“Because Mom said you didn’t want us anymore. That you only care about the baby.”
My chest tightens. “That’s not true. I never stopped loving either of you. She’s the one who pushed me away.”
We spend the morning together. I make pancakes—whipped cream and strawberries, just like the old days. I watch them devour the stack, laughing and arguing over who gets the last piece. It feels like a tiny piece of peace has returned.
But I know this can’t last in secret. I can’t keep two kids in my house without their mother knowing forever. And I won’t let her keep poisoning them with lies either.
So I do what I always told my son I’d never do—I call him.
When he picks up, he sounds tired. “Hey, Mom.”
“Where are you?”
“At work. Why?”
“I have Zach and Lily here. They’re safe, but they don’t feel safe at home.”
Silence.
“I mean, your wife is verbally abusive to them. Zach said she called Lily a leftover.”
Continue reading…
