first doctor’s appointment. Not when Ethan had a fever that kept me up for forty-eight hours straight.
I was broken. I felt as if my chest had been hollowed out with a rusty spoon. But looking at those two innocent faces, I refused to break down.
I worked double shifts from home as a telehealth consultant, I raised the twins alone, and I leaned on my best friend, Sarah, for the support my husband refused to give. It wasn’t easy. There were nights I cried until I choked, nights I stared at the ceiling wondering what I had done to deserve such cruelty.
But my babies deserved love—even if their father had walked out.
Three months passed in a blur of sleepless nights and silent resilience. I thought I had hit rock bottom. I thought the worst was over.
But I was wrong. The true fire was just beginning.
