Synopsis-
Crayons & Capital is a heartwarming romance about Emma Sinclair, a spirited kindergarten teacher, and Nathan Prescott, a Wall Street billionaire suddenly thrust into guardianship of his young niece. When their worlds collide at drop-off and pick-up, sparks fly between glitter glue and business suits. As Nathan learns the beauty of slowing down and Emma discovers love in the most unexpected place, they’ll both realize that sometimes the richest lives are built with crayons, not capital.
Chapter 1: Circle Time and Stock Tickers
Emma Sinclair adjusted the cuffs of her cardigan, already smudged with a faint line of purple paint, and took a deep breath of crayon-scented air. The classroom buzzed with the gentle chaos of twenty kindergartners bustling with energy, their voices lifting into singalongs as they clustered around a pile of picture books and building blocks. The room was a kaleidoscope of color—paper butterflies dangling from the ceiling, star charts taped to the walls, and a tower of mismatched lunchboxes waiting to be claimed.
She knelt beside Sophie Prescott, a bright-eyed five-year-old with chestnut curls that refused to stay tied. “How’s your butterfly, sweetheart?”
“It’s not flying yet,” Sophie said with a small frown, holding up a cut-out with glue dripping from one wing. “Maybe it’s sad.”
Emma smiled, brushing a gluey curl from the girl’s forehead. “Maybe it just needs a little extra sparkle.”
A burst of giggles erupted behind her as Max and Leo tried balancing foam blocks on their heads. Emma rose and swept across the room to gently redirect them, her presence calm and steady—a lighthouse in a sea of tiny tempests.
Meanwhile, high above the clamor of the city in a corner office wrapped in steel and glass, Nathan Prescott’s world was silent, save for the ticking of a designer watch and the occasional ping of his assistant’s alerts. The stock market surged across one screen, legal briefs scrolled on another. His voice, low and clipped, cut through the Bluetooth headset as he finalized a merger worth more than most people made in a lifetime.
“Tell them the acquisition terms are non-negotiable,” he said. “If they want our money, they play by our rules.”
He ended the call, expression impassive, the skyline stretching beyond him like a kingdom he ruled by numbers and nerves of steel. Emotion had no place here. There were deadlines, metrics, margins. Always margins.
But the next call made his jaw tighten.
“Mr. Prescott,” his assistant said softly. “Your sister’s in the hospital. It’s serious. You’ve been listed as Sophie’s emergency contact.”
His heart didn’t drop—he didn’t let it—but his spine straightened with something that felt dangerously close to panic.
“Where is she now?”
“She’s at Manhattan Mercy. Alone.”
It took him less than twenty minutes to reroute his entire day and arrive at the hospital. Sophie sat in the waiting room, curled in a too-big chair, clutching a stuffed bunny that had clearly seen better days. When she spotted him, her eyes lit up—relief, recognition, and something that pierced right through his carefully built defenses.
“Nathan!”
He crouched beside her awkwardly, unsure if he should hug her or pat her shoulder. “Hey, munchkin. You okay?”
She nodded, then launched into his arms.
That night, the silence in his penthouse was interrupted by the tiny voice asking for a glass of water, the fear of unfamiliar shadows, and the sobs of a little girl missing her mother. Nathan, bleary-eyed and utterly unequipped, sat beside her until she fell asleep.
By morning, he was on the phone with his assistant again.
“Find me the best kindergarten in Manhattan. Today.”
When Emma opened the classroom door the next morning, she wasn’t expecting to see a tall man in an immaculate navy suit standing stiffly by the cubbies, holding a little girl’s hand like it was a foreign object. The other parents gave him a wide berth—he looked like he belonged in a boardroom, not a school hallway decorated with macaroni art.
Their eyes met.
“Emma Sinclair?” he asked.
“Yes?” she said cautiously.
“I’m Nathan Prescott. Sophie’s uncle. She’ll be in your class now.” His tone was polite but detached, like he was delivering a briefing, not entrusting his niece to someone who spent her mornings reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar.
Emma crouched to greet Sophie first, heart warming at the child’s shy smile. Then she looked up at Nathan. He was impossibly put-together, commanding, cool. Everything about him screamed control.
But his eyes—his eyes held exhaustion. And something else.
“I’m glad Sophie’s here,” Emma said gently. “She’ll be just fine with us.”
Nathan didn’t answer right away. He glanced back at his niece, who was now walking hesitantly toward a girl offering her a crayon.
“Right,” he said finally. “I’ll be back at three. Sharp.”
And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving behind a trail of cologne, tension, and the faintest tremor of a world about to change.
Chapter 2: The Suit at the School Gate
Emma was wiping glitter off her jeans when she noticed him again—standing stiffly outside the school gate like a marble statue dropped into a garden. Nathan Prescott. Still in his sharp navy suit, still holding his phone like it was welded to his palm, and still looking like he had somewhere infinitely more important to be.
The other parents chatted, laughed, waved at their children. Nathan didn’t move, didn’t smile, didn’t even blink until the classroom door opened and Sophie came bounding out, her backpack slung lopsided and her artwork flapping in the wind.
“Nathan!” she called.
He crouched, catching her in an embrace that was half-hug, half-catch. There was genuine warmth in the way he held her—a sharp contrast to the hard angles of his expression moments before.
Emma stepped outside with a clipboard in hand, making her way through the pickup chaos. “Mr. Prescott,” she greeted, her voice even but kind.
He glanced up, distracted. “Emma, was it?”
“Yes,” she confirmed. “I just wanted to check in about Sophie. First days can be overwhelming.”
“She said she liked it,” he replied, not looking at her, his gaze flitting back to the phone screen. “No issues, right?”
Emma tilted her head slightly. “None. But it’s not just about issues. It’s about connection, adjustment. She’s very bright—but quiet. Withdrawn. She didn’t eat much at lunch.”
Nathan frowned. “She told me she was fine.”
“She probably didn’t want to worry you,” Emma said gently.
He finally looked up then—really looked at her. His eyes were steel-gray, intelligent and guarded. “You’re saying she’s not fine?”
“I’m saying she could use consistency. Patience. Time,” Emma replied. “And it helps when the grown-ups around her are on the same page.”
There was a pause—one of those charged silences where two people tested the other’s boundaries without quite knowing they were doing it. Nathan didn’t back down, but something in his posture shifted. A softening, maybe.
“She’s never been away from her mother before,” he admitted, low. “This… isn’t exactly my wheelhouse.”
Emma gave a small nod. “She’s a child, not a quarterly report. But she doesn’t need perfection. She just needs presence.”
Nathan blinked, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him.
Sophie tugged on his sleeve. “Can we go now? I made you a picture.”
Emma watched him take the construction paper from her hands. It was crumpled, streaked with marker lines that vaguely resembled a tall man and a small girl holding hands. She saw it—the flicker of something behind his eyes. Something dangerously close to emotion.
He folded the drawing with delicate care and slipped it into his briefcase.
“Thank you,” he said to Emma, and it almost sounded like he meant it.
She smiled. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
As Nathan and Sophie walked off, his hand resting a little more securely on her shoulder, Emma turned back toward her classroom. She didn’t know much about Wall Street titans, but she knew people. And Nathan Prescott? He wasn’t made of stone.
He was just scared. And trying.
And whether he liked it or not, this kindergarten was about to teach him a thing or two.
Chapter 3: Glitter and Guardianship
Nathan’s morning began with a spilled cup of black coffee and a trail of crushed cereal leading from Sophie’s room to the kitchen. He stared down at the mess in his thousand-dollar loafers, clutching the instructions Emma had given him the day before: Snack. Water bottle. Extra clothes in case of accidents.
Accidents?
Sophie sat at the counter swinging her legs, her ponytail crooked and her shirt on backward.
“Did you brush your teeth?” he asked.
She nodded, her mouth full of toast. “Sorta.”
He sighed and crouched to tie her shoelaces, the way-too-small task feeling like an insurmountable challenge. It had been three days since he’d become her guardian, and every morning felt like navigating a minefield in the dark—tiny clothes, invisible routines, emotions with no roadmap.
By the time they arrived at the school gate—ten minutes late—Nathan looked like he’d run a marathon through a craft store. Glitter clung to his suit from Sophie’s lunchbox, and there was a faint smudge of orange juice on his cuff. He barely noticed.
Emma noticed.
She opened the door with her usual calm grace, crouching immediately to greet Sophie. “Good morning, sweet pea. We’re making story hats today!”
Sophie lit up. “Mine’s gonna have dragons!”
“Of course it is,” Emma said with a wink. She glanced up at Nathan. “Rough morning?”
He cleared his throat. “Define ‘rough.’”
Emma smiled softly and held out her hand. “You forgot her extra clothes.”
Nathan blinked. “Right. The bag. It’s… somewhere. Possibly in the car. Or on the kitchen floor.”
“We’ll manage,” Emma said kindly, taking Sophie’s hand. “You’re not the first overwhelmed uncle we’ve had.”
He didn’t reply, but he lingered longer than usual, watching as Sophie melted into the group of children already gathered around a circle of construction paper. Emma knelt beside them, helping a little boy with safety scissors while Sophie babbled excitedly about dragons and castles.
Later that afternoon, when he returned—miraculously on time—Emma met him at the door again, holding a plastic bag with Sophie’s paint-streaked clothes inside.
“We had a little accident during art,” she said gently. “Nothing serious. Just a bit too much enthusiasm with the green paint.”
Nathan looked down at the bag, unsure what to say.
Emma stepped aside so Sophie could come barreling toward him, holding up a sparkly crown made of cardboard and glue. “Look, Nathan! I made you a business hat!”
He took it, baffled, as glitter rained down his arm. “What… does it do?”
“It makes you smile,” Sophie said proudly.
Nathan chuckled—a rare, unguarded sound that caught even him by surprise.
As they turned to leave, Emma called out, “You’re doing better than you think.”
He paused, glancing back at her. “I don’t feel like it.”
“You don’t have to feel like it. Just keep showing up.”
That night, Nathan stood over Sophie’s bed, crown in one hand, watching her sleep. The city blinked beyond the windows, but inside his penthouse, it was quiet. Messy. Imperfect.
And maybe—for the first time in a long while—exactly where he was supposed to be.
Chapter 4: Late Fees and Laughter
Emma juggled a bag of library books, a half-empty coffee cup, and her ever-present tote as she rushed out of the school office. Rain clung to the air like static, the sky low and gray over the city. She was already late for her staff meeting at the community center, and the last thing she needed was for her car to…
Click.
She froze. Tried again.
Nothing.
Emma groaned and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. The old Corolla had been with her since college, and its stubbornness was legendary. But today? Today it had chosen betrayal.
Behind her, a low voice spoke. “Car trouble?”
She turned sharply and found herself face-to-face with Nathan Prescott, holding Sophie’s sparkly dragon artwork in one hand and a crisp umbrella in the other. He looked as impeccable as ever—dark coat, sleek tie, an air of quiet impatience hanging around him like a cologne.
Emma straightened. “Just a little hiccup. It’ll start in a minute.”
Nathan gave the car a skeptical glance. “You know I could have that replaced by the time you finish your next story circle.”
“I like my car,” Emma said with a hint of defensiveness. “It has character.”
“It’s making that character difficult to get across town,” he replied dryly. “Where are you headed?”
She hesitated. “Community center, ten blocks east.”
“I’ll drive you,” he said simply.
Emma blinked. “You’ll what?”
“Drive you. I assume you can’t fly.”
For a moment, she considered refusing out of pure principle. But the clouds rumbled ominously, and her to-do list was already fraying at the edges. “Fine. But only because the sky’s threatening mutiny.”
The ride in Nathan’s black luxury SUV was—at first—awkward. Smooth jazz hummed through the speakers. He drove with focused precision, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally adjusting the air temperature by a degree or two.
Emma stared out the window until he spoke.
“Sophie told me you used to be a dancer.”
She turned, surprised. “Ballet. Years ago. Before teaching.”
He glanced at her. “Why the change?”
Emma shrugged. “An injury. But more than that, I found something else I loved. The classroom gave me a new rhythm.”
Nathan was quiet for a beat. “You’re very good with her.”
“With Sophie?”
“With… people.”
She smiled faintly. “And you’re better with Sophie than you give yourself credit for.”
He gave a short laugh. “I doubt that.”
“She smiles when she sees you,” Emma said. “That’s half the battle.”
They pulled up to the center. Emma opened the door, then paused, turning back to him. “Thank you for the ride. And the unsolicited car judgment.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Anytime you want a reliable engine, let me know.”
She stepped out, the wind catching her coat. “Some of us don’t need horsepower to feel powerful.”
Nathan watched her disappear into the building, her laughter trailing behind her like sunlight cutting through the storm.
He didn’t know what it was about her—her easy warmth, her unshakeable calm—but every conversation left him thinking longer than he meant to. Wondering more than he should.
And smiling without even realizing it.
Chapter 5: Pajamas and Portfolio Reviews
Emma adjusted the cartoon cloud headband on her forehead and surveyed the colorful chaos that was Pajama Day. Tiny slippers padded across the classroom tiles, fleece onesies zipped up to chins, and bedtime stories were being read with dramatic flair on beanbags in every corner. The scent of warm cocoa lingered in the air, blending with crayon wax and Elmer’s glue.
The only thing missing?
One very overdressed guardian.
At precisely 9:00 a.m., the classroom door creaked open—and in walked Nathan Prescott.
He was still in his tailored suit, but with one noticeable—and deeply reluctant—exception: an oversized plaid robe draped over his shoulders, clearly borrowed last minute, likely from Sophie’s school bag. His tie remained, his hair was perfectly combed, and he looked like a corporate executive trapped in a bedtime-themed hostage situation.
Emma tried—tried—not to laugh.
“Nice robe,” she said as she walked up to him.
“It was this or unicorn slippers,” Nathan replied, deadpan. “Apparently, I didn’t read the memo.”
“You read it,” she teased. “You just didn’t believe it.”
He sighed, casting a glance across the room at Sophie, who was waving excitedly, wearing dinosaur pajamas and a matching headband. “She insisted.”
“And you showed up,” Emma said softly, impressed. “That means something.”
Nathan looked at her, brow furrowing like he hadn’t considered that.
Soon, the class gathered for story time. Emma passed him a worn copy of Goodnight Moon, and to her surprise, Nathan took the seat beside Sophie on the carpet without hesitation—well, minimal hesitation. The children settled around him, wide-eyed, legs crossed.
He opened the book stiffly and cleared his throat. “In the great green room…”
His voice was calm, steady, but flat—as if he were reading a quarterly earnings report. A few kids fidgeted. Sophie leaned into his side, whispering, “Do the voices!”
Nathan looked at Emma, clearly panicked. She gave him an encouraging nod.
He took a breath. Tried again. “There was a telephone,” he said, then deepened his voice dramatically, “and a red balloon…”
The kids giggled.
“Goodnight moon!” he announced with theatrical flair.
A round of applause broke out as he finished, and Emma clapped along, genuinely moved. Not by the performance—it was clumsy and awkward—but by the effort. He could’ve easily opted out, stood in the back with his arms crossed. But instead, Nathan Prescott had sat down on a rug, read a bedtime book to twenty pajama-clad five-year-olds, and committed to the bit.
As the children returned to their crafts, Emma approached him with two mugs of lukewarm cocoa. “Well done, Mr. Prescott. I’m afraid we may need you back for ‘Crazy Hat Day.’”
He groaned. “Is that a real thing?”
“You have no idea,” she grinned.
They sat on the edge of the play area, watching Sophie draw a portrait of the two of them holding hands under a moon. Emma glanced sideways at Nathan, who looked… softer. More human.
“I’m starting to wonder if this was your plan all along,” he said suddenly.
“What was?”
“To slowly lure me into chaos with hot chocolate and construction paper.”
Emma smirked. “Would it be working?”
He paused, then smiled—really smiled. “Maybe.”
And just like that, the man with the billion-dollar portfolio became something entirely unexpected in that moment:
A dad in a plaid robe who read picture books badly—but tried anyway.
Chapter 6: Coffee and Crayons
The soft hum of early morning traffic filtered through the classroom windows as Emma carefully adjusted the bulletin board, aligning each piece of artwork with obsessive precision. She was almost done with the fall decorations—leaves in various shades of orange and brown, pumpkins drawn in chunky crayon strokes, and a heartfelt “Thank You” banner from the children. Each piece made her heart swell with pride, and yet, as always, there was a part of her that felt like it wasn’t quite enough.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn’t even need to look at the screen to know it was him.
Nathan.
She hesitated before answering, smoothing her cardigan and glancing around to make sure no one was waiting for her attention. It was still a few minutes before the morning bell, and she had a brief window of peace.
“Good morning,” she said, trying to keep the professional tone intact, though she was secretly wondering why he always called so early.
“I’ve got a meeting at ten, and I was wondering…” His voice faltered, just a little. “Sophie left her lunchbox in my car.”
Emma’s heart gave a little jump. Of course, Sophie’s lunchbox was with Nathan. Of course. He hadn’t been by to pick it up in person yet, and of course, Sophie had left it somewhere important.
“No problem,” she said, trying to suppress the chuckle threatening to escape. “I’ll grab it after drop-off. No rush.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end, an unusual hesitation that piqued her curiosity. Then, in a tone that was almost… tentative, Nathan spoke again.
“Would you like to grab coffee? I’ll be in the area afterward. It’s just a couple of blocks.”
Emma blinked, taken aback. She had never expected the stoic Wall Street billionaire to suggest coffee—certainly not in the middle of a busy weekday morning. She glanced at the clock on the wall. She had time, but still…
“Coffee?” she repeated, as if to make sure she hadn’t misheard.
“Yeah, nothing fancy. Just to talk about… things. You know. Sophie, the school. Whatever.”
A casual suggestion, but there was something in his voice that made it feel like more. Something quieter. Vulnerable, even.
“Okay,” she said before her mind could second-guess the decision. “Meet me at the café across from the park?”
“Sure. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
Fifteen minutes later, Emma walked into the cozy corner café, where the scent of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the warmth of pastries and the chatter of early risers. She spotted Nathan immediately, sitting at a table near the window, his suit jacket discarded but his tie still neatly in place, a stark contrast to the casual café atmosphere.
She walked over, feeling the weight of his presence even before he looked up. When he did, there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes—followed by something softer, less guarded.
“Morning,” he greeted her, his voice warmer than she expected.
“Morning,” she replied, taking the seat across from him. “I figured you’d be more of a take-your-coffee-to-go kind of guy.”
Nathan smiled—genuinely this time, with a hint of mischief. “You’d be surprised. There’s something about the smell of coffee that makes it harder to rush.”
He ordered them both a cappuccino before she could even suggest it, and Emma raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re an espresso man, aren’t you?”
“I’m learning,” he said simply, sipping from the mug like it was the most natural thing in the world. There was something different about him here—calmer, almost lighter. Maybe it was the way he wasn’t glued to his phone, or the way his shoulders were no longer as tense.
“So,” Emma began, stirring her coffee slowly, “how’s Sophie adjusting to her new routine?”
Nathan set his cup down, considering her question for a long moment. “Better than I thought,” he admitted. “She’s… resilient. But I can tell she misses her mom. She mentioned her again this morning.”
Emma nodded sympathetically, her eyes softening. “It’s going to take time. But kids bounce back quickly when they know they’re loved.”
“I know that,” Nathan replied, his voice lower now, a tinge of frustration creeping in. “I just… wish I knew how to give her more than that. She’s all I have left of my sister.”
Emma’s heart gave a tight, sympathetic squeeze. She wanted to reach across the table, offer comfort, but the distance between them was still too wide. So, instead, she gave him the most honest answer she could.
“Love is more than enough. But she’s not the only one you need to worry about, Nathan. You can’t pour from an empty cup.”
Nathan looked at her, a flicker of something in his gaze—a recognition. Then, just as quickly, the moment passed.
“You’re right,” he said, though the words seemed foreign on his tongue. He took another sip, thoughtful. “I’m not used to having someone else to think about. Or… someone else to rely on.”
“That’s okay,” Emma said gently. “You’re not alone in this, Nathan. You have Sophie. And you have the ability to give her what she needs. You just have to allow yourself the space to learn how.”
For the first time, Nathan smiled again—not with his usual guarded formality, but with something lighter, less rehearsed. Something that might, just might, be the start of something new.
As they sat there, surrounded by the hum of the café, the world outside faded just a little. Emma couldn’t help but feel, in that moment, that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the beginning of a simple coffee date. It was the beginning of something more.
Chapter 7: Wall Street Meets Play Dough
Emma had never seen so many sequins in one place.
She stood in front of her modest closet, biting her lip as she held up the only dress she owned that remotely qualified as “fancy”—a navy blue number with capped sleeves and a subtle shimmer. It had been buried behind her winter coats for years, a relic of a friend’s wedding she’d barely remembered attending. But tonight wasn’t about weddings. It was about Nathan Prescott, who had invited her—her—to a benefit gala.
She wasn’t entirely sure why she said yes. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was gratitude. Or maybe it was the way his voice had softened when he’d asked, like he didn’t invite people often, and asking her had cost him something he wasn’t used to giving.
“Consider it a thank-you,” he’d said. “For everything you’ve done for Sophie.”
And now here she was, smoothing her hair into soft waves, adjusting her heels, and trying not to feel like she’d stepped into someone else’s life.
The event was held at a glass-wrapped art museum near Central Park, its interior gleaming with chandeliers and guests dressed in sleek black and glittering gold. Nathan was already there when she arrived, standing by a long marble bar with a glass of champagne in hand. When he turned and saw her, something in his expression shifted.
For a man used to quarterly projections and billion-dollar decisions, he looked momentarily… speechless.
“Emma,” he said finally, stepping toward her. “You look—”
“Like a fish out of water?” she teased, lifting her clutch like a shield.
“I was going to say beautiful,” he said quietly.
That stunned her more than the chandeliers.
She laughed, breaking the tension. “You clean up well too, Mr. Prescott. Though I do miss the glitter crown.”
“Don’t test me,” he said with a smirk. “It’s in the car.”
He offered her his arm, and she took it—cautiously at first, then with more ease as the night unfolded. They weaved through small talk and speeches, him introducing her as “Sophie’s teacher,” which somehow sounded like both a title and a compliment. Emma met CEOs, artists, philanthropists, none of whom seemed to understand her world of snack-time diplomacy and kindergarten tears.
And yet, Nathan stayed by her side.
At dinner, he leaned close to explain a financial joke she didn’t get. She nudged him with her elbow when he almost spilled wine on his cuff. When the music started and couples began to drift to the dance floor, he surprised her again.
“Dance with me?” he asked.
Her heart fluttered. “You don’t strike me as the dancing type.”
“I’m not,” he admitted. “But I’ve done scarier things this month. Glitter glue, for instance.”
Emma laughed, letting him pull her onto the floor. The music was slow, elegant. Nathan’s hand rested gently at her waist, and for once, he didn’t look like the calculating businessman. He looked like a man… present.
They moved in rhythm—clumsy at first, then natural. Emma looked up at him and caught him watching her, his expression open, unguarded.
“You really are different when you’re not buried behind a desk,” she said softly.
He smiled. “You really are dangerous when you smile like that.”
She flushed, pulling back slightly as the music faded. Her heart beat louder than the applause.
“I should go,” she said, the sudden rush of emotion catching her off guard.
Nathan’s brow furrowed. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” she said quickly. “It’s just… this world, your world—it’s not mine.”
He looked at her for a long moment, as if he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure how.
“Maybe,” he said finally. “But tonight, I liked that they collided.”
Emma didn’t reply. Instead, she offered a faint smile, stepped back into the crowd, and disappeared before her heart could betray what she wasn’t ready to admit:
That part of her—maybe the part that still believed in fairy tales—wanted their worlds to collide again.
Chapter 8: The Kiss That Wasn’t
The city sparkled like a jewelry box as Nathan’s town car rolled along the quiet streets. Inside, silence filled the space between him and Emma, thick but not uncomfortable. The gala had ended hours ago, but Emma’s heart was still fluttering from the way Nathan had looked at her on the dance floor. The warmth of his hand at her back, the softness in his eyes that no longer felt like a fluke.
He had insisted on taking her home. And though she had hesitated—again—she had finally said yes.
Now, as the car pulled to a smooth stop in front of her building, Emma turned to face him. The glow of the streetlamp slipped through the tinted window and painted his features in soft gold. He looked tired, but not from work. More like he was carrying something unnamed and heavy.
“Thank you for tonight,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was… surreal.”
He looked at her, and there it was again—that flicker of something vulnerable beneath his cool, controlled surface.
“It was more than that,” he said quietly. “You were… remarkable.”
Emma smiled, nervous and touched. “Even when I nearly knocked over the centerpiece trying to reach the butter?”
“That was a highlight,” he said, lips tugging upward.
She laughed softly, fiddling with the clasp on her clutch. “Well, thank you for letting a kindergarten teacher loose in a room full of billionaires.”
Nathan leaned slightly closer, his voice quieter now, deeper. “You belonged there more than half of them did.”
Emma froze, her eyes meeting his. The words were simple, but the way he said them—like he meant it—melted something carefully guarded inside her. And suddenly, the air shifted.
He was close.
Close enough that she could see the way his lashes caught the light. Close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne—woodsy, clean, and now forever tied to this moment.
His eyes flicked to her lips.
Emma’s breath caught.
It was the kind of pause where time stretches, and every heartbeat feels like it could decide everything. A moment that teeters on the edge of something bold, something irrevocable.
Nathan leaned in—slowly, as if giving her the chance to move, to stop him.
But Emma didn’t move.
Not until the very last second, when doubt rose like a wave inside her.
She turned, ever so slightly, and his lips brushed the edge of her cheek instead.
The kiss that wasn’t.
Nathan lingered, just a breath away, then pulled back slowly. He didn’t look embarrassed. He didn’t even look surprised.
Just… quiet.
“I should go,” Emma murmured, her voice thick.
He nodded once. “Good night, Emma.”
She slipped out of the car, heels clicking on the sidewalk, and didn’t look back until she was at the front door. Nathan was still inside, watching her. When their eyes met one last time, he offered a soft smile—one that asked nothing and said everything.
Emma’s heart twisted as she closed the door behind her.
Because she had wanted that kiss.
She just didn’t know if she was brave enough yet to let herself fall.
Chapter 9: A Niece’s Wish
The next morning began like any other—Sophie chattering over cereal, Emma pouring paint into tiny plastic cups, and the scent of graham crackers lingering in the classroom air. But something felt… different. Softer. As if the tension from the gala had followed her here, lingering just behind her heartbeat.
Emma tried to shake it off. Focus on the kids. On the joy.
But then Sophie tugged at her sleeve.
“Miss Sinclair?”
Emma turned, crouching to Sophie’s level. “Yes, sweetie?”
Sophie’s eyes were big and serious, her pigtails slightly lopsided. She held up a drawing—crayon scribbles of a house, a garden, and three stick figures. One small. One tall. And one with long, brown hair.
“That’s me, and that’s Uncle Nathan,” Sophie explained. “And that’s you.”
Emma blinked. “Me?”
Sophie nodded confidently. “I told Uncle Nathan you should live with us. So you can be my new mommy.”
The world stilled.
Emma’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at the drawing, her heart aching with tenderness and panic all at once.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said gently, brushing a hand over Sophie’s curls, “that’s very sweet of you. But… families are a little more complicated than that.”
Sophie frowned. “But you love me. And you love Uncle Nathan. I can tell.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Sophie, that’s—”
“You smile different when he comes to school,” Sophie interrupted with the blunt honesty only children could deliver. “You smile like my mommy used to when she looked at my daddy.”
Emma swallowed hard. “Sometimes people care about each other very much, but they’re still figuring things out.”
Sophie looked unconvinced, but nodded solemnly and skipped off to her coloring table, leaving Emma frozen in place with a heart full of emotion she didn’t know how to name.
Later that afternoon, Nathan arrived for pickup. He looked a little more rumpled than usual, his collar slightly askew, his tie loosened like he hadn’t had time—or energy—to fix it.
Emma stepped out to meet him.
“Hey,” he said, eyes scanning her face like he could tell something was off. “Everything okay?”
She nodded, then hesitated. “Sophie… said something today.”
Nathan raised an eyebrow.
“She told me she thinks I should move in. Be her new mom.”
Nathan went still. His expression didn’t crack, but his jaw tensed, and the color in his eyes deepened.
“She said that?”
Emma nodded. “She’s five. She doesn’t understand boundaries the way we do. But I think she’s hoping this—what we’re all doing—is more permanent than maybe it is.”
Nathan looked down, exhaled slowly. “She asked me the same thing last night.”
Emma’s heart skipped. “And what did you say?”
“I told her families come in all kinds of shapes,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But I didn’t know how to explain what we are.”
They stood there for a long moment, the sound of children laughing and car engines humming all around them, but their little world felt oddly still.
“I care about her,” Emma said softly. “I care about you.”
Nathan met her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
“But I need to know this isn’t just about Sophie. That this isn’t just… convenience.”
Nathan didn’t answer immediately. He seemed torn—between his instincts and the new emotion taking root in him. The part of him that didn’t want to need anyone, and the part that already did.
“I don’t know what this is yet,” he admitted. “But I know it’s real. And I know I’m scared of it.”
Emma’s throat tightened.
“Me too,” she whispered.
Then Sophie burst through the door, holding up her glitter-covered drawing like it was the final say in the matter.
Emma took it gently, her fingers brushing Nathan’s as she did.
No answers yet. Just a promise neither of them dared speak aloud.
But something had shifted—and there would be no turning back.
Chapter 10: Detention of the Heart
Emma stood frozen in the teacher’s lounge, the paper cup of coffee in her hand forgotten as she stared out the window. Her mind replayed Sophie’s drawing, her innocent wish, and Nathan’s careful words from the day before. Everything felt uncertain, fragile—like they were dancing on the edge of something real, but neither of them knew the next step.
The door creaked open behind her.
“Emma?”
She turned to find her colleague, Mrs. Alvarez, stepping in with a sympathetic smile.
“There’s someone asking for you at the front desk,” she said. “Tall. Expensive shoes. Looks like he belongs on the cover of a finance magazine.”
Emma’s pulse leapt—but when she reached the front office, it wasn’t Nathan.
It was her.
A statuesque woman with gleaming black hair, crimson lipstick, and a coat that probably cost more than Emma’s monthly rent. She stood with a practiced grace, a designer handbag draped effortlessly over one arm.
“You must be Miss Sinclair,” the woman said coolly.
Emma blinked. “Yes. Can I help you?”
“I’m Celeste Vaughn. Nathan’s former fiancée.”
The words hit like a slap.
“I—sorry, what?”
Celeste offered a smile sharp enough to cut glass. “I wanted to meet the woman who’s become so involved in Sophie’s life. And apparently Nathan’s. You’ve done quite a job charming them both.”
Emma swallowed, her voice barely steady. “I’m not sure this is an appropriate place—”
Celeste cut her off with a dismissive wave. “Relax, darling. I’m not here to start drama. Just to say: Nathan has a pattern. He clings to control. To people who make him feel like a hero. Then he moves on.”
Emma bristled. “I think Sophie’s well-being is more important than your history with Nathan.”
“Oh, I agree. Which is why I’m here. You seem kind. Sweet, even. But Nathan doesn’t do sweet. He does strategic.”
With one last icy smile, Celeste turned on her heel and walked out, heels clicking like punctuation marks on the polished tile.
Emma stood motionless, shaken to her core.
That evening, the feeling only worsened.
She arrived at the staff meeting to find a printout in her mailbox—an announcement. The board of education was considering closing several public schools due to funding cuts. On the list: Brookdale Elementary.
Her school.
Her home.
The reason? A new real estate development deal swallowing up the block. Her eyes scanned the paperwork, and her stomach dropped as she recognized the name of the firm involved.
Prescott Holdings.
Emma staggered back like she’d been slapped a second time.
She drove home in a daze, the city lights blurring around her. That name, that decision—it couldn’t be a coincidence.
And yet… Nathan hadn’t said a word.
Not at pickup. Not during their coffee. Not when Sophie handed her drawings of a family they hadn’t become yet.
He knew.
And he’d said nothing.
The next morning, Emma waited outside the school with her arms crossed tightly against her chest. When Nathan arrived—punctual, polished, unsuspecting—she barely let him say a word.
“You’re closing our school?”
He froze. “What?”
“Prescott Holdings,” she snapped. “You’re buying up the entire block. That includes Brookdale. My classroom. Sophie’s classroom. Were you planning to tell me at some point—or just bulldoze our future with one of your cold, strategic deals?”
Nathan looked genuinely stunned. “Emma, I didn’t know—”
“Don’t,” she said, backing away. “Don’t lie to me. I’m not someone you can manipulate with coffee and a dance.”
“Emma, this wasn’t about you—”
She blinked hard. “That’s exactly the problem.”
He reached for her, but she stepped back. For the first time, Sophie wasn’t watching. There was no glitter, no drawing to soften the blow.
Just truth.
Raw and painful.
“You made me believe this was real,” she said. “But maybe Celeste was right. Maybe I was just a convenient phase.”
Nathan’s face paled, but he didn’t defend himself.
He didn’t say anything at all.
And that silence hurt more than anything else.
As Emma turned away, she didn’t see him watching her go—his hands clenched, his heart pounding, and for the first time in years, no idea how to fix what he had just broken.
Chapter 11: The Apology Jar
Emma sat alone at her classroom desk long after dismissal, the soft glow of the overhead lights casting warm shadows across the crayon-splattered rug. Outside, the sun was beginning to dip below the skyline, brushing the tops of buildings with a golden hue. The school was quiet, the hum of children long faded, replaced by the ache of betrayal still lodged in her chest.
She couldn’t concentrate. Her lesson plans sat untouched, and the bright bulletin board across the room—once a source of joy—felt like a mockery of everything she was trying to hold together. Nathan’s silence after their confrontation played on repeat in her mind. It wasn’t just the business deal—it was the fact that he hadn’t told her. Hadn’t trusted her.
So when a soft knock came at the door, her heart jumped.
She looked up—and saw Sophie.
And Nathan.
Standing in the doorway, Sophie’s tiny hand curled around a jar filled with bright strips of folded paper. Glitter stickers covered the lid, and inside, the papers shimmered in pinks and purples and golds.
Emma rose slowly. “Sophie, sweetheart, what—?”
“It’s an apology jar,” Sophie announced, stepping inside. “I made it with Miss Alvarez.”
Emma blinked, kneeling to her level. “An apology jar?”
Sophie nodded seriously. “When someone makes you sad, they have to say sorry lots of ways. So I wrote down all the reasons why you make people smile. Uncle Nathan helped me write them.”
Emma’s heart squeezed so tightly it hurt.
Sophie placed the jar in her hands. “I wrote the first one. It says, ‘Miss Sinclair makes hugs feel like home.’”
Emma’s eyes welled with tears.
And then Nathan stepped forward. Gone was the confident, polished man in control. He looked raw, uncertain. His voice, when it came, was quiet—aching.
“I didn’t know about the deal,” he said. “Not until you told me. Prescott Holdings has so many branches, I—” He stopped, shaking his head. “That’s not an excuse. I should have checked. Should’ve paid attention.”
Emma said nothing, just traced her fingers over the jar’s lid.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Nathan continued, his voice faltering. “You were right. I let my walls get in the way of what we were building. What I was beginning to feel.”
He glanced at Sophie, who was now sitting cross-legged on the rug, humming to herself while drawing a heart with markers on scrap paper.
“I never expected this,” he said softly. “You, her, all of it. I’ve lived my entire life behind numbers and deals and deadlines. But none of that prepared me for what it feels like to care. To want to show up for someone. And I didn’t know how.”
Emma looked at him then, her eyes full of a dozen emotions—hurt, longing, hope.
“Nathan,” she whispered, “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I just needed you to see me. To see what matters.”
“I do,” he said. “Now more than ever.”
He stepped closer. “I’ve paused the development. I’ve pulled my name from the deal. If saving this school is what it takes to make things right, I’ll do it. Not because I owe you, but because I believe in what you’re building here.”
Emma’s eyes dropped to the apology jar again.
She picked one folded strip at random and opened it.
“Miss Sinclair gives the best smiles when she’s tired but still happy.”
A laugh broke through her tears.
When she looked up, Nathan was watching her with a tenderness that made her knees weak.
“You’re trying,” she said.
“I am,” he replied. “And I don’t want to stop.”
Sophie looked up and beamed. “Can we go get pizza now?”
Emma laughed again, wiping her eyes. “Only if we eat it with glitter on our fingers.”
Nathan extended a hand—tentative, hopeful.
Emma took it. Not as forgiveness, not as a finish line.
But as a beginning.
One filled with paper hearts, crayon confessions, and the slow, quiet work of building something real.
Chapter 12: Christmas in the Classroom
Snowflakes danced lazily outside the classroom windows, blurring the city in a soft white hush. Inside, Brookdale Elementary glowed with the magic only December could bring—string lights twinkling across bookshelves, construction paper snowmen grinning from the walls, and the faint scent of gingerbread and hot cocoa wrapping everything in warmth.
Emma moved through the room like a snowflake herself—light, calm, and quietly radiant in her candy-cane-striped scarf. She arranged tiny chairs into a semi-circle, set out cups of marshmallow-topped cocoa, and checked the playlist one last time before the families arrived.
It was the school’s annual Holiday Celebration—part concert, part craft fair, part controlled chaos. And this year, Emma had gone all out.
Still, as she smoothed her skirt and stole a glance at the door, her heart beat with nervous energy.
She hadn’t seen Nathan since the apology jar.
They’d exchanged texts—short, warm, cautious. A shared photo of Sophie’s new snow boots. A “thank you” after he anonymously donated art supplies for the classroom. But tonight? Tonight he’d said he’d come.
And she wasn’t sure if that made her excited… or terrified.
The door creaked open, and Emma turned just as Sophie barreled in, wearing a fuzzy red dress and a headband with reindeer antlers.
“Miss Sinclair!” she shrieked joyfully, throwing herself into a hug.
Emma laughed, hugging her tight. “Merry almost-Christmas, sweet pea!”
Then she looked up—and saw him.
Nathan stood just inside the doorway, dressed down in a charcoal sweater and black coat dusted with snow. No tie. No briefcase. Just… him.
His eyes found hers and didn’t waver.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
Emma’s breath hitched.
“Merry Christmas,” she replied, trying not to stare too long.
Nathan stepped further inside, glancing around at the mess of glitter, pipe cleaners, and excited children. “Is this… controlled chaos?”
“Loosely,” she said with a smile. “Come on. You’re on cocoa duty.”
“Is there a manual?”
“There’s a ladle. That’s all you get.”
She handed him a Santa apron that read I Came for the Cookies in glitter glue. He stared at it like it was a hostile foreign document.
Emma grinned. “Welcome to my world, Mr. Prescott.”
He tied it on without argument.
And then… something shifted.
He handed out cocoa with the patience of a man learning a new language. He taped construction paper trees to walls. He knelt beside Sophie to help her tie a jingle bell to a popsicle stick. He even helped Emma lead a group of children in an off-key rendition of “Jingle Bells” that ended in a burst of applause and laughter.
For the first time in months, Emma saw him not as the man trying to fit into their world—but as someone who already belonged in it.
Later, after the last parent had waved goodbye and the final crumbs had been swept from the floor, Emma and Nathan stood by the windows, the classroom bathed in soft golden light.
Sophie had fallen asleep in a beanbag chair, her reindeer antlers askew and her hand still clutching a candy cane.
Nathan turned to Emma, his voice low and quiet in the hush of the room. “She loves it here. You gave her something I never could.”
Emma looked at him, her heart thudding. “All I did was give her space to be herself.”
“And me?”
Her breath caught.
“I don’t know what this is yet,” she whispered, echoing his words from days before. “But I know it’s real. And I know I want it.”
Nathan stepped closer, his hand gently brushing hers.
“You once told me love isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence.”
She looked up into his eyes. “And you showed up.”
He leaned in, slowly—giving her time to pull away.
She didn’t.
Their lips met in a soft, quiet kiss that felt more like a promise than a question. A moment wrapped in snowflakes and the scent of peppermint, full of warmth, full of grace.
When they pulled apart, neither of them spoke.
They didn’t have to.
Because in a room filled with crayons, cocoa, and the slow rhythm of sleeping breaths, Emma Sinclair and Nathan Prescott had finally found what they were both searching for—
Something real. Something lasting.
Something like love.
Chapter 13: Love Isn’t a Liability
The city buzzed with post-holiday energy, but inside Nathan Prescott’s penthouse, the world had slowed.
Gone were the endless calls, the late-night strategy sessions, the obsessive scroll through stock tickers. The sleek, sterile corners of his apartment had begun to change—Sophie’s storybooks now lived on the coffee table, her mismatched socks showed up in odd places, and a crayon masterpiece hung on the fridge, held up by a magnet that said Believe.
Nathan stood at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled, apron dusted with flour, staring suspiciously at a lopsided gingerbread house. Sophie’s handiwork. Well, mostly. He’d tried.
Emma had stopped by earlier to drop off a holiday card and a tin of homemade snickerdoodles. Her scarf had still smelled faintly of cinnamon and pine, and when she smiled at him in the doorway, he’d nearly asked her to stay.
But he hadn’t. Not yet.
Because Nathan Prescott—man of logic and ledgers—was still wrestling with something foreign, something that defied every formula he knew.
Love.
Not the kind that fit inside a business contract or a calculated risk. This was the kind that unraveled you. That asked for vulnerability. For presence. For change.
And that terrified him.
At school, Emma was feeling that change too.
Her classroom was still her haven—children laughing over puzzles, glue sticking to every surface, the steady beat of her voice guiding them through story time and subtraction. But ever since Christmas night, a quiet shift had taken root in her.
She caught herself checking her phone too often. Rereading his messages. Replaying the feel of his kiss.
And with it came the question she wasn’t sure how to answer: What happens next?
The answer came unexpectedly one crisp afternoon.
Emma was walking home, cheeks pink from the cold, when a car pulled up beside her.
Nathan stepped out, dressed in a soft wool coat, no tie, no briefcase—just a man with something on his mind.
“I didn’t want to wait,” he said simply.
Emma blinked. “Wait for what?”
He pulled something from his pocket—a folded paper Sophie had drawn. It was another crayon portrait: the three of them holding hands under a sky full of stars, hearts floating above their heads.
“She asked me if we were a real family,” he said. “And I didn’t know how to answer. But now I do.”
Emma’s breath caught.
Nathan stepped closer, his voice low and sure. “I’ve been trained to believe that emotions are liabilities. That needing someone is a weakness. But you… you’ve taught me something else.”
He looked into her eyes, and this time, there was no armor.
“You’ve taught me that love isn’t a liability—it’s the investment I never knew I needed to make.”
Emma felt the tears before they even fell, warm against the chill in the air.
Nathan took her hands, strong and certain. “I’m not perfect. But I’m here. I’m learning. I’m all in.”
Emma laughed softly through her tears. “You do realize you just used investment language to confess your feelings?”
Nathan smiled. “Old habits.”
She leaned in and kissed him, slow and tender, right there on the snowy sidewalk.
“I’m all in too,” she whispered.
As they stood there—crayons, capital, and courage finally intertwined—Emma realized something:
This wasn’t just the beginning of a love story.
It was the beginning of a life worth building, one imperfect step at a time.
Chapter 14: Crayons and Capital
Emma stared at the email on her screen, her heart pounding in her chest. It was from the prestigious Halbridge Academy—an elite private school known for its advanced curriculum, towering library, and lush campus tucked away on the Upper East Side. The subject line read:
“Formal Offer: Kindergarten Lead Educator Position”
She blinked once. Then again. It was real.
She’d applied months ago on a whim, never expecting to hear back. But now, here it was: a dream offer. Higher salary. Better resources. Opportunities for advancement. Prestige.
But it wasn’t Brookdale.
Wasn’t her kids with sticky fingers and crooked smiles. Wasn’t the hallway filled with macaroni art or the bulletin board she changed every season. It wasn’t where she met Sophie. Wasn’t where Nathan first walked in, awkward and cold, and slowly let the walls fall.
Still, she couldn’t ignore the pull. Her whole life she’d been trying to prove herself—to show that being “just” a kindergarten teacher was anything but small. This offer felt like the universe finally acknowledging that.
And yet… her hand hovered, unable to hit “Reply.”
Nathan knocked on her door that evening, his coat dusted with snow, Sophie beside him in a purple beanie with glittery pom-poms.
“Hi,” Emma said, surprised. “What’s the occasion?”
Nathan looked sheepish. “Sophie wanted to drop off something.”
Sophie held up a painting—three stick figures standing in front of Brookdale Elementary. One had curly hair. One wore a business suit. One had a long brown ponytail and a giant smile.
Emma crouched to take it, blinking back sudden tears.
Nathan cleared his throat. “And I wanted to talk.”
He stepped inside, pulling a small folder from his coat. “I know about the Halbridge offer.”
Emma’s head snapped up. “How—?”
“My assistant forwarded it. She thought I’d want to know, since… well, since we’re part of each other’s lives now.”
Emma folded her arms, bracing. “So what? You came to convince me not to take it?”
“No,” he said gently. “I came to make sure you could stay—if you wanted to.”
He opened the folder, revealing donation documents, legal paperwork, and architectural renderings.
“I’ve set up a charitable trust,” he said. “It’s funding Brookdale’s operations for the next five years—renovations, supplies, salaries. Your job will be safe. The kids will be safe.”
Emma stared, speechless.
“I didn’t do this for you,” he added, his voice rough. “I did it because this school changes lives. It changed mine. And Sophie’s.”
“But why… now?” she whispered.
Nathan stepped closer. “Because love doesn’t ask you to give up your world—it meets you in it. I didn’t want to be the reason you left. I wanted to be the reason you stayed.”
Emma felt tears spill down her cheeks as the words sank in. He wasn’t asking her to choose between love and purpose.
He was choosing with her.
She flung her arms around him, burying her face in his coat, and he held her with quiet fierceness. Sophie joined in a second later, her small arms wrapping around both of them.
Crayons and capital.
Glitter and grit.
Love and legacy.
Emma didn’t need the Halbridge job to prove her worth. She had everything she ever wanted—right here, in the classroom she built with her own two hands… and in the hearts of the family she never expected to find.
And this time, she wasn’t letting go.
Chapter 15: Happily Ever After, Kindergarten Style
The final day of the school year arrived with sunshine streaming through the windows and the sweet, bittersweet scent of goodbye hanging in the air. The classroom was a flurry of laughter, paper crowns, and last-day-of-school excitement. Emma moved between children with soft encouragement and warm hugs, her heart full and full-to-bursting.
Each child hugged her like she was magic. Their parents thanked her with tearful smiles and handmade cards. And when it was Sophie’s turn to receive her kindergarten diploma—decorated in glitter and misspelled love—Emma fought back tears.
Nathan sat in the front row, arms crossed but face soft. He wasn’t checking his phone. He wasn’t thinking about numbers. He was watching Sophie. Watching Emma. Watching the life they’d built—without even realizing they were building it.
When the ceremony ended, Emma helped Sophie gather her things, carefully tucking her paper crown into her backpack. The classroom was nearly empty when Nathan stepped inside, holding a small gift bag and wearing the kind of quiet smile that meant something more was coming.
“I didn’t want to do this in front of a crowd,” he said.
Emma raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”
Nathan handed her the gift bag. Inside was a single item: a hand-drawn card, obviously made by Sophie, splattered in every color of the rainbow. It read:
“Will you be part of our forever?”
Emma looked up, eyes wide.
Then Nathan knelt on one knee—not with a ring, not with grand declarations, but with sincerity written across every line of his face.
“I know we’re not the most traditional kind of family,” he said. “But you make us whole. You’ve given Sophie a world full of joy, and you’ve given me something I didn’t think I’d ever deserve—a chance to love someone who sees me… and stays.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small velvet box—not a ring, but a locket.
Inside were two tiny pictures: one of Sophie, laughing, and one of Emma, taken when she wasn’t looking, sunlight in her hair, crayons in her hand.
“I want you with us. Every day. Every moment. Move in with us. Build this life—together.”
Emma blinked back tears, a shaky laugh escaping her. “Is this your version of a proposal?”
“Would it help if I wore a glitter crown?”
She burst out laughing, already nodding. “Yes. To everything. Yes.”
Sophie ran in just in time to wrap her arms around both of them. “Are we a real family now?”
Emma kissed her forehead. “The realest kind.”
As the three of them stood in the classroom—surrounded by forgotten glue sticks, construction paper butterflies, and years of memories waiting to be made—Emma knew that life would never be perfect.
But it would be full.
Full of messes. Full of learning. Full of laughter.
And full of love that grew, not despite their differences, but because of them.
Their happily ever after began with a cardboard crown, a spilled coffee, and a little girl who saw something the adults hadn’t figured out yet:
That sometimes, family is exactly who you choose—paper hearts, Wall Street suits, and all.
THE END
