Adam stepped forward. “Renee, you crossed a serious boundary. Until you admit that, we’re done.”
Her confidence cracked—not remorse, but disbelief. “You’re choosing her over me?”
“I’m choosing my daughter,” he said.
She left without another word.
The next days were quiet, tense, but peaceful in a way our home hadn’t been for months. Hazel slept better. I breathed easier. Adam and I talked more honestly than we had in years.
A week later, Dr. Rowan called—Hazel’s tests were normal.
I finally exhaled.
And now I understand something clearly: danger doesn’t always look like danger.
Sometimes it comes smiling, convinced it knows best.
