don't even understand?
Adam pulls me close, arms solid around me. "Don't let him get in your head. He's a liar, and you're incredible." He tightens his hold. "He's trying to poison this. Don't give him that power."
I nod against his chest. But the fear doesn't leave. It clings, whispering all the ways I could ruin this—ruin them.
And suddenly, I'm not sure if love is enough.
***
The next day at the bakery, I'm a mess.
I burn a batch of croissants. The acrid smell fills the kitchen, and I stare at the blackened pastry like it's evidence of everything I'm failing at. Riley catches me standing there, oven mitts still on, eyes stinging.
"Boss, you okay?"
"Fine. Just tired."
She doesn't look convinced. But she doesn't push. I'm grateful for that.
All day I'm somewhere else—replaying every interaction I've had with Emma, second-guessing everything.
Was I too strict when she didn't want to do her reading?
Too lenient when she had three cookies before dinner?
Did I handle bedtime right? Should I have been firmer?
Softer? Did I sound like I cared, or did I sound like I was just going through the motions?
By the time I get to Adam's that evening, my nerves are frayed, my confidence in tatters.
Emma's at the kitchen table with her math homework, chewing her pencil, brows furrowed in frustration. I sit beside her and try to help, but she's not getting it—her answers are all over the place, irritation building with every wrong sum.
"No, Emma, look—if you add these two numbers together first, then—"
"I did add them!" She throws her pencil down. "This is stupid. I hate math."
My throat tightens. Tyler's words echo in my head—not maternal, commitment issues, using Adam—and suddenly I can't think. I freeze, staring at the worksheet like the numbers might rearrange themselves into something I understand.
"Maybe your dad should help you," I say quietly, already pushing back from the table.
Emma storms to her room and slams the door.
I retreat to the counter, hands braced against the edge, fighting the burn behind my eyes. I'm overreacting. I know I'm overreacting. But I can't stop the spiral—the fear that I'm not cut out for this, that Emma deserves better, that Tyler was right about me all along.
Adam finds me there, concern etched across his face. "What happened?"
"Emma got frustrated with me. And I just... froze."
"Kids get frustrated. That's normal."
"But what if I'm not cut out for this? What if Tyler's right?"
He steps closer, voice low and steady. "He's not. You're just scared. And that's okay."
I shake my head, tears finally spilling over. "What if I'm not good enough for Emma? For this family?"
Adam pulls me into his arms, solid and warm. "You are. But you have to believe it too."
I want to believe him. I'm trying—really trying. But the doubt hangs on, cold and heavy, refusing to leave.
***
Harper shows up at The Sweet Spot unannounced the following day.
She's in her second trimester now, starting to show—just a gentle curve under her oversized sweater. She slides into the chair across from me in the back room, eyeing me with that look she gets when she knows I'm about to lie and she's not having it.
"Adam called. Said you're getting in your head."
"I'm not."
"June. I've known you for years. You're catastrophising."
I sigh, defeated, and pour us both coffee—decaf for her. We sit in silence for a moment, the hum of the bakery out front filling the space between us.
"Tyler's statement got to you," she says quietly.
I stare into my mug. "It's not just Tyler. It's everything. What if I can't be what they need?"
Harper's quiet for a beat, then leans forward. "Can I tell you something about Adam and me?"
"Of course."
"When our parents died, I was sixteen. Adam was twenty.
I moved in with our grandmother, and Adam...
he tried to pretend he was okay, but he really wasn't. He went off to study, but I knew he was just running—trying to outrun the grief.
We both were, in our own ways." Her voice softens.
"But even with his own mess, Adam checked in on me.
Every single week, even when I didn't want to talk.
He always tried. That's who he is—he doesn't always get it right, but he shows up. Always."
I listen, throat tight.
"You don't have to be perfect, June. You just have to show up. And you do. Every time you see Emma, you show up for her. That's what matters."
"What if showing up isn't enough?"
Harper reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "It's always enough. Trust me."
The words settle somewhere deep. Harper didn't have a manual for growing up after her parents died—just a grandmother and a brother who called from far away, both doing the best they could. But they made it. Messy and imperfect and full of love.
I don't need a manual either. I just need to keep showing up. For Emma. For Adam. For myself.
"Thank you," I whisper.
Harper grins, rubbing her bump. "Anytime. Besides, I'm going to need you to ground me in a few months when this one arrives and I have no idea what I'm doing. It'll be my turn to spiral."
I laugh, the weight on my chest lifting just a fraction. "Deal."
She pulls me into a hug on her way out. "You've got this, June. Stop listening to the outside noise and start listening to the people who actually know you."
When she leaves, I feel lighter—not fixed, not certain, but more grounded. The doubt's still there, but quieter now. Manageable.
I can do this. I just have to keep showing up.
***
That evening, I go round to Adam's with a knot of nerves still sitting heavy in my chest. Harper's words are with me—just show up—but I'm not sure I believe them yet. Not fully.
Emma's in her room, music playing faintly through the door. I take a breath and knock softly.
"Can I come in?"
"I guess."
I step inside. Emma's sitting cross-legged on her bed, coloring, her face still a little guarded. I sit on the edge of the mattress, hands folded in my lap.
"I'm sorry about yesterday. I got flustered when you were frustrated with your homework."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not. I want to help you, Emma. But I'm still learning how to do this."
She looks up at me, pencil paused mid-stroke. "You're doing good, though."
"You think so?"
"Yeah. You're way more patient than Mommy. And you bake me treats."
I laugh through the tightness in my throat, blinking back tears. "Thanks, sweetheart."
Emma tilts her head, considering. "Can we try the math again? I think I almost get it."
"Yeah. Let's try."
We head to the kitchen table, the worksheet still crumpled where she left it. I smooth it out, take a breath, and try a different approach—drawing it out with pictures, breaking it into smaller steps. Emma's face scrunches in concentration, and then suddenly—
"OH! I get it now!"
Her whole face lights up, eyes wide with victory. She scribbles down the answer, checks it twice, then grins at me like she just conquered the world.
"That's it! You did it!" I'm grinning too, ridiculously proud.
"Thanks, June."
It's a small victory. But it matters. It matters so much.
Later, after Emma's in bed, I find Adam in the living room. He pulls me onto the couch beside him and I lean into his warmth, feeling lighter than I have in days.
"I'm still scared," I admit quietly. "But I'm not giving up."
He kisses the top of my head. "That's my girl."
For a moment, I let myself breathe. Let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—I can do this.
Then Adam's phone buzzes on the coffee table. He picks it up, frowning as he reads. I watch his expression shift—jaw tightening, color draining from his face.
"What is it?" I ask, stomach dropping.
He looks up at me, voice tight. "Email from Sarah's lawyer. She's demanding a Christmas visit with Emma."
The relief I felt moments ago evaporates, replaced by cold dread.
One week until Christmas. And Sarah isn't done yet.