I wasn’t looking for another marriage when Arthur came along. He wasn’t from our world — and that was his charm. He was a teacher with three kids, a warm laugh, and a softness I wasn’t accustomed to. He asked real questions and listened to the answers. After years of performing perfection, he felt like humanity. I fell for the quiet comfort he offered, and we married fast. Too fast. Six months later, it unraveled. No fireworks, no betrayal — just a slow retreat on his part until we became strangers. We parted gently, and I told myself it was just a mistake.
Two years later, Rowan told me she was dating someone. She was twenty-four, ambitious, successful, and stubborn. I was ready to be happy for her — until she said his name.
I felt the world spin. She framed it as destiny. I saw danger. But she issued an ultimatum without blinking: accept their relationship or lose her. I swallowed every protest and lied. I said I supported her, because the fear of losing my daughter outweighed every instinct screaming inside me.
A year later, I stood witnessing a wedding I never imagined—my daughter walking toward the man who had briefly been my husband. I clapped, posed for photos, toasted the newlyweds. Inside, I felt sick.
Continue reading…
