For a while, I had been noticing something about my husband, David, that made me uneasy. He had been spending a lot of time helping our new neighbor, Lauren. At first, it seemed harmless—carrying boxes, fixing her door, just the usual favors a nice neighbor might do. But then his visits to her house became more frequent. That nagging feeling in my chest grew stronger, and I couldn’t shake it off. One evening, I finally asked him, “Why are you always going over there?” I couldn’t hide the irritation in

Dylan’s schoolbag felt like it was filled with bricks as he walked home, kicking rocks along the cracked sidewalk. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, and his eyes stayed glued to the ground. At just eight years old, what could be weighing so heavily on him? The school was buzzing about “Superhero Day,” but Dylan wasn’t excited like the other kids. His heart ached when he thought about his grandma, Mariam—his beloved “Mimi.” He knew she couldn’t afford to buy him the superhero jersey he really wanted. As

Molly’s life was always a struggle, but her main worry was her son, Tommy. Constantly moving from town to town and school to school was wearing him down. She never thought a single phone call from the principal’s office would bring back a piece of her past she thought was lost forever. Molly sat across the table from her husband, Nigel, in a thick silence. The only sound between them was the clinking of cutlery. Nigel barely touched his food, his frustration was obvious. His face twisted in a scowl