Let’s be real—I should’ve seen it coming. Bryan was always too smooth. The kind of man who could charm his way out of anything. For five years, I let his slick talk and pretty words carry me along. But everything changed one night over a plate of lukewarm spaghetti. “Mexico,” he said casually, like he was talking about the weather. “Mexico?” I repeated, staring at him across the table. “Yup,” he replied. “With Savannah. Work trip. Cool?” I blinked. I kept chewing, slow and stiff. Savannah. His new regional manager.

When my dad left for a work trip, he said Marcy—my stepmom—would give me lunch money. I believed him. But the next morning, when I asked her, she didn’t even look up from her phone. Instead, she snapped, “Not my problem.” And just like that, I was on my own. I’d been handling things for a while anyway. I was only 11 when Mom got sick. I didn’t really know how to help, but I wanted to do something. So I started making my own school lunches, and sometimes I’d

Travis, Eve, and their 8-year-old son, Robin, were wandering through the thick, rustling woods, a place they’d grown to love since moving to Maine. The crisp autumn air felt fresh against their skin, a welcome change from the scorching heat of Texas. They’d made it a weekend ritual to gather mushrooms for dinner, a quiet family activity that kept them grounded in their new life. It had been three months since they left Texas, and though the move was meant to help Travis, now 34, deal with his health problems—issues