For years, I believed second chances were meant for other people—people untouched by the kind of loss that had hollowed me out the day Alex, my husband and the father of my baby girl, died without warning. After that, love wasn’t something I chased; survival was. Natalie became my entire world, the one steady thing in a life that had shattered overnight.
Then Richard entered our lives—quietly, gently, without trying to replace what I’d lost. He noticed the small details, filled in the gaps without fanfare, and treated Natalie with the kind of tenderness that made her feel safe. By the time we got engaged, she called him “Daddy.”
Our wedding day was perfect—until Natalie tugged my dress and whispered that she’d seen a lipstick mark on Richard’s sleeve. The truth unraveled quickly. It wasn’t his betrayal, but a desperate kiss from Serena, a friend I immediately cut from my life. We didn’t break, though. Richard apologized, Natalie forgave, and somehow our imperfect little family found its footing again.
