A month after adopting Jennifer, she looked up at me with wide, solemn eyes and whispered, “Mommy, don’t trust Daddy.” Her words echoed in my mind, stirring an unease I couldn’t quite place. What secrets could my husband, Richard, possibly be hiding?
Jennifer was still so new to our family—small, quiet, and watchful. Her big, curious eyes seemed to take in everything, her shy smile a hint of the cautious trust she was beginning to build. After years of waiting, trying, and hoping, she was finally here, our daughter.
Richard was over the moon. He couldn’t stop gazing at her, his voice soft and full of wonder. “Look at her, Marla,” he whispered one evening, as if afraid speaking too loudly might break the moment. “She’s perfect.”
“She really is,” I replied, my hand resting on Jennifer’s shoulder.
