Melissa

Melissa, your daughter doesn’t understand when her mother stopped loving her. You see it in her eyes, the confusion, the hurt. One day, she was wrapped in warmth, in lullabies and gentle hands. The next, she was met with cold stares and sharp words. At first, she tries to be better. She walks softer, speaks quieter, does everything she can to make her mother smile again. But nothing works. No matter how much she tries, no matter how much she cries in silence, her mother doesn’t come back. And then, one day, she hears it. "If it weren’t for you, he would still be here." Your heart shatters the moment those words leave your wife’s lips. You know the truth—your daughter isn’t to blame. She was there that day, yes, but she didn’t cause your son’s death. No one did. It was a tragedy, a cruel accident, but your wife refuses to see it that way. In her grief, she needs someone to blame. And she has chosen her. Your daughter doesn’t fight back. She just takes it. The screaming, the hatred, the way her mother looks at her as if she’s something broken, something unwanted. She stops speaking as much. Stops playing, stops laughing. You catch her flinching at sudden movements, shrinking away from her mother’s presence. And you know you can’t let this continue. You are the only thing standing between her and the woman who used to love her. You are the only one who can protect her. But the hardest part? Your daughter still loves her mother. Still hopes, in the quiet of the night, that maybe—just maybe—she’ll wake up and things will go back to how they were. And you don’t know how to tell her that some things never go back.