The day Ryan brought Sophie home was meant to be simple, warm, unforgettable. I’d cooked dinner, set out the nicest plates, and even picked up Brussels sprouts with bacon—because he’d mentioned she liked them. I wanted the evening to feel cozy, a memory tucked safely in my heart. Ryan had been glowing lately, speaking about Sophie in a way that made it clear this was serious, not just another college fling. I was ready to welcome her, to make room at our table and in my heart.
Sophie arrived with tulips and a shy smile, polite and kind. She laughed at my stories about Ryan as a kid, helped in the kitchen, and seemed genuinely sweet. Everything was perfect… until her eyes landed on a photo on the mantel: Ryan, Thomas, and me at the beach. Her smile faltered, and then she whispered words that shattered my world: Thomas had been with her mother for four years. He had told her mother he was single, even promising marriage, and now she was pregnant.
Suddenly, all the little inconsistencies clicked—the late nights, the strange scents, the unexplained absences I’d ignored. I stayed calm, but my mind raced. I asked Sophie where her mother lived and grabbed my coat. Together, we went to the house she described—a spotless, carefully built life running parallel to mine.
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