A month after bringing Jennifer into our family, she looked up at me with wide eyes and whispered, “Mommy, don’t trust Daddy.”
Her words lingered in my thoughts, making me ponder what secrets my husband might be keeping.
I gazed at Jennifer’s tiny face, noticing her big, watchful eyes and the shy smile she wore. After all those years filled with hope and waiting, here she was—our daughter.
Richard seemed to radiate joy, unable to take his eyes off her, as though he wanted to imprint every detail of her face and expressions in his memory.
“Look at her, Marla,” he said softly, awe evident in his voice. “She’s just perfect.”
I smiled gently, my hand resting on Jennifer’s shoulder.
“She truly is.”
Our journey to this moment had been long, filled with countless doctor’s appointments, deep conversations, and endless adoption paperwork.
Upon meeting Jennifer, something within me instinctively clicked. She was only four—so small and quiet—but she already felt like she belonged with us.
Now that a few weeks had passed since her official adoption, we decided it was time for a little family adventure.
Richard bent down to her level, smiling warmly. “Hey, how about we go get some ice cream?
Would you like that?”
Jennifer looked at him, then glanced at me, as if seeking my approval.
She didn’t respond immediately, instead giving the slightest nod, edging closer to my side.
Richard let out a soft chuckle, though I could sense a hint of anxiety beneath it. “Okay, ice cream it is. Let’s make it a treat just for us.”
As we walked out, Jennifer stayed close to me.
Richard led the way, frequently looking back with a hopeful smile.
I watched him attempt to draw her out, to help her feel more comfortable.
However, each time he asked a question, I noticed Jennifer’s grip on my hand was tightening, her eyes drifting back to me for reassurance.
Upon reaching the ice cream shop, Richard moved to the counter eager to order.
“What about chocolate? Or maybe strawberry?” he asked, his energy high.
She glanced at him, then at me, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Vanilla, please.”
Richard paused for just a moment, then smiled.
“Vanilla it is.”
She seemed fine with letting him place the order, but I noticed she hardly looked his way as we sat down. Instead, she quietly ate, remaining close by my side. She regarded Richard with a cautious curiosity, speaking little, and I couldn’t help but wonder if everything was overwhelming for her.
Later that night, as I tucked Jennifer into bed, she held onto my arm a bit longer than I anticipated.
“Mommy?” she hesitated to say, her voice timid.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
After a brief look away, she turned back to me, her eyes wide and serious.
“Don’t trust Daddy.”
I felt frozen, my heart racing.
Kneeling beside her, I gently brushed her hair back. “Why do you say that, my dear?”
She shrugged but frowned sadly.
“He’s acting strange. Like he’s hiding something.”
It took me a moment to gather my thoughts.
I tried to keep my tone soothing.
“Jennifer, Daddy loves you very much. He’s just trying to make you feel at home. You know that, right?”
She didn’t answer, curling up tighter under her blankets.
I remained there, holding her hand, grappling with the source of her anxiety.
Could it simply be first-day jitters? Perhaps transitioning was harder than I realized.
Yet, as I observed her small, serious face, a wave of unease washed over me.
After I left her room, I found Richard waiting by the door. “How did she do?” he asked, his expression filled with hope.
“She’s asleep,” I responded softly, watching his reaction.
“Wonderful.” He appeared relieved, but I noticed his smile falter slightly.
“I know this is all new for her— for all of us.
But I believe we’ll be okay. Don’t you think?”
I nodded but couldn’t shake the echo of Jennifer’s warning in my head.
The following day, while stirring pasta on the stove, I heard Richard’s voice from the living room, low and tense as he spoke on the phone. I paused, wiping my hands on a towel, and strained to hear his conversation.
“It’s been… tougher than I anticipated,” he said quietly.
“She’s… sharp.
Jennifer is noticing more than I expected. I’m worried she might tell Marla.”
My heart raced, puzzled by his words.
She might tell me? What could it be?
I pushed the anxiety aside, hoping there was a reasonable explanation.
But the more I listened, the faster my pulse raced.
“It’s just… so difficult to keep things hidden,” Richard added. “I don’t want Marla to find out… not yet.”
I froze, gripping the countertop tightly. What was he trying not to let me discover?
I strained to catch the rest of his words, but then he lowered his voice, and the conversation became unintelligible.
Moments later, he hung up and headed toward the kitchen.
I turned back to the stove, my mind swirling with thoughts. I stirred the pasta more vigorously, attempting to appear calm as Richard entered, looking content.
“It smells great in here,” he remarked, wrapping his arms around me.
I forced a smile, my grip tightening around the spoon.
“Thanks. Almost finished.” My voice sounded strange, and I felt my smile falter under the weight of his earlier words: I’m worried she might tell Marla… It’s hard to keep things hidden.
Later that evening, after we had tucked Jennifer in, I could no longer hold back my questions.
I sought Richard in the living room, where he was sifting through paperwork, and took a seat across from him, hands clasped tightly in my lap.
“Richard,” I began, my voice steadier than I felt, “I overheard part of your phone conversation earlier.”
He lifted his gaze, surprise mixed with something else flickering across his face.
“Oh?” he replied, clearly caught off guard. “What did you hear?”
I paused, choosing my words with care. “I heard you mention that Jennifer might… tell me something and that it’s hard to keep things ‘hidden.’” I locked eyes with him, my heart racing.
“What are you hiding from me?”
For a moment, he just stared, a blend of confusion and concern etched on his face.
Then, comprehension dawning upon him, his expression softened. He set aside his papers and leaned closer, reaching for my hand.
“Marla,” he said gently, “I’m not hiding anything bad.
I promise.” His touch was comforting, but it didn’t diminish the unease in my stomach.
“Then what is it?” I asked in a whisper, barely able to meet his gaze. “What do you not want Jennifer to tell me?”
Richard took a deep breath, his face breaking into a sheepish grin.
“I didn’t want you to find out because… I was planning a surprise for Jennifer’s birthday.
With my brother’s help.” He squeezed my hand, a little embarrassed. “I wanted it to be a big celebration—a special first birthday with us.”
I blinked, my mind struggling to process his words. “A surprise party?” I asked slowly, the tension in my chest beginning to dissipate.
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