My name is Mara. I’m 34. I’ve been married to Grayson for four years now. He has two kids from a previous relationship—Teddy, who’s 8, and Liv, who’s 6. Their mom’s not around. She left when Liv was a baby and never looked back.
When Grayson and I met, he was charming, responsible, and looked like someone who’d been through just enough pain to make him grateful for a second chance. I’d just gotten out of a five-year relationship and didn’t think I’d fall for anyone soon, but there was something about the way he looked at his kids—like they were his whole world. It felt safe. It felt solid.
And I wanted that.
Promoted Content
Apolloss
Со оваа необична диета може да се стопи салото на стомакот
The early days were sweet. He brought me coffee in bed. He always kissed me on the forehead. He called me “M” in a way that made my heart skip. But slowly, things shifted. The coffee stopped. The kisses became pecks. And “M” started sounding like “Mom” when he shouted it from another room while I was cleaning up after his children.
I never asked to be their mother. But somehow, I ended up folding their tiny underwear, attending PTA meetings, and being the one Liv ran to when she had a nightmare. Grayson worked long hours as a contractor, sometimes gone before dawn and back after dark. I didn’t mind at first—I figured he was doing it for us. But after a while, I started wondering if I was just the built-in babysitter he didn’t have to pay.
Then Dad died.
For Complete Cooking STEPS Please Head On Over To Next Page Or Open button (>) and don’t forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
