I filed for divorce the next week. No arguments. Just a clean break.
Vionna spun lies to friends, called me heartless. But the truth spread. People saw through her. Some admitted they’d noticed her coldness but stayed silent.
Aurelia stayed for weeks. We painted the nursery, assembled furniture, debated crib mobiles. She shared her fears about motherhood. I told her she’d be amazing.
When Torren came to take her home, we laughed over dinner. The house felt alive again.
Now, I visit her on weekends. Help with appointments. Go baby shopping. My phone’s always charged.
The guest room stays ready—crib included, new curtains hung last week. Every time I pass that hallway, I remember how close I came to missing the truth in my own home.
But I didn’t.
Family isn’t about who shares your roof. It’s about who shows up with love.
That’s what matters.
