When my daughter, Anna, started growing distant, I decided to surprise her with a visit. I baked her favorite cinnamon buns and took the train to her city, but when she opened the door, her reaction shocked me. Instead of joy, I saw fear. She insisted I leave, shutting the door in my face. Something wasn’t right.
Determined to find out what was happening, I waited nearby. Hours later, I slipped into her apartment when she stepped out. Inside, the mess was overwhelming—scattered clothes, dirty dishes, and a crib in the living room. A baby crib. My heart sank as I realized Anna had a child she hadn’t told me about.
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