December shattered in a single crayon line.
One name. One extra woman in a family picture.
One smiling stranger my daughter swore we “all knew.”
My chest burned with suspicion as I traced the letters: Molly. Saturdays. Vanilla and Christmas. My husband’s “errand days” suddenly felt like a secret life. I followed them, heart racing, ready to catch a betrayal that would break our home ap… Continues…
