Then his father said the words that shifted the air entirely: Marcus would no longer be included in the family’s financial plans, and their support would be directed toward me and the children.

Marcus stiffened, trying to insist he didn’t care, but even from where I sat, I could see the confidence draining from his face. The young woman’s expression changed too—her composure flickering into uncertainty, like someone recalculating the story they thought they’d stepped into.

Two days later, Marcus appeared at my door, worn down and pleading. He admitted the woman had left as soon as she learned there was no comfort or advantage waiting for him. He asked me to forgive him, to rebuild what he had shattered. I didn’t argue. I didn’t raise my voice.