The Truth Behind the Lies I wish I could say that I was just imagining things. That my mind was playing tricks on me because of stress, or that I had overreacted. But I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t just being paranoid. I saw what I saw, and nothing could take away the cold, hard truth. My name is Martha. I have a four-year-old daughter, Beverly. My husband, Jason, and I both work full-time, so Bev spends most of her weekdays at daycare. We never liked it, but it was the

My hands trembled as I placed the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter. Five years. Five long years of heartbreak, negative tests, and crushed hopes. But today, something felt different. My heart pounded as I stared, hardly daring to breathe. Two pink lines. My breath hitched. I blinked, as if the result might change if I looked away for even a second. But no—there it was. Proof that after all the pain, the waiting, and the tears, I was finally going to be a mother. I wanted to tell Ronald

I never thought I’d end up at my estranged father’s funeral. I had no idea what I was hoping to find there—closure, maybe? But my grandmother’s urgent words sent me in the opposite direction, racing toward his house instead of staying for the service. I hadn’t seen my father in years. He left when I was just a kid. Every time I tried to reach out after that, hoping for something—anything—he never answered. Silence. Always silence. At some point, I should’ve stopped caring, but it’s hard to let go of