I didn’t scream or cry. I took screenshots, printed them, and contacted a lawyer.

Two days later, Daniel received the envelope. He called, full of excuses. I hung up and blocked him.

No drama, no custody battle. The divorce was swift.

I let him go, and let Tess love who she loved, even if it hurt.

One evening, at the beach, Tess turned to me.

“I miss them sometimes… but I think I love you the most.”

Tears welled up—not from anger, but from survival.

Later, Lizzie planned Tess’s birthday and sent me an invitation—to my own daughter’s party.

I went, for Tess. When Lizzie said she loved Tess like her own, I asked,

“Then why did she think I was the evil one?”

She had no answer. I didn’t need one.

That night, Tess curled beside me, clutching seashells and a beach postcard.

“Did you cry after I fell asleep?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Happy or sad?”

“Both.”

Now, a photo sits on our mantle—me, Tess, and my mom at the beach. Windblown. Barefoot. Whole.

I didn’t fall apart. I stood up. And my daughter ran to me first.

This story is a testament to resilience, the complexities of love, and the strength found in motherhood.