With trembling hands and eyes full of sorrow, Steve told her the truth.
Years ago, he had a daughter—Stacy. A bright, bubbly girl who loved pink sneakers and drawing cartoons. She and her mother, Steve’s late wife, were killed in a devastating car accident on a rainy night while driving home from a school play.
Since then, he confessed, he spoke to Stacy in quiet moments. On her birthday. On holidays. On days when the house felt too quiet. And now, on his wedding night—a day he had always imagined sharing with her.
Amber was stunned. Not by anger, not by betrayal—but by the depth of a pain he had never spoken about. The weight of it. The way he had carried it silently, gently, like something fragile and sacred.
Instead of stepping back, she sat beside him.
And she took his hand.
“You Don’t Have to Carry This Alone”
Continue reading…
