After My Grandma’s Death, My Husband Rushed Me to Sell Her House — When I Learned the Reason, I Was Furious and Made Him Regret It

Golden curls, dimpled cheeks, and those bright blue eyes that sparkle when they’re about to do something they shouldn’t. I love them more than anything, even when they leave Play-Doh stuck in the carpet or spill juice on the couch for the hundredth time.

From the outside, our life looked perfect. We lived in a cozy house with white shutters and a lemon tree in the backyard.

On Sundays, we walked hand in hand to the farmer’s market, sipping coffee while the girls picked out tiny jars of honey.

Friday nights were movie nights, usually “Moana” or “Frozen” for what felt like the millionth time, and the girls always fell asleep in a tangled heap before the movie ended. Paul would carry them upstairs, and afterward, we would finish the popcorn together in silence.

He never forgot birthdays or anniversaries.

Sometimes, I’d find sticky notes on the bathroom mirror with little hearts drawn on them. He used to tell me I was the “calm” in his storm. And I believed him.

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