One afternoon, on the way home from preschool, Tess asked if I’d cry when she went to the ocean with her other mom and dad. Her words broke through the silence like a scream I hadn’t expected. She talked about “Mom Lizzie,” the woman always at their house, the “kind mom” who wasn’t me. That question stayed with me long after the car ride ended.

That night, I watched hidden nanny cam footage showing Lizzie and Daniel close together. The truth was clear in the still frame of their smiles and touches. I didn’t yell or cry then—I just knew things would never be the same. The quiet weight of that moment changed everything for me.

In the days that followed, I found strength in standing my ground for Tess. I let her love who loved her, even if that wasn’t me alone. And when she fell asleep beside me on the beach, I let my tears fall quietly, knowing I was still here—for her, and for myself. It was the beginning of healing, one small step at a time.