I almost married a man who had already paid to send my daughter away before he ever asked me to be his wife.
I found that out fifty-eight minutes before the ceremony, while I was still in my wedding dress and my daughter, Lily, was sitting on the floor of the bridal suite, shaking too hard to breathe properly.
I was widowed at forty-two, and for four years, it had been just me and Lily. Four years of solo parenting, late-night fevers, and empty chairs.
Then Marcus came into our lives.
He coached Lily’s debate team at the community center. He remembered my coffee order. He called Lily “kiddo” and told me, more than once, “You and Lily are a package deal, Julia. I know that.”
Then Marcus came into our lives.