Chapter 112 Those who Dare
Margaret watched them both as they celebrated, a soft smile tugging at her lips. Hugo tried to compose himself, keeping a steady expression, but Sophie was all over the place, laughing, jumping, and radiating a joy that made Margaret's chest tighten in a way she hadn't expected. She was glad. Glad that she could finally stand aside and let Sophie choose her own happiness.
And yet, as she observed them, a strange wave of sadness washed over her. Memories she had long tried to bury resurfaced unbidden. She remembered how she had been forced by her father to marry Jonathan. Back then, she had been in love with Carlos, a man who had been everything she had wanted in a partner: commanding, confident, strong-willed, and unafraid to challenge her.
She had cried, begged, and pleaded with her mother to speak to her father, to intervene, to help her find a way to be with Carlos. But her pleas had been ignored. Her father had the power to offer her younger sister to Jonathan in her place, yet he had chosen to enforce his will without question. And her mother, her own mother, had not lifted a finger. She had simply watched, silent and unmoving, as her life was reshaped according to someone else's design.
She had been the scapegoat, used to save her family. Her father had told her explicitly that if she refused to marry Jonathan, she would no longer be his child. Those words had cut deeper than any physical wound, leaving a scar that never fully healed. And just like that, her life had been decided for her, married to Jonathan, not for love, but for duty.
The memory of Carlos still haunted her. The day before her wedding, he had called, pleading with her not to go through with it. His voice had been desperate, filled with hope and love. But she knew she had no choice. Her family came first, always. With a heavy heart, she had deleted his number and blocked him, erasing even the smallest thread of possibility. That night, she had cried uncontrollably, letting her grief pour out in the solitude of her room, mourning a future that would never be hers.
Now, sitting quietly and watching Sophie and Hugo, Margaret allowed herself a rare moment of reflection. She wondered how different her life would have been if she had married Carlos. Perhaps she wouldn't have lived as extravagantly as she did now, but maybe she would have been truly happy. She wouldn't have carried the weight of the pain and sadness that came from the sacrifices she had made, and the quiet guilt that lingered in her heart for the way she had neglected Ethan, even unintentionally.
Though she had eventually fallen in love with Jonathan, life had been cruelly short. He had died far too young, leaving her with a grief so heavy it threatened to crush her. The pain of losing him was compounded by the guilt she carried, guilt for her perceived failures, for the times she had neglected Ethan, for the moments she hadn't been able to protect him or truly be there for him.
Since Jonathan's death, Margaret had never fully opened her heart to love again. She had built walls, not out of indifference, but out of a deep-seated understanding that the love she truly longed for, the unconditional, unshakable love that could fill the void, had always been and would always be from Ethan. Every relationship she had tried to nurture after Jonathan had faltered, not because of lack of desire, but because her heart remained tethered to the child she had struggled to guide, protect, and understand.
Even now, as she watched Sophie and Hugo, a pang of sadness lingered beneath the warmth she felt for her daughter. Margaret knew she could love again, in a different way, but the pure, consuming love she had once wanted, and still wanted, was reserved for her son, and that truth had shaped every choice she had made since.
Margarete watched them celebrate, their laughter echoing through the quiet house, Sophie's eyes bright with joy as Hugo held her hand. It was a beautiful sight, one that filled her with warmth and a faint ache she couldn't quite name. For a moment, she almost let herself forget the complications that shadowed such happiness. Almost.
"Hugo," she said softly, her voice gentle yet firm enough to still the laughter in the room. "You know my words can't finalize this."
He turned toward her, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
"Ethan," she continued, "plays a very important role in Sophie's life."
Hugo didn't argue. He knew that better than anyone. Ethan Sinclair's opinion wasn't something one brushed aside. His approval, or lack of it, could easily decide the course of things. Hugo had seen the way Sophie's world seemed to tilt around her brother's presence, the quiet authority he carried even when he said nothing at all.
Still, there was something in Margarete's tone that made him pause.
She drew in a slow breath, as though choosing her words carefully. "What I mean is... legally, he's still her guardian, not me."
Hugo froze. For a moment, he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.
"When Ethan turned twenty," Margarete went on, her gaze soft but distant, "he filed for legal guardianship of Sophie. I was still alive then, and it sounded absurd, almost impossible, even, but he was determined. He said since his father was gone, someone had to take responsibility for Sophie, and that person had to be him."
A faint, almost rueful smile touched her lips. "He didn't believe I had the capacity to do it. And perhaps, in his own way, he was right. I didn't argue with him; I just signed the papers with a straight face and let him do what he felt was best."
Her voice softened as she looked at Sophie again, radiant in her moment of joy. "That's why, Hugo, before you dream too far ahead... remember that Sophie isn't entirely mine to give. You'll have to face Ethan first."
The room fell quiet, the earlier laughter fading into a stillness that spoke volumes. Hugo said nothing, but in his silence lay understanding, the kind that didn't need words.
Sophie, on the other hand, wasn't having it. She frowned, her brows knitting slightly as she looked between them.
"Oh, come on," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's not that deep. I can marry without Ethan's consent."
The room went still for a heartbeat, then both Margarete and Hugo burst into laughter. It wasn't mocking, but genuine, the kind of laughter that carried a blend of disbelief and helpless affection.
Sophie blinked, startled by their reaction. "What? Why are you both laughing?"
Margarete pressed a hand to her chest, still trying to catch her breath. "Sweetheart," she said between soft chuckles, "you have no idea how 'deep' it really is."
Hugo shook his head, amusement flickering across his face, though beneath it was something else, something closer to awe. He had always known Ethan's influence was strong, but hearing Margarete's words earlier, and now seeing Sophie's obliviousness to it, only deepened his respect for the quiet power that man held.
Sophie looked from one to the other, confusion clouding her expression. To her, Ethan was just... Ethan. Her sweet, overprotective brother who still called her "kiddo," who bought her flowers when she was sad, who scolded her gently but never harshly. She couldn't imagine him as a legal authority over her life, it sounded absurd.
But for Margarete and Hugo, it wasn't absurd at all. It was reality, one that carried weight Sophie had yet to understand.