My husband told our 18-year-old daughter she could no longer stay at home while I was away for work — one year later, she returned holding a newborn and said ONE SENTENCE that made me completely still.
I loved my daughter, Sophie, more than anything. And I loved my husband, Adrian, too.
But as Sophie grew older, something between them became increasingly tense.
Adrian criticized almost everything she did. Her clothes. Her friends.
Even the way she laughed. “She’s eighteen, not eight,” he often said. “Stop treating her like a princess.”
Then I left Bellmere for a three-day work trip. When I returned to our home on Willowcrest Lane, Sophie’s bedroom door was wide open.
Inside her closet, a few empty hangers gently knocked against one another.
“Where is she?” I asked. Adrian sat at the kitchen counter, calmly spreading butter on a piece of bread.
