Three years after my husband Charles passed away in a tragic workplace accident, the world still felt like a quiet echo. I made it through each day for one reason—our daughter, Maggie. At just six years old, she became my guiding light. Her giggles softened the weight of grief, but nothing truly filled the space Charles had left behind.
Then came Jacob. He had a peaceful way about him, the kind of person who truly listened. Maggie adored him, and for the first time in years, I began to believe in the possibility of love again. We got married two months ago in a simple ceremony on a peaceful farm. Ducks waddled by the pond, and sunlight danced on the water—it felt like a new beginning.
One night, as I tucked Maggie in, she held her favorite stuffed bunny and asked, “Mommy, is it okay if someone tells me to keep a secret from you?”
I paused. “You can always tell me anything,” I said gently.
She hesitated. “I woke up from my nap and couldn’t find him. He said we’d play games upstairs, but he wasn’t there. Then I saw him come out of the basement with a pretty lady in a red dress. He told me not to tell you.”
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