A month after adopting Jennifer, she looked up at me with wide, solemn eyes and whispered, “Mommy, don’t trust Daddy.” Her words froze me. What could Richard be hiding?
Jennifer was still so new to our family—small, quiet, and watchful. Her shy smile gave me hope, but her caution around Richard raised questions. After years of trying, she was finally with us.
Richard was over the moon, constantly gazing at her with love. “She’s perfect,” he’d say, his voice filled with wonder.
We’d worked hard to reach this point: doctors’ visits, paperwork, and emotional rollercoasters. When we first met Jennifer, I knew she was meant to be our daughter, even at just four years old.
One evening, we took Jennifer out for ice cream. She clung to my side, her hand tightly gripping mine as Richard cheerfully offered her options. She finally whispered, “Vanilla.”
At bedtime, Jennifer clung to me, her voice trembling as she whispered, “Don’t trust Daddy.” I froze. “Why?” I asked.
“He talks funny. Like he’s hiding something.”
I tried to reassure her, but unease settled in my chest. That night, I watched Richard’s smile waver as he asked, “She’s doing okay, right?” I nodded, but Jennifer’s words lingered.
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