I’m pregnant by a married man with 3 kids. He promised to leave his wife of 20 years. Last night, I got a call from her. She wanted to meet. I agreed. She brought their kids with her. And, to my shock, her daughter said ‘Are you the reason my daddy doesn’t come home anymore?’
Her voice was small. Just a child. Maybe eleven. Brown curls. Big, hurt eyes. I couldn’t even speak.
I felt my throat close. All the confidence, all the dreams I’d built in my head about a life with him, crumbled in that second.
He told me he and his wife were “basically separated.” That they slept in different rooms. That the marriage had been dead for years.
But those kids didn’t look like they came from a dead marriage. They looked like they had a family—until I stepped in.
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