Chapter 16
Adam
I'm still staring at my phone, Sarah's lawyer's email burning into my retinas, when I force myself to call Michael Drummond.
It's late—nearly ten—but he answers on the second ring. Small-town lawyer, always on call. "Adam. I saw the email."
"She can't do this." My voice comes out tight, barely controlled. June's watching me from across the room, worry etched across her face. "She practically abandoned Emma. She doesn't get to waltz back in and demand Christmas."
"Legally, you can't deny her supervised visitation without cause," Michael says, calm and measured. "But we can set strict terms—public place, limited time, you present."
I drag a hand through my hair. "Fine. What do you suggest?"
"Christmas Eve afternoon. Two hours. Local café—somewhere public, neutral. Just you and Emma."
My jaw tightens. "Just us?"
"June should not be there." His voice is firm. "Sarah's lawyer will twist it—say you're flaunting the relationship, intimidating Sarah. We need to keep this clean, Adam."
I glance at June. She's already nodding, understanding before I even say it. I hate this.
"Okay," I manage. "Christmas Eve. Two hours."
Michael shifts gears, walking me through what to expect at the hearing. "Sarah's lawyer will attack June's character—Tyler's statement is their ammunition. They'll question the cohabitation during the boiler issue, paint you as reckless for introducing Emma to a new girlfriend too soon."
"How do we counter?" My voice is clipped, jaw locked.
"Character witnesses. Documentation of June's relationship with Emma. And we expose Sarah's harassment—the pattern of manipulation."
"Will that be enough?"
A pause. "It should be. But custody cases can be unpredictable, Adam. You know that."
The fear I've been holding at bay crashes over me. I set the phone down carefully, like it might shatter.
June crosses the room and sits beside me. "What did he say?"
I tell her—the visit, the terms, the fact that she needs to stay home. Her face goes solemn, but she nods.
"I get it. Emma comes first."
"Always." I squeeze her hand.
She squeezes back, her grip firm, grounding. "We've got this," she whispers.
I let myself ask the question I've been too afraid to ask. "What if we don't?"
June's eyes meet mine, steady and sure. "Then we appeal. We keep fighting. You taught me that."
I want to believe her. But with the hearing looming and Sarah circling like a vulture, I can barely hold on.
When did June become the brave one? And how the hell am I supposed to protect my daughter from the woman who gave birth to her?
***
Christmas Eve arrives too fast.
June stays home—at her own place, giving us space even though I can see how much it costs her. And me, if I'm being honest. Emma and I drive to Main Street in silence, the café's warm lights glowing against the late afternoon gray.
Sarah's already inside, seated at a corner table. She stands when she sees Emma, arms open, smile bright and trembling. There's a wrapped gift on the table—festive paper, perfect bow.
"Emma! Oh, honey, I've missed you so much."
Emma hesitates, glancing up at me. I nod, and she moves forward slowly, letting Sarah pull her into a hug. Her arms stay at her sides a beat too long before she returns it.
We sit. Sarah pushes the gift toward Emma, eyes glistening. "Merry Christmas, baby."
Emma unwraps it carefully—a stuffed bear, soft and expensive-looking. "Thanks, Mommy."
"Do you like it?"
"Yeah. It's nice."
Sarah's smile wavers, but she rallies. "You look so grown up, Emma. I wish I'd been there to see it."
The words land like an accusation. I wish I'd been there. As if someone else kept her away. As if she didn't choose to leave. To visit her less and less.
I keep my face neutral, jaw tight enough to crack.
Sarah turns to me, voice dripping with false sweetness. "I hope you've been taking good care of our daughter, Adam."
"Always."
"And Christmas tomorrow—are you excited, Emma? Just the two of you?"
There it is. Fishing. Trying to figure out if June's part of our plans, if we're playing house without her.
Emma fidgets with the bear's ear. "We're having people over. Aunt Harper and Uncle Nate. Maya and Lucas are bringing baby Theo. And June."
Sarah's smile freezes. "Oh. How nice."
I watch her calculate, recalibrate. She's performing—the wronged mother, gracious and heartbroken, just trying to see her daughter. Every word, every gesture for an invisible audience. For her lawyer. For the judge.
The two hours crawl. Sarah asks Emma about school, her friends, what she wants for Christmas. Emma answers in quiet monosyllables, polite but distant. She's protecting herself, and it breaks my heart.
When it's finally over, Sarah hugs Emma again, holding on a moment too long. "I love you, honey. So much."
"Love you too, Mommy."
We walk to the car, Emma clutching the bear. She's quiet, staring out the window as I pull onto the road. The silence stretches, heavy and uncertain.
Then, barely audible: "Can we go see June when we get home?"
My heart clenches—relief, gratitude, love flooding through me all at once. "Yeah, princess. Let's go see June."
We pull into the driveway. Emma's out of the car before I've even turned off the engine, running to June's door. She opens it before Emma even knocks, and Emma flies into her arms.
June catches her, holding tight, eyes finding mine over Emma's head. Relief and emotion flood her face. I watch her blink back tears.
"How are you doing, sweetheart?" June asks softly, smoothing Emma's hair.
"Okay." Emma's voice is muffled against June's shoulder. "I missed you."
June's voice catches, just slightly. "I missed you too."
I stand in the doorway, throat tight, watching them.
This is what I want Emma to know. This is what family looks like.
***
Christmas morning breaks cold and bright, snow dusting the yard like powdered sugar.
Emma's up early, bouncing with the kind of energy only kids on Christmas can muster. We do presents first—just the two of us, pajamas and hot chocolate and wrapping paper everywhere. She squeals over the art supplies, the new books, the sparkly sneakers she's been asking for since October.
"Best Christmas ever, Daddy!"
I pull her close, kissing the top of her head. "Love you, princess."
"Love you too."
By midmorning, the house is full.
Harper and Nate arrive first, arms loaded with dishes and gifts. Maya and Lucas follow with baby Theo bundled in a carrier, all sleepy eyes and tiny fists. The house smells like cinnamon and pine, tree lights twinkling in the corner, warmth and laughter filling every room.
June shows up with enough food to feed an army. Roasted vegetables, garlic butter rolls, a honey-glazed ham that makes my mouth water just looking at it. She moves through my kitchen comfortably, knowing where everything is after spending so much time here.
I watch her laugh at something Harper says, watch her help Emma arrange cookies on a platter, and I ache with how much I want this. Every day. Forever.
Emma's obsessed with Theo. She hovers near Maya, eyes wide and hopeful. "Can I hold him again? Please?"
Maya smiles, exhausted but glowing. "Of course, sweetie. Let's sit you down first."
She settles Emma on the couch, guiding her arms into position. Emma's face is pure concentration as Theo's placed in her lap, his tiny body cradled carefully against her chest.
"I'm being so careful," Emma whispers, like he might break.
June comes and sits beside her, hand resting on Emma's shoulder. "You're doing great, sweetheart."
I watch my daughter—so gentle, so focused, so much more grown-up than she was even a few months ago. Resilient. Brave. Despite everything Sarah's put her through, Emma's still here. Still whole.
Harper corners me in the kitchen while I'm refilling drinks.
"She's perfect for you," she says quietly, nodding toward June.
"I know."
"So don't let Sarah ruin this."
My jaw tightens. "I won't. Whatever it takes."
Harper studies me, eyes serious. "I mean it, Adam. You deserve this. You and Emma both."
I nod, throat too tight to speak. I can't imagine losing any of this—the warmth, the laughter, the way June fits seamlessly into the chaos of my life like we were always meant to find each other.
Maya catches my eye from across the room. "You're building something beautiful here, Adam. All of you."
I look around—Emma giggling over Theo, Harper teasing Nate about his terrible wrapping skills, Lucas telling some story that has June laughing so hard she's wiping tears from her eyes.
My family.
Not the one I was born into or the one I married into. The one I chose. The one that chose me back.
This is worth everything.
***
The day after Christmas, June's phone doesn't stop buzzing.
I'm at her place—Emma's next door with Harper watching a movie—when June's face goes pale, staring at her screen.
"What's wrong?"
She doesn't answer, just keeps scrolling, jaw tightening with every swipe.
I move behind her, reading over her shoulder. Yelp. Google Reviews. Facebook. All flooded with one-star reviews, all posted overnight.
"Rude service! The owner was completely unprofessional."
"Found a hair in my croissant. Disgusting."
"Overpriced and mediocre. Would not recommend."
"Sarah," June says through gritted teeth, voice shaking with barely contained fury.
"Can we prove it?"
"Look at the timing." She turns the screen toward me. "All posted Christmas night. Every single one. Who leaves a one-star review on Christmas? And the bakery was closed."
She's right. Too coordinated, too deliberate. Sarah couldn't attack us directly, so she went after June's livelihood instead.
Rage burns through me. "Screenshot everything. Send it to Michael."
June's already doing it, fingers flying across the screen. Within minutes, Michael responds:
This could actually help us. Proves the pattern of harassment.
Small consolation when June's reputation is being dragged through the mud.
She spends the rest of the morning crafting professional responses to each review—calm, measured, thanking them for their "feedback" while gently noting that the bakery was closed Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
It's killing her. I can see it in the set of her shoulders, the tightness around her eyes.
Riley shows up midday, fierce and loyal. "Real customers know the truth, boss. This is garbage and everyone will see right through it."
Then Mrs. Henderson calls. "I saw those reviews. Hogwash! I'm leaving you a five-star review right now, and I'm telling everyone on my phone tree to do the same."
Within hours the town mobilizes. Real reviews flood in—glowing, heartfelt, defending June and The Sweet Spot.
"Best bakery in town. June is a treasure."
"Don't believe the fake reviews. This place is amazing."
"The croissants are perfection. Five stars forever."
Other business owners stop by throughout the week. Mrs. Raferty from the bookshop organizes a "Support The Sweet Spot" campaign, rallying Main Street like June's under siege.
"That woman doesn't know who she's messing with," Mrs. Raferty declares, hands on her hips.
June's overwhelmed—by the attacks, by the support, by all of it. I find her in the back room one afternoon, tears tracking down her cheeks.
"I didn't know people cared this much," she whispers.
I pull her into my arms. "You're part of this community. Of course they care."
"But they're defending me against Sarah. Against Tyler."
"Because they know who you are. The real you."
At the station, the crew rallies too. Captain Torres pulls me aside during a shift. "If you need character witnesses at the hearing, you've got a whole station full."
Kowalski grins. "We'd testify that June's an angel. Also that her donuts are life-changing."
The warmth should make me feel better. And it does—for a moment. But then I remember the hearing isn’t far away, and the anxiety creeps back in, cold and heavy.
Sarah's not done. Not even close.
***
New Year's Eve arrives quiet and still.
Emma's asleep upstairs, worn out from a day of playing in the snow with Harper. June's here—curled up beside me on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand, the fireplace crackling softly.
We're not doing anything special. No party, no countdown. Just this—existing together in the calm before the storm.
I watch her in the firelight, her golden waves, the little crease between her brows that means she's thinking too hard about something. She's beautiful. She's brave. And the thought that I might lose everything if the hearing doesn't go our way lands hard.
"June?"
She looks up, eyes soft. "Yeah?"
I squeeze her hand, nervous but certain. This needs to be said. Now. Before everything changes.
"When the hearing's over—no matter what happens—I want you here. With us. Full time. Move in."
She blinks, surprised. Her wine glass pauses halfway to her lips. "You're sure?"
"I've wanted it since the night your boiler broke."
She laughs, a little shaky, setting her glass down. "Forced proximity, huh?"
"It made me realize how right this feels. You, me, Emma. This." I gesture around—at the house, at the life we've been building without even meaning to. "I love you, June."
Her eyes fill with tears, but she's smiling. "I love you too. You and Emma. You're my family now."
I pull her close and kiss her slow and sure, pouring everything I can't say into it—the hope, the fear, the desperate need for this to work. Her hands slide into my hair, and for a moment the world narrows to just us. Just this.
When we finally pull apart, she rests her forehead against mine, breathing unsteady.
"We're going to be okay," she whispers. "We have to be."
I want to believe her. I have to.
But the hearing looms, everything building to a head. Sarah's not backing down. Her lawyer's going to tear us apart in that courtroom, pick at every vulnerability, every misstep. They'll paint me as reckless, June as unstable, our relationship as harmful to Emma.
And all I can do is show up and fight like hell.
But June Callahan loves me. She loves Emma. And for the first time in months, I feel brave enough to believe we'll be okay.