“I know,” I whispered.
That night, I slept on the couch because the stairs were too much.
Marcus couldn’t find his school folder. Phoebe cried over a broken toy. Elliot spilled milk. Mary quietly packed lunches without being asked.
Margot brought me a blanket and pretended not to notice I hadn’t moved in a long time.
Around midnight, she stood in the doorway wearing her father’s old sweatshirt.
“Is Dad coming back?” she asked.
“I think your father is confused,” I said gently.
She held my gaze. “That’s not what I asked.”
No… it wasn’t.
Two days later, he appeared all over social media with Brielle—a young fitness influencer my daughters admired.
She was twenty-three, glowing, disciplined, untouched by exhaustion.
In her video, they stood by a rooftop pool. Evan smiled like he had escaped something, not abandoned a family.
Mary glanced over my shoulder. “Is that Dad?”
I locked the phone too late. “Yes.”