The Letter With Sharp Edges

Isla’s POV

As the sun streamed through sheer white curtains, Sophie stirred beside me, curled into my side like a kitten. Her breathing was light, and peaceful. For a moment, I simply watched her sleep. Then I remembered the envelope waiting for me in my bag.

I slipped out of bed carefully, my feet cold against the hardwood floor. Liz had left a note on the kitchen counter, she had an early breakfast meeting and would be back around noon. The place smelled like vanilla and lemon. Clean, occupied and loved.

I made Sophie a bowl of oatmeal, then opened my bag and pulled out the envelope. Cream-colored. Heavy. My name scrawled in calligraphy. The official court seal stamped in red. My fingers trembled. I sank into the kitchen chair, slowly peeling the flap open. Words stared up at me, clinical and cruel:

“In the matter of custody: Nathaniel Blake hereby files for full custody of minor child, Sophie Blake, on grounds of financial instability, unsafe housing, and lack of sufficient support environment…” I could not read past that. My vision blurred. My hands clenched into fists over the edges of the paper. The nerve. The audacity.

Unsafe environment? Sophie slept with me every night, her tiny fingers curled around mine. Financial instability? As if they had not watched me build my world around their whims for five years. As if they had not reduced me to a ghost.

My heart pounded. Rage rose like heat from deep within my chest, mingling with something even worse...doubt. He had money. A big house. His mother. Viola. All the things a court might think a child needed.

And me? I had a handful of coins, borrowed clothes, and a daughter who deserved so much more than I could give her. The kettle hissed behind me. I did not notice. Until a tiny voice asked, “Mummy? Why are you sad?”

I looked up. Sophie stood there in her pajamas, holding her plush giraffe by the leg. Her hair stuck up like a halo. I wiped at my face quickly. I had not realized I was crying. “I’m not sad, baby. Just… thinking.”

She climbed into my lap without hesitation. Her little hands cradled my face, and she squinted at me seriously. “Don’t be sad. I’ll give you my cookie today.” I let out a watery laugh. “You will?” She nodded. “The one with the chocolate on both sides. You can have it.” I kissed her forehead. “You’re too kind to me.” Sophie leaned into me and whispered, “Because you’re my best mummy.”

I held her close. Just breathing. Just being. And in that moment, I knew: I would not let him take her. Not because I hated Nathaniel. Not even because of revenge. But because Sophie deserved a mother who would fight for her.

After I bathed her and tucked her onto the couch with a cartoon playing softly, I picked up my phone and called Lia. “Hello?” she answered breathlessly. “I need a job,” I said. There was a pause. “Isla…”

“I’m serious,” I said. “I’ll do anything. Sales. Cleaning. Warehouse stocking. I don’t care what it is. I just… I need something. I need to prove I can provide for Sophie.” Lia sighed. “I’ll help you. But Isla, promise me something.” “What?” “Don’t just survive. Fight. If not for yourself, then for your daughter. Promise me.”

I closed my eyes. “I promise.” That night, I lay awake beside Sophie, the court papers tucked under my pillow like a blade I had to sleep with. But for the first time, I was not afraid of bleeding. Tomorrow, I would rise and begin the uphill climb. He wanted a war? I would d give him one.