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“I don’t know what happened with your mom, but I’m here now. I’ll figure this out. You’re safe with me.”
Within two weeks, it became clear Amanda wasn’t coming back anytime soon.
I also called a family lawyer who explained I’d need to file for temporary guardianship—a process that would take time and money.
My life transformed overnight. I found a two-bedroom apartment closer to the hospital, stretching my budget to the breaking point. I reduced my work hours to thirty per week and switched to day shifts, arranging childcare with Gloria, who ran a small daycare.
The career advancement I’d been working toward was put on indefinite hold.
My relationship with Mark deteriorated rapidly.
“I didn’t sign up to date a single mom,” he said during one of our increasingly frequent arguments. “We had plans. How does any of that happen now?”
“Life happens,” I told him. “Plans change. What was I supposed to do? Put her in foster care?”
“Maybe that would have been better for everyone,” he muttered.
That was the end of our relationship.
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