That night, I cried alone in the bathroom, pressing a towel to my mouth to hide the sound. But Lily heard me anyway. She always did.
One night, she climbed into my arms and whispered, “Mommy, don’t cry. Daddy is… confused.”
Her words startled me. “Why do you think that?”
She hesitated before answering, “I just know.”
I assumed she was trying to comfort me, so I kissed her forehead and let it go.
I shouldn’t have.
The custody battle began almost immediately, and it was brutal. Mark’s lawyer pushed aggressively for full custody, claiming I was unstable, overly emotional, and financially unreliable. None of it was true. Meanwhile, Mark—who barely called or visited Lily—was presented as the more stable parent.
I couldn’t understand it.
My lawyer, Margaret, warned me early on. “Something isn’t right. He’s planning something. Stay calm—we’ll handle it.”
Still, the strain began to show—especially in Lily. She grew quieter, withdrawn. The laughter, the dancing, the little stories she used to tell every day slowly disappeared. It felt like I was losing her piece by piece.
