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The message popped up late one night, a name I hadn’t seen in years, a name that still made my stomach clench. Him. My ex. My daughter’s father. My hand trembled, hovering over the screen, ready to block, to delete, to pretend it never happened. But the subject line… it stopped me cold. It mentioned our daughter.
My breath hitched. He’d never cared before. Not really. He’d walked out on us when she was just a toddler, leaving me to piece together a life, a career, a home, all while battling the ghosts of a broken promise. I’d raised her alone, poured every ounce of my being into making sure she felt loved, safe, enough. She was my world.
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