When I came home to find my seven-year-old sobbing, I never imagined the reason: my fiancé had dumped every toy she owned into the trash because they were from my ex. But as I confronted him, I realized the real threat wasn’t to her toys… it was to our freedom.
Three years ago, my marriage fell apart, but honestly? It wasn’t the disaster you might expect.
Mark and I didn’t work out as a couple, but we made a great team co-parenting Ember.
He showed up every other weekend like clockwork, cheered from the bleachers at her soccer games, and still surprised her with those “just because” gifts that made her face light up.
Our world felt stable.
Divorce doesn’t have to mean destruction, you know?
Then, Stan walked into our lives a year ago.
I met him at the grocery store, of all places.
Ember had knocked over a display of soup cans, and while I scrambled to stack them back up, this guy appeared beside us, making jokes about “soup avalanches” until my daughter giggled instead of crying.
…The story doesn’t end here, it continues on the next page 👇
