Being a single dad is tough. But being a single dad to a child with special needs? That’s a whole new level of challenge. My daughter, Ella, was born blind. Since she was old enough to talk, we had a little ritual we never missed: every night, I retold her favorite cartoon episodes. She would settle on the couch, legs folded, eyes staring ahead, unseeing but listening. “Okay, I’m ready, Dad. You can start now,” she’d say. I’d adjust the cushion behind my back and start describing the cartoon town

I used to think the hardest thing I would ever do for my husband was give him a piece of my body. Turns out, that wasn’t even close. The hardest thing was finding out what he was really doing behind my back—and still walking away with my head up. I never imagined I’d be the kind of woman typing something like this at two in the morning. But here I am, wide awake, staring at a screen, because my life split in half and sleep hasn’t forgiven me yet. My

I always thought my husband’s weekly flowers were a sweet little attempt to keep our romance alive after sixteen years of marriage. I didn’t realize that one small note tucked into a bouquet would turn my world upside down and make me question everything I thought I knew about Dan, the man I’d married. Marriage changes over time. Not suddenly, but slowly, like a shadow creeping across a wall. Your mornings shift from kisses that linger to rushed pecks while you search for your car keys. Conversations no longer revolve