I had Liam when I was eighteen. His father left before he was born, so it was just the two of us. I worked any job I could to support us, exhausted but always fueled by Liam’s love.
Then I met Ethan. He was kind, never judged me, and treated Liam like his own. We got married, and he planned a honeymoon in the Bahamas. I was nervous to leave Liam, but Ethan reassured me—his mom Angela would take good care of him.
Four days into the trip, Liam called, terrified. “Grandma said you’re giving me away if I don’t behave.” My heart broke. I demanded to speak to Angela, but she brushed it off as “motivation.”
We caught the next flight home. I stormed into Angela’s house and found Liam curled up, crying on the bed. He clung to me, sobbing, “Please don’t leave me!”
Angela defended herself—“A little fear builds character.” But Ethan finally saw her for who she was. “Then don’t be surprised if we put you in a home one day,” he said coldly.
We left. Angela begged for forgiveness. Eventually, we let her back—but she was never alone with Liam again.
Liam changed. He feared being left. I held him close each night and promised no one would ever hurt him again.
Years later, he whispered, “You kept your promise.”
And that made everything worth it.
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