Lila is drowning in the chaos of motherhood while her husband sharpens every wound with cutting remarks and cruel comparisons. When she uncovers a betrayal that shatters what little remains of their marriage, she finds an unexpected strength, and delivers a birthday surprise that Dorian never sees coming.
I’m 35 years old, and if someone had told me seven years ago that I’d be writing this story today, I would have laughed until my sides ached and tears streamed down my cheeks.
Back then, I thought I knew everything there was to know about love, marriage, and the man I was planning to spend the rest of my life beside, believing with complete certainty that I understood Dorian’s heart as well as I understood my own.
The truth is that I was so unbelievably wrong about everything I thought I knew, and it took me years to realize just how blind I had been to the man sleeping next to me every night.
When I married Dorian at 28, he possessed this magnetic charm that could transform any crowded room into an intimate space where only the two of us existed.
He would lean casually against doorframes with that crooked smile that made my heart skip. He would tell me jokes that made me snort-laugh until my sides hurt, and I had to beg him to stop before I embarrassed myself completely.
Our tiny apartment felt like a sprawling mansion when we curled up on the couch with our golden retriever, Whiskey, his tail thumping against the old coffee table we’d dragged home from a garage sale.
“We’re going to have the most beautiful life together, Lila,” Dorian whispered one night, his fingers weaving through my hair.
“Just you, me, and whatever wonderful surprises life decides to bring us.”
Those surprises came quickly. Emma, our tornado of energy, arrived first. She was curious about everything, never satisfied with one answer, and had the stamina to keep asking questions long after I was ready for bed.
Marcus followed four years later, roaring his way through childhood with the absolute certainty that he was secretly a dinosaur trapped in a little boy’s body.
Then came Finn, whose idea of sleep seemed to involve 20-minute naps spaced throughout the night, leaving Dorian and me stumbling through the days in a haze.
Motherhood hit me like a tidal wave.
The days blurred into endless laundry, sticky fingerprints appearing on every surface, and negotiations between siblings that would challenge diplomats.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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