I never thought I’d be a widower at 35. Elizabeth was my everything—my best friend, my partner, the mother of my little girls. And then, in one cruel instant, she was gone. A car accident, they said. Just like that, five years of marriage ended. I was away on business when it happened. I’ll never forget the phone call. My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t breathe. Elizabeth… gone. My mother-in-law called me sobbing, saying how Sophie, just 4, and Emma, 5, kept asking where “Mommy” was. How could you

Christmas Eve was supposed to smell like cinnamon and pine needles. At least, that’s what I always believed. But that night, it smelled more like dust and cardboard. I was in the basement, digging through old moving boxes, hunting for the ornaments Mark and I had collected during our first year of marriage. My hands were raw from the cold concrete and endless rummaging. The weak basement light cast shadows across the walls, making the stacks of boxes look like tiny skyscrapers. “Mommy, can I put the star on top?”

The night before my work trip, I caught my mother-in-law doing something that still makes my stomach twist whenever I think about it. She thought no one was watching, but I saw everything. And if I hadn’t, her plan would have destroyed my marriage. You’d think that after three and a half years with Dave, his mother, Paula, would have finally accepted that I wasn’t going anywhere. But from the very beginning, she made it her mission to make me miserable. It wasn’t just dislike. No, Paula despised me. She