When my five-year-old son, Eli, came rushing home one Saturday afternoon, eyes sparkling with excitement, he started talking about something that made me laugh—at first. He was talking about his “other dad.” “Mom!” he yelled, barely able to keep still. “Guess what me and my other dad did!” I froze, the colander I was holding slipping from my hands. Strawberries rolled off the counter and scattered across the kitchen floor. “Your what?” I asked, blinking, making sure I hadn’t misheard. “My other dad!” Eli repeated, smiling like it was the

My husband kicked me and our three kids out, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Cold, scared, and feeling completely desperate, I knocked on the first door I saw, asking if there was any work I could do. I had no idea that moment would change everything—for me, my children, and the man behind that door. Being a mother of three was already hard enough. But being a mother of three with no help at all was ten times harder. Every single day, I felt like

I was working a night shift, completely drained, but feeling a strange sense of gratitude. The hum of the car engine and the quiet streets made me feel alone in my thoughts. That is, until I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw my husband, Jason, sitting in the backseat… with another woman. I didn’t speak a word. I didn’t need to. Inside, I was already planning his downfall. I had once believed I was the lucky one to have Jason. He came into my life when everything was going