I was doing laundry and noticed Jake’s overnight bag on the floor, half-zipped. A pair of socks had spilled out, and when I bent down to shove them back in, I noticed something odd underneath: a little wooden box.
Inside were a few strange items. A photo of our family from a beach trip last summer—one I didn’t recall Jake being in. An old school portrait of Lily, probably from sixth grade. And a wrinkled, handmade card Lily had drawn years ago for her dad that said, “To the best daddy in the world.”
Why was Jake keeping these? None of it belonged to him. And why were they hidden?
I showed the box to Tom that night. He brushed it off. “It’s not that weird,” he said. “He probably just likes having something that makes him feel included.”
But I couldn’t shake the unease.
Later that week, I sat Lily down and asked her if Jake had ever said or done anything that made her uncomfortable. She looked down, fidgeting.
“He hasn’t… done anything,” she said quietly. “But he asks weird questions. Like if I think you and Dad love each other more than you loved his mom. Or if I think I’d still be an only child if he wasn’t around.”
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