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A woman stood there. She appeared to be in her mid-30s, maybe early 40s. Coat pressed, lips tight, arms crossed. Her high heels tapped impatiently on his porch like she’d been standing there far too long.
Her eyes were cold. Calculated. And far too familiar.
Daniel didn’t speak right away.
The words didn’t register — not at first.
She looked past him into the house, like she already knew where Lily’s room was.
“And I’m not leaving without her,” she added, her tone sharper now. “It’s time.”
Daniel stood frozen in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame. The same porch. The same door. But this time, he wasn’t bringing a child in.
Someone was trying to take her away.
The woman in front of him didn’t blink, didn’t flinch, and didn’t even pretend to care. She wasn’t there out of guilt or love. She looked like she was there to collect a package.
She didn’t thank him.
Instead, she sighed, glancing past Daniel into the warm, quiet house.
“It was hard back then,” she muttered, like she was talking about a parking ticket. “I was 20. No job. No support. I had no choice. But now I do.”
Daniel gritted his teeth. He could barely hear past the roaring in his ears.
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