A month after adopting Jennifer, she looked up at me with wide, serious eyes and whispered, “Mommy, don’t trust Daddy.”
Her words echoed in my mind, wrapping around my thoughts like a vine. My heart stuttered. My hands, steady just moments ago, clenched around the edge of the kitchen counter. I stared down at her tiny frame, her soft curls framing her delicate face. She was only four years old. Could she really understand what she was saying?
I knelt beside her, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “Sweetheart, why would you say that?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle.
Jennifer hesitated, her small hands tightening into fists. “He talks weird when he thinks I’m not listening. Like he’s hiding something,” she murmured.
A shiver traced down my spine.
Richard had been nothing but kind to Jennifer since we brought her home. He adored her. But then again, she barely spoke to him. She clung to me, always searching my face before she spoke. And now this—these whispered warnings.
I gave her a soft smile, trying to mask my unease. “Daddy loves you, Jen. Maybe he’s just nervous, like we all are. Everything is still new, right?”
Jennifer didn’t answer. She only pressed her face into my shoulder, as if hiding from something I couldn’t see.
That night, I found Richard waiting outside Jennifer’s room. He smiled as I stepped into the hallway, but something about his expression made my stomach twist.
“How is she?” he asked.
“Asleep,” I replied softly, studying him.
He let out a breath of relief, running a hand through his hair. “That’s good. I know the transition is tough, but I really think she’ll come around soon.”
I nodded, but Jennifer’s words refused to leave my head.
The next afternoon, as I stood at the stove stirring pasta, Richard’s voice drifted in from the living room. He was on the phone, speaking in a low, careful tone.
I turned off the burner and wiped my hands on a dish towel. Something about his voice sent a prickle of unease through me. Quietly, I stepped closer to the doorway, just enough to hear.
“It’s been harder than I expected,” Richard murmured. “She’s sharp. Jennifer’s noticing more than I thought she would. I’m afraid she might tell Marla.”
My pulse pounded in my ears. Tell me what?
“It’s just so hard to keep things under wraps,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want Marla to find out… not until it’s ready.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, gripping the doorframe to steady myself. My hands felt cold, my stomach twisting with suspicion. I strained to hear more, but his voice dipped lower, impossible to make out.
Seconds later, he ended the call.
I scrambled back into the kitchen, snatching up the spoon to stir the pasta—pretending, acting normal—as his footsteps approached.
“Smells amazing in here,” Richard said, stepping into the room and wrapping his arms around me.
I forced a smile. “Thanks. Almost done.”
But inside, I was unraveling.
That night, after we tucked Jennifer in, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. My thoughts raced in circles, unable to shake his cryptic words. I found Richard in the living room, flipping through a stack of papers.
I sat across from him, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. “Richard, I overheard you on the phone earlier.”
He looked up, an eyebrow raised, his expression unreadable. “Oh? What did you hear?”
I swallowed hard. “I heard you say Jennifer might tell me something. And that you’re keeping things ‘under wraps.'” I fixed my gaze on him, searching for answers. “What are you hiding from me?”
For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then, his face softened, and he sighed, setting the papers aside. He reached for my hand. “Marla,” he said gently, “I’m not hiding anything bad. I promise.”
I wanted to believe him. But Jennifer’s warning pulsed in my mind.
“Then what is it?” I whispered.
Richard hesitated, then chuckled sheepishly. “I didn’t want you to find out because… well, I was planning a surprise for Jennifer’s birthday. With my brother’s help.”
I blinked. “A surprise?”
He nodded. “A big one. I wanted to make her first birthday with us special. I knew Jennifer might slip up and tell you, and I didn’t want to ruin it.”
Relief crashed over me, but it carried a wave of guilt with it.
“Oh, Richard,” I breathed, lowering my head. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”
“Hey,” he said softly, squeezing my hand. “It’s okay. I get it. We’re all just adjusting.”
I nodded, exhaling slowly. “I think Jennifer’s just protective. She doesn’t know what to expect. When she told me not to trust you, it just… it got to me.”
Richard gave a small, understanding smile. “She’s a smart kid. I think she’s still finding her place here. We just have to show her she’s safe and loved. All three of us.”
The next morning, as I watched Richard help Jennifer pour cereal into her bowl, I saw something shift in her. She still hesitated, still studied him with cautious eyes. But when he smiled at her, waiting for her to choose between apple juice or milk, she whispered, “Milk, please.”
And for the first time, she met his gaze as she said it.
I walked over and rested a hand on Jennifer’s shoulder. She looked up at me, her eyes calmer than before. A small smile crept across her face, as if she finally felt something settle inside her.
Maybe trust took time.
Maybe love did, too.
But in that moment, I knew we were on the right path.
