The night Ella and Sophie entered the world was meant to be pure joy, yet it quietly exposed the fault lines in my marriage. After nine exhausting months of carrying twins—through nausea, swelling, insomnia, and my mother-in-law Lorraine’s relentless commentary—I believed their birth would reset everything. I convinced myself that once Derek saw his daughters, he would naturally place us first. Fatherhood, I thought, would draw a firm boundary between his new family and his mother’s constant interference. I trusted that love would clarify his priorities. I trusted that the sight of two tiny faces would silence any lingering preference for the grandson Lorraine had openly hoped for. I didn’t yet understand that love alone doesn’t undo years of conditioning or confrontation avoidance.
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