“Mommy?” she asked softly. “What’s wrong?”
I forced a smile I didn’t feel. “Nothing, sweetheart. Finish your drawing.”
But everything was wrong.
Mark moved out two days later. There was no explanation. No apology. No conversation with Lily. He packed two suitcases and left as if he were running late for an appointment. That night, I cried in the bathroom, pressing a towel against my mouth so Lily wouldn’t hear me. But she did. She always did.
Later, she climbed into my arms and whispered, “Mommy, don’t cry. Daddy is… Daddy is confused.”
I asked her why she would say that.
She hesitated. “I just know.”
I assumed she was trying to comfort me, and I let it go. I shouldn’t have.
The custody battle began almost immediately. Mark’s lawyer was aggressive from the start. They accused me of being emotionally unstable, financially irresponsible, unfit to provide a stable home. Every accusation was a lie. They claimed Lily would be better off with him.
I wanted to scream. Mark barely spoke to her anymore. He never called. He never visited. He never asked how she was doing.