After my husband disappeared just days after I gave birth to triplets, I was compelled to rebuild my life from scratch. Twelve years later, a chance encounter jeopardizes the peace I have worked so hard to maintain, and the truth I believed was behind me begins to twist into something more complicated.
I was 23 when Adam walked out of our lives. Even now, at 35, I can still hear the silence he left behind. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. There was no final conversation. No apology. Just the sound of the hospital door closing behind him while I took turns holding our newborn triplets in my arms. I was stunned, stitched, and entirely alone.
I couldn’t even hold all three at once. Amara lay against my chest. Andy cried from his bassinet. Ashton had just been handed to me by a nurse who offered a soft smile I barely registered.
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