I stared at it, thinking. I had loved someone once, tried to build a life on that. It had left me alone, struggling, abandoned.
I didn’t love Richard—but I liked him. And he hadn’t said he loved me either. Maybe that made things simpler.
“Is it really that hard to decide?” he asked, his voice light but strained underneath.
I hesitated. Then I told myself I was being practical. That I was choosing what a good mother should—security over dreams.
“Okay,” I said, slipping my hand forward. “Yes.”
At first, everything seemed perfect.
Richard spent time with my kids, and they liked him.
One Saturday, he took them out for the afternoon. When they came back, they were excited.
“Mom, we met a really nice lady!” Ava said.
“She had tons of toys,” Mason added. “And games and puzzles!”
I looked at Richard.
“A friend of mine works with children,” he said smoothly. “I thought they’d enjoy it.”
