I stepped outside into the cold night, letting the air sting my face as tears finally came. I cried for the child I loved unquestioningly, for the trust that had been quietly broken, for the life I thought I fully understood. Yet as the shock softened, something steadier took its place. Peter had made a devastating mistake, but he had also chosen to stay, to love, to raise our son as his own despite everything. When I went back inside, he was still sitting there, eyes red, waiting as if he already expected to lose me. I sat across from him and told him we would figure it out, but only if honesty became non-negotiable from that moment on. Families, I realized, aren’t built on perfect beginnings or flawless choices. They’re built in the moments when truth finally surfaces, even when it hurts beyond measure. And this time, whatever came next, we would face it
