“I do love your kids,” I said.
“I know.”
“But loving them doesn’t mean I agreed to raise them.”
Heather remained silent briefly.
“You’re right.”
I expected an objection to follow.
None came.
Instead, she continued.
“I have to figure out how to take care of my children. That’s my responsibility, not yours.”
For the first time, our conversation felt genuinely direct, without Seth influencing either of us.
After hanging up, I sent Heather the childcare resources.
Then I returned to my bedroom.
My wedding dress still hung on the closet door because I’d been too exhausted to put it away.
I ran my fingertips over its lace sleeve.
I remembered visiting the bridal shop with Mom.
She’d called me beautiful, and I’d studied my reflection while imagining a future with Seth.
A husband.
A home.
Perhaps children of our own.
I sat on my bed and cried.
