After giving birth to my twin daughters, Ella and Sophie, I envisioned nothing but serenity, love, and a joyful homecoming. But instead of the warm welcome I had imagined, I walked straight into a betrayal so vicious it unraveled everything I believed about the people closest to me.
I had spent three exhausting days in the hospital recovering from a difficult delivery. Though drained, I was filled with love and excitement, eager to bring my girls home. In my mind, I saw Derek—my husband—waiting at the entrance with flowers in hand, maybe even tears in his eyes as he finally embraced our daughters. That beautiful vision shattered with one unexpected, cold phone call.
“I can’t pick you up,” Derek said abruptly. “My mom’s had chest pains. I’m taking her to the hospital.”
I didn’t argue. How could I? Derek had always been deeply attached to his mother—sometimes to a troubling degree. I pushed down the sting of disappointment and called a taxi, telling myself it was just bad timing.
