At first, I thought it was adorable—Sophie, my fiancé’s seven-year-old daughter, waking up before sunrise to make breakfast and clean the house. But as the days passed, I realized something wasn’t right. No child should be that obsessed with chores.
Every morning, I’d find her standing on a stool, carefully flipping pancakes or wiping down counters. She’d even learned to brew coffee perfectly. David, her dad, thought it was sweet. “Look at our little homemaker!” he’d say, ruffling her hair. But the way her face lit up at his praise made my stomach twist.
One day, after she nearly burned herself reaching for a hot pan, I sat her down. “Sophie, you don’t have to do all this,” I said gently. “You’re just a kid. You should be playing, not scrubbing floors.”
Her smile faltered. “But… I want to.”
There was fear in her eyes—something deeper than just wanting to help. Finally, she whispered, “Daddy said if a woman doesn’t cook and clean, no one will love her.”
My blood ran cold.
That night, I made David do every chore I could think of—laundry, dishes, even scrubbing the bathroom. When he finally asked why, I told him what Sophie had said. His face went pale.
The next day, he sat her down and apologized. “I love you no matter what,” he told her. “You don’t have to earn it.”
Now, Sophie sleeps in. And David? He’s learned that love isn’t conditional—and neither is parenthood.
