Two years after my wife’s passing, I remarried, hoping to rebuild my family.
But when my 5-year-old daughter whispered, “Daddy, new mom is different when you’re gone,” I was stunned.
Strange noises from a locked attic, strict rules, and Sophie’s fear spark a chilling mystery I can’t ignore.
I never thought I’d find love again after losing Sarah.
The way grief hollowed out my chest made breathing feel like an optional activity for months.
But then Amelia walked into my life, all warm smiles and gentle patience, and somehow she made the world feel lighter.
Not just for me, but for Sophie too. My five-year-old daughter took to her immediately, which felt like a miracle considering how rough the past two years had been.
The first time Sophie met Amelia at the park, my daughter had been reluctant to leave the swing set.
“Just five more minutes, Daddy,” she’d pleaded, her little legs pumping higher and higher.
Then Amelia had walked up, her sundress catching the late afternoon light, and said something that changed everything: “You know, I bet you could touch the clouds if you went just a little bit higher.”
Sophie’s eyes had lit up like stars. “Really?”
“Well, that’s what I always believed when I was your age,” Amelia had replied with a wink. “Would you like me to push you?”
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