Remarrying My Brother-in-law

Callie’s POV

That night, Sophie’s silence had teeth.

She barely touched her dinner. Pushed the food around with her fork like it had offended her.

I watched her, careful not to prod too soon.

“You want something else?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“Did something happen at school?”

“No.”

“Are you sure—?”

“I said no.” Her chair scraped against the floor as she stood up, plate in hand. She dumped the food in the trash and walked past me like I wasn’t there.

The bang of her bedroom door followed. Sharp, final.

I counted to ten, and gave her space.

Then I followed.

I knocked lightly. “Sophie?”

No answer.

I pushed the door open. She was sitting on the floor, her back to the wall, arms crossed, face stormy. Her backpack was open beside her, notebooks and pencils scattered like she’d thrown them.

“Soph, talk to me.”

“Why?” she snapped.

“Because I’m trying to understand. I want to help you.”

“I don’t want your help!”

She stood suddenly, breathing hard like the words cost her something.

“I don’t want you. I never did!”

Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop.

“I hate this house. I hate how quiet it is. I hate how everyone pretends like everything’s okay when it’s not!”

I took a step forward. “Sophie—”

“You’re not her!” she screamed.

My heart sank.

“I never said I was.”

“You don’t have to say it!” she shouted. “You wear her necklace. You sit in her chair. You sleep in her bed. You act like this is your life, but it’s not! It’s hers!”

My mouth opened, but I had nothing. Nothing that would make this easier.

She stormed across the room, yanked open the small wooden jewelry box on her desk. She pulled out the ruby bracelet—delicate, antique, the one my father gave me when I turned eighteen. The one I thought she admired that’s why I gave it to her.

“I gave that to you,” I said gently. “Because you always asked to try it on. You said it made you feel grown up.”

Her fingers gripped it hard.

“Liar,” she whispered.

“Sophie, don’t—”

Before I could finish, she raised her arm and slammed the bracelet down on the edge of her desk.

The snap echoed.

Red stones scattered across the floor like broken teeth. The chain hung in her hand, snapped, useless.

I froze.

Something inside me twisted, not because of the bracelet—but because she looked proud of what she’d done.

She wanted to hurt me.

And for the first time, she had.

I crouched slowly, gathering the pieces. One by one. The metal was bent. The clasp is gone. The biggest ruby rolled under her bed. I didn’t reach for it.

“I know I’m not your mother,” I said quietly. “But I have never once stopped showing up for you.”

“Good for you,” she muttered, arms crossed again.

I stood.

“My father gave me that bracelet,” I said, voice calm, flat. “It’s one of the last things I have from him.”

“Too bad,” she said, not looking at me.

It stung more than it should have.

I stepped toward the door.

“You can be angry,” I said, back to her. “But you don’t get to destroy everything and expect nothing to break back.”

She didn’t respond.

I closed the door behind me.

Later that night, I sat on the stairs, holding the broken bracelet in my hand, pressing the sharp edge of the chain between my fingers like it could keep me grounded.

The house was too quiet again.

Upstairs, Sophie’s light was still on. She hadn’t come down. Marcus wasn’t home yet, probably caught in another surgery or sleeping in the on-call room to avoid all this.

When the front door finally opened after midnight, I didn’t look up right away.

I heard him pause, see me on the stairs.

“What are you doing up?”

“Thinking.”

He stepped inside, set his bag down gently, like he didn’t want to wake something.

“She broke it,” I said after a beat, holding out the bracelet.

He took it from me, brows tightening.

“The bracelet my dad gave me.”

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure what to say. Then: “Why?”

“She’s angry,” I said.

He nodded slowly, jaw tight. “She’s still a kid.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean she gets to treat people like trash.”

That came out sharper than I meant.

He handed the bracelet back. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Don’t.”

He blinked. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not about the bracelet.”

He was quiet.

“She doesn’t hate me,” I said. “Not really. She hates that I’m still here.”

Marcus looked tired. But underneath it, I saw something else. Guilt maybe. Or fear. Or both.

“I made a promise,” I said, meeting his eyes. “To Isabelle. To you. To her. I’ve tried to hold this family together, Marcus, but it’s falling apart anyway.”

He sat on the bottom step beside me, careful to leave space between us.

“What do you want from me, Callie?” he asked.

I wanted to say everything.

But I just shook my head.

“I want a break.”