I never imagined I’d find myself in this situation. My name is Amber. I’m thirty-four, married for a decade to my husband, Jack, and the mother of Mia, our bright, imaginative seven-year-old daughter. I’ve always been a person who thrives on responsibility, and as a corporate attorney, balancing demands is second nature. But these last few months have pushed me to my limits.
My mother’s health has been declining for the past year, and I’ve been pouring all my energy—and finances—into her care. Medical bills and therapies mount higher than I ever expected, and to shoulder the costs, I’ve been working longer hours than I thought possible. Each day feels like a marathon, but I keep going. I have to.
Through it all, Jack has been my anchor. When I’m at the office late into the evening or running back and forth to the hospital, he’s the one holding our home together—cooking meals, helping Mia with her homework, and managing a dozen little tasks I once handled myself. He makes it possible for me to manage this juggling act, even when every breath feels heavy.
Last night, however, something happened that left me shaken. I returned home after a grueling day, exhausted and hungry. After a quick meal, I tucked Mia into bed. She drifted off, mumbling about silly misunderstandings—like confusing a sock for a “socket puppet”—and I kissed her goodnight, grateful for even that brief moment of laughter.
I wandered into the living room, tidying up Mia’s art supplies scattered across the coffee table. Among the crayons and coloring books, I found a drawing. At first glance, it looked sweet—a simple family scene: a father, a daughter, and a woman. But as I looked closer, my stomach dropped. The man and girl were clearly Jack and Mia, but the woman wasn’t me. She had long brown hair and wore a dress that looked almost bridal. Underneath the picture, in Mia’s neat, little-kid handwriting, were the words: I can’t wait for you to be my mom!
My heart clenched. Had Mia imagined someone else as her mother? I rushed to her bedroom, gently rousing her enough to ask. When she realized I’d seen the drawing, she snatched it away, blurting out, “You weren’t supposed to find that! Daddy said to hide it better!”
My mind spun. Hide it better? Jack knew about this? As I lay awake that night, I grappled with fears I never thought I’d face. Was Jack hiding something? Was Mia feeling so disconnected from me that she’d chosen someone else—even just in a drawing—to fill my role?
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