Rebellious foster daughter

My husband, Michael, traveled a lot for work. The day-to-day parenting fell on me.

But this… this needed both of us.

I glanced at Emily’s closed door, grabbed my coat, and headed downstairs.

In the empty courtyard, I called him.

"When can you wrap things up? You need to come home."

"Hold on." The background noise faded. "What’s wrong? Miss me?" His voice warmed. "I miss you and Em."

I took a breath. "Emily’s pregnant. I don’t know how. I don’t know how to ask her."

"Don’t confront her!" His panic was immediate. "Wait for me. I’ll get the next flight."

His fear oddly calmed me. "It’s okay. I’ve got it under control."

He adored Emily. He’d be on the first plane home.

I waited on a cold bench, thinking, until his taxi pulled up hours later.

He looked wrecked. "How did this happen? How could you let this happen?"

The accusation stung. "You’re the one who said she needed space! That she was growing up! And she’s always been so good, how was I supposed to—"

"Just stop." He cut me off. "Let’s go upstairs."

We walked in heavy silence.

Emily’s door was still shut. We heard her murmuring inside.

Michael knocked. "Em? Daddy’s home. Come see what I brought you."

"In a minute!" she snapped.

We waited. Finally, the door swung open.

She looked at him with sheer annoyance. "What are you doing back?"

He searched her face. "Sweetheart, is there something you need to tell us?"

I saw his fists clench and unclench.

She brushed past us, flopping onto the sofa. "So? Where’s my present?"

I noticed it then: a hint of mascara, a swipe of peachy gloss. Why was she made up? Was she planning to video chat with her "true love"?

Michael was silent, struggling.

"What?" Emily snapped. "You’re spying on me now? I’m 18! I’m entitled to a private life! Do I need to report every breath I take?"

Michael handed her a gift box. "For you, princess."

She glanced at the conservative dress inside and scoffed. "Dad, I stopped wearing this stuff, like, two years ago."

She then rifled through his unpacked suitcase without permission.

I moved to stop her, but Michael held my arm.

She pulled out a Chanel perfume set—clearly meant for me—and sprayed it on her wrist.

"This is more like it."

Michael forced a smile. "Great minds, kiddo. That *was* for you."

Emily shrugged. "Thanks, I guess."

He tried asking about school. She gave one-word answers, deflecting every attempt to steer the conversation.

As she fake-yawned and headed for her room, my control snapped.

"Emily, are you pregnant?"

She whirled around, face pale with fury. "You went through my phone?! That’s a massive invasion of privacy!"

She assumed I’d snooped. She had no idea her public posts had betrayed her.

Her venomous stare was a physical blow. Was this the girl I’d raised?

My ears rang. Michael finally found his voice. "Emily! Don’t you dare speak to your mother like that!"

Her eyes blazed. "Why not? It’s true! You don’t own me! I’m keeping this baby! If you try to make me get rid of it, I’ll kill myself!"

Michael gasped, speechless. So was I.

With a triumphant smirk, Emily stormed back to her room and slammed the door.