When Sophie whispered, “Daddy, new mom is different when you’re gone,” my blood ran cold.
Amelia had been so good to us—filling the hole Sarah left behind—but now Sophie described a woman who locked herself in the attic and scolded her for tiny messes. I had to know what was really happening.
That night, I followed Amelia upstairs. What I found wasn’t a dark secret—it was a beautiful surprise.
The attic had been turned into a dream playroom, complete with books, paints, and a tiny tea set. Amelia had been working on it for weeks, but in her determination to make everything perfect, she’d become too strict, too distant.
“I wanted Sophie to love it,” she admitted, crying. “But I forgot that love isn’t about perfection.”
When we showed Sophie the room the next day, her fear vanished. She hugged Amelia tight, and as they sat together eating ice cream, I realized something: family isn’t about flawless moments—it’s about learning, stumbling, and loving each other through it all.
