On a typical Tuesday evening, I walked into my in-laws’ house to find my children with completely empty plates, while their nieces and nephews were eating their third helping of lasagna from a “real” dinner set. Eighteen minutes later, I quietly decided I’d had enough of being their personal ATM, and that something in this family was about to go wrong in a way no one expected.

I went into the bedroom and closed the door before calling her.
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“Tell me everything,” Rachel said immediately. No preamble, no small talk.

So I did. I told her about the empty plates and the crowded dining room table, about Addison’s careless cruelty and Payton’s deliberate meanness, about how Roger nodded in agreement as if it were all perfectly justified. I told her about Wyatt’s defensive reaction and the spreadsheet detailing $134,000 in support for people who didn’t bother to love my children.

Rachel listened without interrupting, and that was one of the things I appreciated most about her. She didn’t try to fix it, minimize it, or spout empty nonsense. She simply listened until I was speechless.

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