The Breaking Point

When you’ve been a father long enough, you learn that love isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet sacrifice. Sometimes it’s swallowing your pride for the sake of peace. Sometimes it’s pretending everything is fine when your world is slowly cracking at the edges.

But sometimes, peace is just another word for silence. And I think I’ve been silent for far too long.

My name is Nathan Cross, and at forty-six, I thought I had figured out the delicate art of blended family life. I was wrong.

Before the Storm

The morning light filtered through our kitchen window, casting golden streaks across the marble countertop that Tamara had insisted we install two years ago. “It makes the space feel more sophisticated,” she’d said, running her perfectly manicured fingers across the cold surface. I’d written the check without argument, the same way I’d written checks for most of her improvements to our home.

Emily sat at the breakfast bar, her dark hair falling like a curtain as she hunched over her calculus homework. At eighteen, she still had that focused intensity she’d inherited from her mother—the same way Sarah used to bite her lower lip when she was concentrating on her nursing school textbooks all those years ago.

“Dad, can you check this problem?” Emily asked, sliding her notebook toward me. Her handwriting was neat, precise, just like everything else about her. She’d always been careful, thoughtful, never wanting to be a burden.

I glanced at the equation, my mind automatically working through the steps. “You’ve got the right approach, but you missed a negative sign here,” I said, pointing to the third line. “See it?”

Her face lit up with understanding. “Oh! That changes everything. Thanks, Dad.”

These quiet moments with Emily were what I treasured most. They reminded me of weekend mornings when she was little, when it was just the two of us against the world. Before cancer took Sarah. Before grief became our constant companion. Before I married Tamara, thinking I could give Emily the complete family I thought she needed.

“Morning, everyone,” Tamara’s voice rang out as she descended the stairs, her heels clicking against the hardwood. Even at eight in the morning, she was perfectly put together—hair styled, makeup flawless, wearing a silk blouse that probably cost more than Emily’s monthly allowance.

Zoe followed behind her, seventeen now and every inch her mother’s daughter. Where Emily was quiet and thoughtful, Zoe was dramatic and demanding. Where Emily cleaned up after herself, Zoe left a trail of belongings wherever she went. The contrast between the girls had only grown sharper over the five years since Tamara and I married.

“Did you remember that Zoe has her orthodontist appointment today?” Tamara asked, pouring herself coffee from the expensive machine she’d insisted we needed.

“It’s on my calendar,” I replied, though honestly, keeping track of Zoe’s endless appointments—orthodontist, dermatologist, personal trainer, voice coach—felt like a part-time job.

Emily closed her textbook quietly. “I’ll catch the bus to school,” she said, always the one to make things easier for everyone else.

“You don’t have to—” I started, but she was already gathering her things.

“It’s fine, Dad. I like the quiet time to review my notes anyway.”

As Emily headed for the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, I felt that familiar pang of pride mixed with sadness. She never asked for much, never complained, never made waves. Sometimes I wondered if that was because she was naturally easygoing, or because she’d learned early that being the squeaky wheel in our house meant competing with Zoe’s much louder demands.

“Love you, kiddo,” I called after her.

“Love you too, Dad,” she called back, and then she was gone, leaving me alone with Tamara and Zoe.

The dynamic in the room immediately shifted. Without Emily’s calming presence, everything felt more intense, more charged.

“I need money for new makeup,” Zoe announced, scrolling through her phone. “There’s this palette everyone’s talking about, and I literally cannot show my face at school without it.”

I looked at Tamara, waiting for her to address the dramatic exaggeration, but she just nodded sympathetically.

“Of course, honey. Nathan, can you transfer some money to her account?”

This was how it always went. Zoe asked, Tamara agreed, and I paid. Not that I minded supporting my stepdaughter—I’d committed to that when I married her mother. But the constant requests, the casual assumption that money would appear whenever needed, sometimes wore on me.

“How much?” I asked, already reaching for my phone to make the transfer.

“Like, two hundred? The palette is expensive, but it’s an investment in my future. I’m thinking about becoming a makeup artist, you know.”

Last month, Zoe had been thinking about becoming a fashion designer. The month before that, a professional photographer. Her dreams changed as frequently as her hair color, but each new passion required an investment in supplies, classes, or equipment that never seemed to get used once the initial excitement faded.

Still, I transferred the money. I always did.

Later that evening, after Tamara and Zoe had retreated to their respective rooms to watch their shows and scroll their feeds, I found myself in my study, reviewing financial documents. This had become my ritual—the quiet hour after dinner when I could assess our family’s fiscal health without interruption.

Emily’s college fund sat prominently in my bookmarks, a digital monument to eighteen years of sacrifice and planning. Sarah and I had started it before Emily was even born, back when we were young and optimistic and believed that love and careful planning could protect our children from life’s uncertainties.

The balance made me proud: $127,000. Every dollar represented something—overtime worked, vacations foregone, meals cooked at home instead of eaten at restaurants. Sarah had contributed too, picking up extra shifts at the hospital, selling her grandmother’s jewelry when Emily was twelve and needed braces.

Even after Sarah’s death, when medical bills consumed our savings and grief consumed me, I’d kept contributing to Emily’s fund. Some months it was only fifty dollars. During my lean freelance years, sometimes I could only manage twenty-five. But I never missed a month. Not once.

When I married Tamara, I’d opened a similar account for Zoe. It was smaller—we’d only had three years to build it—but it was growing steadily. $23,000 wasn’t enough for four years at a private university, but it would cover community college and leave room for her to transfer to a state school later.

I’d explained this plan to both girls, emphasizing that education was an investment in their futures. Emily had listened with that serious expression she wore when discussing important things. She’d asked thoughtful questions about interest rates and contribution limits, already thinking about how she could add to the fund with her part-time job at the local bookstore.

Zoe had nodded along but seemed more interested in her phone than the conversation. When I’d finished explaining the accounts, she’d asked if she could use some of the money for a spring break trip her junior year. I’d gently explained that the funds were specifically for education, and she’d shrugged and wandered off.

That should have been my first warning sign.

Cracks in the Foundation

The trouble started small, the way trouble usually does. Little comments from Tamara about how Emily’s fund was “getting quite large” and how it “seemed unfair” that one daughter had so much more than the other.

“You’ve been contributing to Emily’s account for eighteen years,” she said one evening as we got ready for bed. “Zoe’s only had three years. The math doesn’t add up to equal opportunity.”

“That’s not how life works, Tam,” I replied, hanging up my shirt. “Emily’s fund started before Zoe was part of our family. I can’t go back in time and change that.”

“But you could balance things out now,” she pressed. “Maybe transfer some from Emily’s account to Zoe’s? Just to make things fair?”

The suggestion hit me wrong, like a musical note played off-key. “That money belongs to Emily. It’s earmarked for her education.”

“Emily’s going to state school,” Tamara said dismissively. “How much does she really need? State tuition is what, fifteen thousand a year? She’s got way more than enough.”

I stared at my wife, trying to understand how she could speak so casually about redistributing my daughter’s future. “It’s not just tuition, Tamara. It’s room and board, books, living expenses. And if she decides to go to graduate school, or if tuition increases, or if she needs extra time to finish her degree—”

“You’re overthinking it,” Tamara interrupted. “Emily’s smart. She’ll figure it out. She always does.”

That phrase—”she’ll figure it out”—became Tamara’s go-to response whenever Emily’s needs came up. Emily needed a new laptop for school? She’ll figure it out. Emily wanted to take an SAT prep course? She’ll figure it out. Emily was working twenty hours a week on top of her full course load just to have spending money? She’ll figure it out.

Meanwhile, Zoe’s wants were treated as necessities. New clothes for each season, monthly salon appointments, the latest iPhone, driving lessons in a BMW because “she needed to learn on a good car.”

I told myself it was just different parenting styles. Tamara was indulgent with Zoe because she was her only child, her baby. I understood that. What I didn’t understand was why that indulgence seemed to come at Emily’s expense.

Three weeks before everything fell apart, Emily came to me with her college acceptance letters. She’d been accepted to State University, her first choice, with a partial academic scholarship.

“I’m so proud of you,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “Your mom would be over the moon.”

Emily’s eyes filled with tears. She still got emotional when we talked about Sarah, even after all these years. “I wish she could see this.”

“She can,” I said firmly. “And she’s proud of you too.”

We spent the evening planning her college experience. Emily had already researched her dorm options, meal plans, and course requirements. She’d calculated that even with her scholarship, she’d need about $80,000 from her college fund to graduate debt-free.

“That leaves plenty for emergencies,” she said, ever practical. “And if I get more scholarships or find a good work-study program, maybe I won’t need it all.”

“Don’t worry about that,” I told her. “That money is there for your education, all of it. You focus on learning and experiencing college life. You only get to be eighteen once.”

What I didn’t know was that Tamara and Zoe had been having their own conversations about Emily’s college fund. What I didn’t know was that they’d already started seeing it not as Emily’s educational nest egg, but as the family’s emergency fund—available to whoever needed it most.

What I didn’t know was that “need” in their minds included a teenage girl’s dream vacation to Australia.

The Discovery

It was a Tuesday morning in late spring when I logged into Emily’s college account for a routine check. The sun was streaming through my office window, and I had my morning coffee in hand. I was feeling good about our family’s financial position, proud of the stability I’d built for both girls.

The number on the screen didn’t make sense at first. I stared at it, blinking, waiting for my brain to process what I was seeing.

$117,000.

That was wrong. It should have been $127,000. I’d checked it just two weeks ago when Emily and I had discussed her college plans.

Ten thousand dollars had vanished.

My first thought was identity theft. Some scammer had gained access to Emily’s account and stolen her college money. My hands shook as I navigated to the transaction history, prepared to call the bank and report the theft.

But the withdrawal was legitimate. It had been made using Emily’s login credentials, with proper authentication. The money had been transferred to an account I didn’t recognize.

My second thought was that Emily had made some terrible mistake. Maybe she’d fallen for a scam, or been pressured by friends into making a bad investment. My daughter was smart, but she was also trusting. Too trusting.

I called her immediately, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Hey, Dad!” Her voice was bright, cheerful, normal. In the background, I could hear her roommate laughing about something. They were making lunch together, living the carefree life that eighteen-year-olds should live.

“Emily, I need to ask you something important,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Did you take money out of your college fund recently?”

The silence that followed was heavy with dread.

“I… no, I didn’t take it,” she said finally, her voice small and shaky. “But I know where it went.”

“Where?” I asked, though part of me was already beginning to understand.

“It was for Zoe,” she whispered. “Tamara said… she said it would be okay. She said you knew about it. She made me promise not to say anything because it was supposed to be a surprise for Zoe’s birthday.”

The world tilted sideways. Tamara had manipulated my daughter into giving away her own college money. She’d lied to Emily, used her trusting nature against her, and made her complicit in her own betrayal.

“Dad?” Emily’s voice was small, scared. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, baby,” I managed to say. “I’m not mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong. I need to go handle this, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, but I could hear the tears in her voice.

After I hung up, I sat in my office chair, staring at the computer screen. Ten thousand dollars. Gone. Not for textbooks or tuition or any educational expense. For what? What could Zoe possibly need that was worth stealing from Emily’s future?

I was about to find out.

I found Tamara in our bedroom, trying on jewelry in front of her vanity mirror. She looked up when I entered, her reflection catching my eye in the glass.

“You’re home early,” she said. “Everything okay?”

“We need to talk,” I said, closing the door behind me.

Something in my tone must have alerted her because she turned around, setting down the necklace she’d been holding.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ten thousand dollars is missing from Emily’s college fund.”

I watched her face carefully, looking for surprise, confusion, anger on Emily’s behalf. Instead, I saw a flash of something that looked like annoyance.

“Oh,” she said. “That.”

“‘That?'” I repeated. “Tamara, that’s my daughter’s college money. Her future. Where is it?”

She stood up, smoothing down her skirt with practiced calm. “It’s for Zoe’s trip to Australia. The Supernatural convention she’s been talking about for months. I thought Emily told you.”

The casual way she said it—like it was the most reasonable thing in the world—made my vision blur with rage.

“You took ten thousand dollars from Emily’s college fund to send your daughter on a vacation?”

“It’s not just a vacation,” Tamara said defensively. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The convention only happens every few years, and Zoe’s favorite actors are going to be there. She’s been dreaming about this since she was thirteen.”

“And that makes it okay to steal from Emily?”

“We didn’t steal anything,” Tamara snapped. “I asked Emily, and she agreed. It’s her money, isn’t it? She has the right to share it with her sister.”

“Zoe is not her sister,” I said, the words coming out harsher than I’d intended. “And you manipulated Emily into giving you access to her account. You lied to her, told her I knew about it.”

Tamara’s face flushed red. “Fine, maybe I bent the truth a little. But Emily has more money than she needs. Way more. She’s going to state school, not Harvard. What’s ten thousand dollars to her?”

“It’s security,” I said. “It’s options. It’s the peace of mind that comes from knowing she won’t have to work herself to death just to pay for textbooks.”

“She’ll be fine,” Tamara said dismissively. “Emily always lands on her feet. She’s resourceful.”

There it was again. That phrase that had been bothering me for months. Emily would figure it out. Emily would be fine. Emily was resourceful. As if my daughter’s ability to handle whatever life threw at her was an excuse to throw more at her.

“What about Zoe’s college fund?” I asked. “Why couldn’t you use that money for her trip?”

“Because she needs that for college,” Tamara said, as if I was being deliberately obtuse. “This is different. This is a cultural experience. An investment in her personal growth.”

The hypocrisy was breathtaking. Zoe’s college fund was sacred, untouchable, reserved for her education. But Emily’s fund was apparently community property, available for whatever whim struck Tamara’s fancy.

“How much is this trip costing?” I asked.

“Well, the flights are expensive because it’s international,” Tamara began, ticking off items on her fingers. “And the hotel, and the convention passes, and the photo ops with the actors. Plus she needs new clothes for the trip, and spending money for souvenirs…”

“How much, Tamara?”

“About fifteen thousand, total.”

I stared at her. “Fifteen thousand dollars? For a seventeen-year-old to go to a fan convention?”

“You make it sound frivolous,” she said defensively. “This is important to her. She’s been planning this for years.”

“Then she should have been saving for years,” I said. “Like Emily did for college. Like any responsible person does for something they want.”

“She’s just a kid—”

“Emily’s just a kid too,” I interrupted. “But somehow she’s mature enough to sacrifice her college fund for Zoe’s vacation, while Zoe isn’t mature enough to save her own money?”

Tamara’s expression hardened. “I don’t like your tone, Nathan.”

“And I don’t like my daughter being stolen from,” I shot back. “This ends now. I want that money returned to Emily’s account immediately.”

“The trip is already booked,” Tamara said. “The money’s been spent.”

“Then unbooking it. Cancel the trip. Get refunds where you can and make up the difference from somewhere else.”

“I will not disappoint my daughter because you’re being unreasonable about money.”

“I’m being unreasonable?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Tamara, you stole from a college fund. You manipulated an eighteen-year-old into betraying her own future. And I’m the one being unreasonable?”

“Nobody stole anything,” she said firmly. “Emily gave permission. It’s her account.”

“Emily is eighteen years old and trusts the adults in her life to guide her well. You took advantage of that trust.”

“She’s legally an adult. She can make her own decisions.”

“Fine,” I said, my voice going cold. “Then Zoe can make her own decisions too. Starting with funding her own college education.”

Tamara’s face went white. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m closing Zoe’s college fund. If your daughter is old enough to spend ten thousand dollars of someone else’s money on a vacation, she’s old enough to figure out how to pay for her own education.”

“You can’t do that,” Tamara whispered.

“Watch me,” I said, and walked out of the room.

The Aftermath

The house became a war zone after that. Tamara oscillated between rage and manipulation, sometimes screaming at me about my cruelty, sometimes crying about how I was destroying our family. Zoe joined in, sobbing dramatically about how I was ruining her life and stealing her dreams.

“I hate you,” she screamed at me one evening when I came home from work. “You’re not my real dad anyway. You can’t control what I do.”

“You’re right,” I said calmly. “I’m not your real dad. Which is why I’m not responsible for paying for your mistakes.”

The words hung in the air between us, sharp and final. Zoe ran upstairs, slamming her door hard enough to rattle the windows.

Emily came home that weekend, her face pale and drawn. She’d lost weight, I noticed, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said the moment she walked through the door. “I’m so sorry. I thought Tamara had talked to you. I thought it was okay.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” I told her, pulling her into a tight hug. “Nothing. You were lied to and manipulated. That’s not your fault.”

“But now everyone’s fighting,” she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “And Zoe can’t go on her trip, and her college fund is gone, and it’s all because of me.”

“No,” I said firmly, holding her away from me so I could look into her eyes. “It’s not because of you. It’s because two people decided that your future was less important than a vacation. That’s on them, not you.”

We sat on the porch swing that evening, the same swing where Sarah used to read Emily bedtime stories when she was small. The wood creaked gently as we rocked, a comforting sound that took me back to simpler times.

“Do you think Mom would be disappointed in me?” Emily asked quietly.

“For what?”

“For giving away the money. For not standing up for myself. For causing all this drama.”

I was quiet for a long moment, choosing my words carefully. “Your mom was the strongest person I ever knew,” I said finally. “But her strength didn’t come from being loud or demanding. It came from being kind, even when people didn’t deserve it. It came from thinking of others before herself. It came from trusting people to do the right thing, even when they let her down.”

Emily was crying now, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.

“You are exactly like her,” I continued. “You’re strong in all the ways that matter. And no, she wouldn’t be disappointed in you. She’d be proud of your kind heart, even if it got you hurt.”

“I miss her,” Emily whispered.

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

Three days later, Tamara’s mother called me at work. Patricia had always been cordial to me, if not warm, but I could hear the disapproval in her voice when she spoke.

“Nathan, I understand there’s been some trouble at home.”

“That’s one way to put it,” I said dryly.

“Tamara tells me you’ve closed Zoe’s college account over some misunderstanding about money.”

“There’s no misunderstanding, Patricia. Your daughter stole ten thousand dollars from Emily’s college fund to pay for Zoe’s vacation. When I asked for it to be returned, I was told the money was already spent.”

“Well, perhaps there’s a solution we can work out,” she said in the tone people use when they’re trying to negotiate with someone they consider unreasonable. “I could loan you the money to replace what was taken from Emily’s account. Would that resolve the situation?”

“It’s not about the money,” I said.

“Of course it’s about the money—”

“No,” I interrupted. “It’s about respect. It’s about honesty. It’s about the fact that your daughter thinks Emily’s future is expendable as long as Zoe gets what she wants.”

“Emily has plenty of money for college,” Patricia said dismissively. “Surely she can spare some for her sister’s opportunities.”

There it was again. Emily has plenty. Emily will be fine. Emily should share. As if my daughter was a resource to be mined rather than a person with her own dreams and needs.

“Emily is not responsible for funding Zoe’s opportunities,” I said firmly. “And Zoe is not entitled to Emily’s money just because she wants something.”

“You’re being very harsh,” Patricia said. “These girls are sisters now. Family should help family.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “Family should help family. Which is why I’ve been contributing to Zoe’s college fund for three years, and why I’ve paid for her orthodontics, her clothing, her phone, her car insurance, and everything else she’s needed. But taking from Emily to give to Zoe isn’t family helping family. It’s favoritism, plain and simple.”

The conversation ended shortly after that, with Patricia making vague threats about how Tamara might “need to reconsider her options” if I didn’t become more reasonable.

I hung up the phone feeling exhausted but resolute. I’d drawn my line in the sand, and I wasn’t going to cross it.

The Choice

That evening, I found Tamara packing a suitcase in our bedroom. She moved with sharp, angry motions, throwing clothes into the bag without bothering to fold them.

“Going somewhere?” I asked.

“My mother’s,” she said without looking up. “I need some space to think.”

“About what?”

“About whether this marriage is worth saving,” she said, finally meeting my eyes. “About whether I want to stay married to a man who cares more about money than family.”

“If that’s how you see this situation, then maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe this marriage isn’t worth saving.”

She stopped packing, clearly not expecting that response. “You’d really choose Emily over our family?”

“Emily is my family,” I said. “She’s been my family for eighteen years. And any woman I marry needs to understand that she comes first. Always.”

“What about Zoe? What about me?”

“I love you, Tamara. I love Zoe too. But love doesn’t mean letting you hurt Emily to benefit yourselves. Love doesn’t mean standing by while you teach Zoe that she’s entitled to whatever she wants, regardless of who gets hurt in the process.”

“I never hurt Emily—”

“You stole her college money,” I said flatly. “You manipulated her into betraying her own interests. You made her feel guilty for having something that you wanted to give to someone else. How is that not hurting her?”

Tamara zipped up her suitcase with violent force. “Fine. Have it your way. Choose your precious daughter over your wife. But don’t expect me to stick around and watch you destroy Zoe’s future out of spite.”

“I’m not destroying anything out of spite,” I said. “I’m teaching consequences. Zoe made a choice to spend money that wasn’t hers. Now she gets to learn what that choice costs.”

“She’s seventeen years old!”

“Emily was five when her mother died,” I replied. “She learned early that life isn’t fair and that nobody owes you anything. Maybe it’s time Zoe learned the same lesson.”

Tamara left that night, taking Zoe with her. The house felt strange without them, too quiet and too empty. But it also felt peaceful in a way it hadn’t in years.

Emily came home from her friend’s house the next morning, finding me making breakfast for one.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

“Gone,” I said simply. “Probably for good.”

I expected her to cry, or to blame herself, or to beg me to fix things. Instead, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen island.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I looked at my daughter, really looked at her, and realized something had changed. The hesitant, apologetic girl who’d been tiptoeing through our house for five years was gone. In her place was a young woman who looked tired but resolute.

“I think I am,” I said honestly. “Are you?”

“I think so too,” she said. “It’s been really stressful, you know? Always feeling like I had to be careful not to take up too much space, not to need too much, not to make anyone jealous of what I had.”

“You never should have had to feel that way.”

“I know that now,” she said. “But I didn’t then. I thought that was just the price of having a blended family.”

We ate breakfast together in comfortable silence, the morning sun streaming through windows that suddenly seemed brighter without Tamara’s heavy curtains blocking the light.

Six months later, Emily started her freshman year at State University. I drove her to campus myself, helping her move into her dorm room and meeting her roommate’s parents. As we said goodbye, she hugged me tighter than usual.

“Thank you,” she whispered in my ear.

“For what?”

“For choosing me,” she said. “For protecting my future. For showing me that I’m worth fighting for.”

I watched her walk toward her dorm, backpack slung over her shoulder, ready to start the next chapter of her life. The girl who used to apologize for existing had grown into a young woman who knew her own worth.

Tamara and I divorced quietly six months after she moved out. She never apologized for taking Emily’s money, never acknowledged that what she’d done was wrong. In her mind, I’d chosen money over family, principle over love. She couldn’t understand that sometimes protecting the people you love requires making hard choices that hurt in the short term.

Zoe never did get to go to Australia. The deposits were non-refundable, and without access to Emily’s college fund or my financial support, Tamara couldn’t afford to pay for the trip. Zoe blamed me for ruining her dreams, and maybe she was right. But sometimes dreams built on other people’s sacrifices aren’t dreams worth having.

I still sit on the porch swing in the evenings, especially when the weather is nice. Sometimes Emily calls while I’m sitting there, telling me about her classes and her friends and her plans for the future. Her grades are excellent, and she’s found a work-study job that she loves. She’s thriving in the environment I fought to preserve for her.

People have asked me if I regret my choices. If I wish I’d handled things differently. If I think I was too harsh with Zoe and Tamara.

The answer is no.

Some people call what I did playing favorites. They say I should have found a way to make everyone happy, to keep the family together, to be fair to both girls.

But fairness isn’t always about equal distribution. Sometimes it’s about protecting the person who can’t protect themselves. Sometimes it’s about standing up to bullies, even when those bullies are people you love. Sometimes it’s about teaching hard lessons about respect and consequences and the price of betrayal.

Emily never asked for more than what she was given. She never demanded equal treatment or special consideration. She simply trusted that the adults in her life would keep their promises and protect her interests.

I kept that promise. I protected those interests. And if that makes me the villain in Tamara and Zoe’s story, I can live with that.

Because in Emily’s story, I’m the hero. And that’s the story that matters most to me.

Some people might call that playing favorites.

I call it being a father.