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 as I began to wonder what secrets my husband could be hiding.
I looked down at Jennifer’s small face, taking in those big, watchful eyes and the shy, uncertain smile she wore. After all those years of hoping, trying, waiting, here she was—our daughter.
Richard was practically glowing. He couldn’t stop looking at her, like he was trying to memorize every feature, every expression.
“Look at her, Marla,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “She’s just perfect.”
I gave him a soft smile, my hand resting on Jennifer’s shoulder. “She really is.”
We’d come such a long way to get here. Doctor’s appointments, long talks, endless adoption paperwork. When we finally met Jennifer, something in me just… knew. She was only four, so little and quiet, but she already felt like ours.
After a few weeks, we decided it was time for a small family outing. Richard knelt down to her level, smiling warmly.
“Hey. How about we go get some ice cream? Would you like that?”
Jennifer looked at him, then glanced up at me, as if waiting for my reaction. She didn’t answer right away—just nodded slightly and pressed closer to my side.
Richard chuckled, though a hint of nervousness slipped through. “All right, ice cream it is.”
As we walked, Jennifer stayed glued to my hand. Richard tried to coax her into conversation, smiling back at her, but every time he asked a question, her little fingers tightened around mine.
At the shop, he asked, “How about chocolate? Or maybe strawberry?”
Jennifer’s voice was barely a whisper. “Vanilla, please.”
“Vanilla it is,” he said, surprised but smiling.
She ate quietly beside me, avoiding his gaze, watching him with cautious curiosity. Maybe the adjustment was harder for her than I thought.
That night, as I tucked her into bed, she suddenly clung to my arm.
“Mommy?” she whispered.
“Yes, sweetie?”
She hesitated, looking away, then back up at me with serious, wide eyes.
“Don’t trust Daddy.”
I froze, heart skipping.
I knelt beside her. “Why would you say that, honey?”
She frowned slightly. “He’s talking weird. Like he is hiding something.”
I tried to stay calm.
“Jennifer, Daddy loves you very much. He’s just trying to help you feel at home.”
She didn’t respond—just curled under the blankets. I held her hand a moment longer, wondering what was behind her fear. Was she just anxious? Had someone in her past frightened her? But the unease lingered as I left her room.
Richard was waiting in the hallway.
“How’d she do?” he asked.
“She’s asleep,” I said softly.
He let out a relieved breath, but something about his wavering smile made me pause.
The next day, as I stirred pasta in the kitchen, I heard Richard’s voice from the living room—low, tense. I stopped and listened.
“It’s been… harder than I expected,” he said. “She’s sharp. Jennifer’s noticing more than I thought she would. I’m afraid she might tell Marla.”
My breath hitched.
Tell me what?
I stepped closer to the doorway.
“It’s just… so hard to keep things under wraps,” he continued. “I don’t want Marla to find out… not until it’s ready.”
My heart pounded.
Not find out what?
Before I could hear more, his voice dropped even lower. A moment later, he walked toward the kitchen, so I hurried back to the stove.
He wrapped his arms around me. “Smells good in here.”
“Thanks. Almost done,” I said, forcing a smile, mind racing.
His words replayed in my head—hard to keep things under wraps, afraid Jennifer might tell me.
That evening, after Jennifer was asleep, I finally confronted him.
“Richard,” I began, “I overheard you on the phone.”
His eyes widened slightly. “Oh? What did you hear?”
“I heard you say Jennifer might tell me something. And that you’re keeping something ‘under wraps.’ What are you hiding from me?”
He stared at me for a moment, confusion flickering across his face. Then his expression softened. He reached for my hand.
“Marla, I’m not hiding anything bad. I promise.”
“Then what is it?” I whispered.
He let out a breath.
“I’m planning a surprise for Jennifer’s birthday. With my brother’s help. I wanted it to be perfect. A special first birthday with us.”
I blinked as relief washed over me. “A surprise party?”
He nodded, smiling sheepishly. “I knew Jennifer might say something. She listens to everything, and I didn’t want her to accidentally spoil it.”
I covered my face with my hands, embarrassed. “Richard, I’m so sorry. I thought—”
“I know,” he said gently. “It’s okay. We’re all adjusting.”
I explained Jennifer’s warning.
“She’s protective. She’s scared. I think she just doesn’t know you yet.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll show her she’s safe.”
The next morning, I found him helping Jennifer pick out cereal with gentle patience. She didn’t say much, but I saw her watching him differently—a little less wary.
I joined them at the table and placed my hand on Jennifer’s shoulder. She looked up at me, then at Richard, and gave a small, warm smile.
For the first time since she arrived, it felt like our little family was beginning to settle—step by step, word by word, trust growing slowly between all of us.
