It had lasted months.
Darla had discovered it shortly before her diagnosis.
She hadn’t told her husband about the cancer because she no longer trusted him. She had planned to leave quietly after securing the children’s future.
But fate intervened before any of that could happen.
I sat in my kitchen for a long time that night.
My daughter had carried two unbearable burdens alone: betrayal and a terminal illness.
And she chose me to carry what remained.
The next morning, I made my decision.
The children would never hear about their father’s mistake.
They had already lost enough.
On Lily’s tenth birthday, I opened the first milestone box.
Inside was a beautiful leather journal.
On the first page, Darla had written:
“My brave girl, fill these pages with your dreams. I’ll always believe in you.”
Lily cried into my shoulder.
And I realized something.
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