A month after adopting Jennifer, she looked up at me with wide eyes and whispered, “Mommy, don’t trust Daddy.” Her words echoed in my mind, sending a chill down my spine. What could she mean? What secrets could Richard possibly be hiding?
I looked down at Jennifer’s small face, taking in her big, watchful eyes and the shy, uncertain smile she wore. After years of hoping, trying, waiting—here she was, our daughter. She was ours now, but was she still afraid?
Richard, on the other hand, was practically glowing with happiness. He couldn’t stop staring at her, as if trying to memorize every tiny feature, every expression.
“Look at her, Marla,” he whispered, his voice full of awe. “She’s just perfect.”
I smiled, placing a gentle hand on Jennifer’s shoulder. “She really is.”
We had come so far to get here. The endless doctor’s visits, the difficult conversations, the mountains of adoption paperwork. When we finally met Jennifer, I knew instantly—this was our daughter. She was only four, so tiny, so quiet, but she already felt like she belonged with us.
A few weeks after the adoption, we decided to go on a small family outing. Richard crouched down to Jennifer’s level, his eyes warm and kind. “Hey, how about we get some ice cream? Would you like that?”
Jennifer hesitated. She looked up at me first, as if trying to read my face before answering. Then, she gave a small nod and pressed closer to my side.
Richard chuckled softly, but I could hear the nervousness behind it. “All right, ice cream it is. We’ll make it a special treat.”
As we walked, Jennifer clung to my hand, barely looking at Richard. He tried to coax her out of her shell, asking questions, making silly jokes, but she just gripped my fingers tighter. Her tiny hand felt warm and firm, almost desperate.
At the ice cream shop, Richard smiled as he stepped up to order. “How about chocolate? Or maybe strawberry?” he suggested.
Jennifer’s eyes flickered toward me before she whispered, “Vanilla, please.”
Richard looked surprised for just a second before nodding. “Vanilla it is.”
She ate quietly, sitting close to me, sneaking glances at Richard when she thought he wasn’t looking. I told myself it was just nerves. Adjusting to a new home, a new family—it had to be overwhelming. But something about the way she watched Richard, something about the unease in her tiny shoulders, made me wonder.
That night, after her bath and bedtime story, Jennifer clung to my arm as I tucked her in. Her little fingers curled tightly around mine.
“Mommy?” she whispered, her voice hesitant.
“Yes, sweetie?” I smoothed her hair, waiting.
Her big, serious eyes met mine. “Don’t trust Daddy.”
A strange chill ran through me. I knelt beside her bed, brushing her soft curls away from her forehead. “Why would you say that, honey?”
She looked down, her lips pressing into a small frown. “He talks weird. Like he’s hiding something.”
I swallowed. “Jennifer, Daddy loves you very much. He just wants you to feel at home. You know that, right?”
She didn’t respond. Instead, she curled up tighter under her blanket, her little shoulders rising and falling in a silent sigh.
As I left her room, my heart was heavy. Maybe she was just scared, still getting used to us. But the way she had said it—the certainty in her voice—it lingered in my mind.
Later that evening, as I stirred pasta on the stove, I heard Richard talking on the phone in the living room. His voice was low, urgent. I paused, wiping my hands on a towel, straining to listen.
“It’s been… harder than I expected,” he murmured. “She’s sharp. Jennifer notices more than I thought she would. I’m afraid she might tell Marla.”
My heartbeat quickened. Tell me what? I stepped closer to the doorway, my breath shallow.
“It’s just… so hard to keep things under wraps,” Richard continued. “I don’t want Marla to find out… not yet.”
My fingers tightened on the towel. What wasn’t I supposed to find out? My mind spun with possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last.
A few minutes later, Richard ended the call and walked toward the kitchen. I forced myself to turn back to the stove, stirring with more force than necessary. When he stepped in, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, his lips grazing my temple.
“Smells good in here,” he said.
I forced a smile. “Thanks. Almost done.”
But my voice sounded strange, even to me. And in my mind, Jennifer’s words echoed again: Don’t trust Daddy.
That night, after we put Jennifer to bed, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I needed answers.
I found Richard in the living room, flipping through paperwork. I sat across from him, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.
“Richard,” I began, my voice steady despite the storm in my chest, “I overheard you on the phone earlier.”
He looked up, surprised, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “Oh? What did you hear?”
I hesitated, my fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt. “I heard you say Jennifer might… tell me something. And that it’s hard to keep things ‘under wraps.’” I swallowed hard. “What are you hiding from me?”
For a moment, he just stared at me. Then, his expression softened, and he set his papers aside. He leaned forward, reaching for my hand.
“Marla,” he said gently, “I’m not hiding anything bad. I promise.”
“Then what is it?” My voice barely rose above a whisper. “What don’t you want Jennifer to tell me?”
Richard sighed, then gave a sheepish smile. “I was planning a surprise for Jennifer’s birthday. With my brother’s help.”
I blinked. “A surprise party?”
He nodded. “I wanted it to be special. To show her how much we care. I knew she might say something, and I didn’t want her to ruin the surprise.”
Relief flooded through me, mixed with guilt. Here I had been imagining the worst. “Richard,” I whispered, lowering my head. “I’m so sorry. I just… I thought something was wrong.”
He chuckled softly. “I get it. We’re all just trying to adjust.”
I nodded, exhaling slowly. “I think Jennifer’s just… protective. She doesn’t know what to expect yet. When she told me not to trust you… I panicked.”
Richard gave a thoughtful nod. “She’s a smart kid. We just need to show her that we’re safe. That we’re family.”
The next morning, I watched as Richard patiently helped Jennifer pick out her cereal. She still barely looked at him, but something was shifting. The smallest flicker of trust.
I walked over and rested my hand on Jennifer’s shoulder. She glanced up at me, then at Richard. And for the first time, she gave him a tiny, hesitant smile.
