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And it wasn’t limited to family gatherings. Karen had taken it online too. She shared articles about the so-called “cat lady epidemic,” tagging me or posting photos of her kids with captions like so grateful for my real family, the emphasis unmistakable. Her friends liked and commented, creating an echo chamber where my life choices became a running joke.
What Karen didn’t know was that my life hadn’t been standing still at all.
The first time James told me about Sophie, we were sitting in a café after a long, exhausting day of presentations. His entire demeanor changed when he talked about her. His voice softened, his eyes lit up, and he pulled out his phone to show me photos with the unmistakable pride only a parent truly understands.
She was tiny, with wild curls and the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen, grinning toothlessly at the camera, her face smeared with what looked like spaghetti sauce. “She’s everything to me,” he said simply. “Her mom leaving almost destroyed me, but Sophie kept me going. I can’t imagine loving anyone more than I love that little girl.”
I probably should have been intimidated. Dating a single parent is complicated even in the best circumstances. And James was clear from the beginning that Sophie’s needs would always come first. But something about the way he spoke about her—the depth of his love, the quiet certainty of his commitment—made me more drawn to him, not less. This was a man who understood real responsibility, who had already proven he could put someone else’s needs above his own without bitterness.
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