The first time I met Daniel, he felt different—steady, kind, the opposite of all the wrong men I’d dated. He remembered my coffee order, checked I got home safe, and soon introduced me to his son, Evan. Thirteen, polite but distant, Evan never warmed up to me. Still, Daniel reassured me he’d come around. When Daniel proposed, I said yes, hopeful we could finally be a family.
On our wedding morning, the garden sparkled with roses and sunlight. My dress was perfect, the guests excited. But just before the ceremony, Evan knocked on my door, pale and trembling. “Can we talk?” he asked, pulling me aside. Then came the words that froze my heart: “Don’t marry my dad.”
