A month after adopting Jennifer, she looked up at me with wide, serious eyes and whispered, “Mommy, don’t trust Daddy.”
Her tiny voice sent a chill down my spine. Those five words echoed in my mind, planting a seed of doubt I couldn’t ignore. What could she mean? What could my husband possibly be hiding?
I studied Jennifer’s small face, her big, watchful eyes searching mine. She was so little, only four years old, but she had an intensity about her, as if she saw things others didn’t. Her dark curls framed her delicate features, and she clung to me like I was her only safe place in the world.
Richard, my husband, stood a few feet away, watching us with a soft, proud smile. He had been over the moon since we brought Jennifer home, unable to stop admiring her, as if memorizing every detail of our daughter’s face.
“Look at her, Marla,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s just perfect.”
I forced a smile, placing a gentle hand on Jennifer’s shoulder. “She really is.”
It had taken years to get to this moment—years of hoping, struggling, and waiting. Adoption wasn’t easy, but the first time I held Jennifer in my arms, I just knew. She belonged with us.
To help her settle in, we decided to go on a family outing. As we got ready, Richard crouched down to Jennifer’s level, his smile warm and inviting. “Hey, sweetheart. How about we go get some ice cream? Would you like that?”
Jennifer hesitated. She glanced up at me first, as if checking my reaction. Then, after a long pause, she gave a tiny nod but pressed herself closer to my side.
Richard chuckled softly, though there was an uneasy edge to it. “All right. Ice cream it is.”
On the way to the shop, Jennifer barely spoke. Richard tried to make conversation, asking about her favorite colors and animals, but each time, she tightened her grip on my hand and gave only one-word answers.
At the counter, Richard smiled and gestured toward the display of flavors. “How about chocolate? Or maybe strawberry?”
Jennifer didn’t look at him. Instead, she turned to me and whispered, “Vanilla, please.”
Richard hesitated for just a moment before nodding. “Vanilla it is.”
She sat close to me while we ate, barely looking in his direction. I tried to tell myself she was just shy, that adjusting to a new home must be overwhelming for her. But the way she watched Richard—cautious, uncertain—made my stomach twist with unease.
Later that evening, as I tucked her into bed, Jennifer clung to my arm a little longer than usual.
“Mommy?” she whispered.
I brushed her curls back and smiled. “Yes, sweetheart?”
She looked up at me with those big, serious eyes. “Don’t trust Daddy.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Why do you say that, honey?”
She bit her lip, hesitating before whispering, “He talks weird. Like he’s hiding something.”
A chill ran through me. I forced a reassuring smile. “Jennifer, Daddy loves you very much. He’s just trying to help you feel at home. You know that, right?”
She didn’t respond. Instead, she curled up under the covers, her expression unreadable. I sat there, holding her hand, wondering where this was coming from. Maybe she was just scared, struggling to trust after everything she had been through. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she had seen something I hadn’t.
Later that night, as I stirred the pasta on the stove, I heard Richard’s voice from the living room. He was on the phone, his tone low and tense.
I paused, wiping my hands on a towel and listened.
“It’s been… harder than I expected,” he said quietly. “She’s… sharp. Jennifer’s noticing more than I thought she would. I’m afraid she might tell Marla.”
My heart pounded. Tell me what?
Richard sighed heavily. “It’s just so hard to keep things under wraps. I don’t want Marla to find out… not until it’s ready.”
I gripped the counter to steady myself. What wasn’t I supposed to find out? My mind raced, piecing together Jennifer’s words and Richard’s strange behavior. I strained to hear more, but his voice dropped lower, making it impossible to catch the rest of his conversation.
A few moments later, he hung up and walked toward the kitchen. I turned back to the stove, forcing myself to look normal, stirring the pasta as if my hands weren’t shaking.
“Smells good in here,” he said, stepping behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.
I forced a smile. “Thanks. Almost done.”
My voice sounded strange to my own ears. His words echoed in my head: She might tell Marla… It’s hard to keep things under wraps.
That night, after we put Jennifer to bed, I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I found Richard in the living room, shuffling through paperwork.
“Richard,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I overheard you on the phone earlier.”
He looked up, surprised. “Oh? What did you hear?”
I hesitated, then met his gaze. “You said Jennifer might tell me something. And that it’s hard to keep things under wraps. What are you hiding?”
For a moment, he just stared at me. Then, his face softened. He set his papers aside and reached for my hand.
“Marla,” he said gently, “I’m not hiding anything bad. I promise.”
I searched his face. “Then what is it?”
He sighed, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t want you to find out because… well, I was planning a surprise for Jennifer’s birthday. With my brother’s help.”
I blinked. “A surprise party?”
He nodded. “I wanted it to be special. A real celebration to show her she’s part of our family now.”
Relief washed over me, but I also felt guilty. “Richard… I’m so sorry. I thought—”
He chuckled, squeezing my hand. “It’s okay. We’re all just trying to adjust.”
I let out a shaky breath. “I think Jennifer’s just scared. She doesn’t know what to expect. And when she told me not to trust you… it made me wonder.”
Richard nodded. “She’s just protecting herself. We need to show her she’s safe.”
The next morning, as I watched Richard patiently help Jennifer pick out her breakfast, I saw something shift. She glanced up at him, hesitated, then gave him the smallest smile. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
And maybe, just maybe, we’d be okay.
