But when winter came — when it was freezing outside and those late-night runs kept happening — something in me shifted.
It wasn’t jealousy.
It wasn’t suspicion at first.
It was instinct.
And I ignored it.
Because I wanted to be the “secure” mom. The reasonable one. The one who trusted her husband.
For years, it had just been my daughter Vivian and me. Her biological father drifted in and out when she was little, leaving behind broken promises and confusion. When he disappeared for good, I made myself a quiet promise:
She will never feel unstable again.
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