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Romance Never Ages, 270 Park Avenue, New York, NY (2026)

02/22/2026

My Husband Refused to Divorce Me to Avoid Paying Child Support – I Taught Him a Hard Lesson

When I overheard my husband tell his friend he was only staying married to avoid child support payments, I knew exactly what I had to do. By the time I was finished with him, he'd learn that keeping me around to dodge financial responsibility was the most expensive mistake of his life.

Being a mom to three kids has always been the best part of my life.
Emma is 12 now, and she's constantly rolling her eyes at everything Peter and I say. Jake, my little athlete, is ten, and my eight-year-old, Sarah, still crawls into bed with me when she has nightmares.

I've spent years building a life around these kids.
School pickups, soccer practice, dance recitals, and helping with homework until my eyes cross. I love every chaotic minute of it. They're my world, and I'd do anything to protect them.

For 15 years, I thought Peter felt the same way. Sure, our marriage wasn't perfect. What marriage is after a decade and a half?
But I believed we were in it together.

I worked hard to make our life comfortable.
My marketing business took off about five years ago, and suddenly, I was bringing in more money than Peter ever had at his sales job. I watched him struggle with that and saw how it bruised his ego when I had to cover the mortgage or pay for family vacations.

"You don't have to feel bad about it," I told him when I caught him looking defeated over the bills. "We're a team. What's mine is yours."

He smiled, but I could see the resentment growing behind his eyes. Still, I thought love would be enough. I thought our kids would be enough.

I wasn't planning on eavesdropping that Tuesday afternoon.
I was coming down the stairs to grab some files from my home office when I heard Peter on the phone in the kitchen. His voice carried that relaxed tone he used when talking to his best friend Mike.

"Man, I don't even feel anything for her anymore," he was saying, and I froze on the staircase. "If it were up to me, I'd have left her a long time ago and started living with someone younger. But I just can't afford child support, you know what I mean?"
My hands started shaking.
He continued, laughing like he was telling the world's funniest joke. "Three kids, dude. You know how much that would cost me every month? Plus, she makes bank with that business of hers. I'd be broke and alone. This way, I get to have my cake and eat it too, if you catch my drift."

I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.
15 years of marriage, three beautiful children… and he was treating our family like a financial arrangement.
I stood there for another few minutes, listening to him complain about how boring I'd become and how I was always focused on the kids and work.
That same evening, after I'd fed the kids dinner and helped them with homework, Peter wrapped his arms around me while I loaded Continuation in comment...

02/22/2026

My Boyfriend Took Me to Meet His Parents Before Proposing – But His Demand Mid-Flight Changed Everything

When Lina-Mei flies home to meet her boyfriend's family, she's expecting love, warmth, maybe even a proposal. But a request mid-flight forces her to confront a line she won't cross... and a version of herself she refuses to erase. As pressure builds, she's left with one choice: stay silent or speak the truth.

I'd been with Luke for just over a year when we booked the trip to meet his parents. It was the kind of milestone that felt both overdue and perfectly timed.
We had made it through long-distance stretches, career changes, and quiet, ordinary routines. When he said he wanted me to meet his family, and that he might propose if things felt right... Something opened in me, quiet but real.

Hope, maybe?
It was meant to be a special week, one that belonged just to us. I'd wanted to meet his parents for a long time, but Luke didn't want to rush it. So I'd waited for the right moment to present itself.
I packed carefully; flats for dinner, heels just in case, and a soft blue dress I'd only worn once before, in case a special occasion came up.

On the morning of our flight, Luke kissed me on the forehead while I slipped into my boots.

"Lina, you're going to love my mom," he said. "And I know she's going to love you!"
We boarded our plane just past noon, and by the time we were halfway there, with the mountains stretching like watercolor smudges below us, Luke turned to me and said something that instantly hollowed the air between us.
"When we get there, Lina," he began, his tone almost too casual. "Would you mind telling my family that you're Japanese?"

"What?" I asked. For a moment, I honestly thought I'd misheard him.
"Not like a whole backstory or anything," he said quickly. "Just... let them assume, you know? You don't have to outright lie, Lina. Maybe mention a dish or drop a phrase in Japanese, and they'll figure it out."
"Luke... I'm Chinese," I stared at him, unsure whether I was more confused or insulted.

"I know," he said, chuckling a little, as if this were harmless. "But my grandmother's Japanese, and my brother's wife is Japanese too. She's kind of obsessed with the idea that we should marry Japanese women. That's probably why she's leaving her whole estate for Ryan. I guess it just makes her feel... closer to something she misses. I don't know. I could be wrong."

"And you think that if I pretend, she'll leave you the other half?" I asked. My voice was low and carefully flat, making the heat rise behind my ribs.
"She might," he said. "She's sentimental. But more than that... she's generous when she's happy. It could be huge, Lina. Like massive. I already know where we could put the down payment and what we could invest the rest in Continuation in comment...

02/22/2026

My Aunt Kicked Me Out of My Childhood Home After My Parents Died – Just as I Left Crying, a Black Limo Pulled Up

Losing my parents changed everything, but it wasn't until the will was read that I realized just how alone I really was.

I always thought grief would come crashing in like a wave — loud, violent, all at once. But for me, it trickled in. A voicemail from a stranger. A sterile hospital waiting room. Two cops who wouldn't meet my eyes.

My name's Rachel. I'm 19, and last fall, my world fell apart when my parents died in a car crash. One minute they were on their way to dinner; the next, I was standing in a cold hallway at 3 a.m., clutching a paper cup of vending machine coffee, wishing I could hit rewind.

After the funeral, the house was too quiet. I kept expecting to hear Mom humming in the kitchen or Dad calling from the garage. I barely left my room except to feed the cat and microwave frozen meals. Grief has a way of shrinking the world.

Then came the will reading.
I showed up in borrowed black slacks and a blazer that still smelled like my mom's perfume. My hands wouldn't stop shaking, so I twisted the hem of my shirt like it was a life raft.

Across from me sat Aunt Dina — technically my dad's sister, though I'd never once heard him speak kindly about her. She wore a tight red dress like she was headed to a cocktail party instead of a legal meeting about her dead brother's estate. She didn't cry; didn't even pretend to.

The lawyer cleared his throat. "According to the will, the house will be passed on to Ms. Dina."
I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
Dina smiled like a cat who just ate the canary. "You heard him."

"That's not possible," I said, my voice shaking. "My parents would never—she hated my mom. She barely spoke to us."
The lawyer shifted uncomfortably. "This is what's documented. The will appears to be valid and signed."

I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. "There has to be a mistake."
"There's no mistake," Dina said, leaning back like she owned the place already. "It's my house now."

I left the office numb, replaying every memory of my parents, trying to figure out how this could have happened. I kept hoping someone would call me and say it was a clerical error. No one did.
Two days later, she came knocking.

I opened the front door in pajamas and fuzzy socks. She didn't even bother with small talk.
"You've got one day to pack up and get out," she said, crossing her arms. "I want the place cleaned up before I move in."

My heart dropped. "Dina, I don't have anywhere else to go."
She shrugged. "Not my problem."
"I'm your niece."
"Correction," she said, stepping past me like she owned the floor. "I'm your landlord. And I want you out."

I tried to plead. I told her I could find a job, help with the bills, or anything else. She just rolled her eyes and Continuation in comment...

02/22/2026

My Neighbor Sold Me a Car and Hid a Major Problem – But Karma Got Her Back Big Time

You know that moment when life kicks you while you're already down? My scheming neighbor thought she could pull a fast one on a broke single mom like me. She tricked me into buying her busted car and figured she'd pocket my hard-earned money. But the universe had other plans.

Three years ago, my world crumbled when my husband Dan died in that terrible accident on Highway 52. One minute I was a happy wife planning our kids' summer vacation, the next I was a 30-year-old widow drowning in bills and heartbreak.

I started pulling double duty like slinging hash at Mel's Diner during the day and scrubbing office floors at night while my sweet mom watches my children, Dora and Ethan.
Last Tuesday morning, my ancient minivan finally wheezed its last breath in the grocery store parking lot. Think black smoke, terrible grinding noise... the whole dramatic death scene.

I sat there staring at the steering wheel, fighting back tears because I knew what this meant: it was another expense I couldn't afford.

That's when Cheryl appeared, strutting across the parking lot like she owned the place. My neighbor's got this way about her, you know? All flashy jewelry and perfect makeup, always bragging about her latest conquest or amazing bargain.
"April, honey!" she called out, her heels clicking on the asphalt. "Car trouble?"

I wiped my eyes quickly. "Yeah, looks like she's finally done for."
Cheryl examined her perfectly manicured nails. "You know what? This might be your lucky day! I've got this little Toyota just sitting in my garage... barely driven. My nephew Tommy used it for like six months before he moved to California."

My heart jumped. "Really? How much?"
"Well, normally I'd ask three grand, but seeing as we're neighbors... $2,500! It's practically a steal, you know?!"

I should've known something was off when Cheryl insisted on meeting me at 7 a.m. sharp the next morning. Who does car sales at dawn unless they're trying to hide something?
"Sorry it's so early," she said, not looking sorry at all. "I've got yoga at nine, then brunch with my new boyfriend Marcus. He's taking me to that fancy place downtown."
The Toyota sat there looking innocent enough — silver, clean, and nothing seemed obviously wrong. When I turned the key, it started right up.

"See? Purrs like a kitten!" Cheryl said, sliding into the passenger seat. "Tommy took great care of it. Oil changes were done every three months... never missed one."
We drove around the block twice. The radio worked, air conditioning blew cold, and the brakes felt fine. I mean, I'm no mechanic, but everything seemed normal.
"Any problems I should know about?" I asked as we pulled back into her driveway.
Cheryl laughed, that tinkling sound that always made my skin crawl. "Honey, if there were problems, would I be selling it to my neighbor for such a steal? This baby's got years left in her."

I counted out 25 crisp hundreds from my emergency fund I'd been saving for Dora's school supplies and Continuation in comment...

02/22/2026

I Accidentally Saw My Husband Sitting in a Hospital Line & Got a Text from Him the Next Moment – My World Shattered

I was sitting in the hospital's waiting room, waiting for my annual checkup with my OB-GYN, when I heard a familiar voice. A man was talking quietly on his phone just a few seats away, and my heart nearly stopped when I looked at him. It was my husband, Jack. What was he doing there?

The room suddenly felt smaller. My mind raced with questions I didn't want to ask. Questions that could destroy everything I thought I knew about my marriage.

Ten years. That's how long Jack and I have been married.
Ten beautiful, messy, wonderful years that gave us two amazing kids and a life I never thought I'd be lucky enough to have.
"Mommy, look what I drew!" my seven-year-old Emma had said that morning, holding up a crayon masterpiece of our family standing in front of our house. Even her stick figures looked happy.

"That's beautiful, sweetheart," I'd told her, taping it to the fridge next to dozens of others.
Watching my kids grow and discover the world fills me with this incredible pride. It's like seeing life through brand new eyes.
And Jack? He's not just my husband. He's my best friend and my partner in all the chaos that comes with raising two kids.
He helps with homework, reads bedtime stories with different voices for each character, and somehow always knows exactly what to say when I'm having a rough day.

"I don't know how you do it all," I'd told him just last week after he'd managed to fix Emma's broken toy, help our nine-year-old Michael with his math homework, and still have dinner ready when I got home from work.
"We do it together," he'd said, kissing my forehead. "That's what partners do."
That's Jack. He shares everything with me.
When he's stressed about work, I know about it. When he's worried about the kids, we talk it through. When he's planning something special, he can barely keep it a secret for five minutes.

We don't hide things from each other. We never have.
That's why what happened that Wednesday shook me to my core.
It started like any other day. Jack left for work earlier than usual, grabbing his coffee.
"Big presentation today," he'd said, adjusting his tie. "Might be a long one."
"Good luck," I'd called after him. "You'll do great."

After getting the kids off to school, I realized I'd forgotten to mention my annual appointment. I grabbed my keys and headed to the hospital, figuring I'd text him later about how it went.

I arrived about fifteen minutes early and found a seat in the waiting area. The place was busy, filled with women of all ages flipping through magazines or checking their phones. I pulled out my own phone and started scrolling through work emails.
That's when I heard it. A voice I'd recognize anywhere.

It was quick and low, slightly rushed like Jack gets when he's trying to handle something important. My head snapped up, and I Continuation in comment...

02/21/2026

My Dad Canceled My College Fund Over a Few B's – Then Lied About Paying, So I Told Everyone the Truth

When Lacey's father makes college conditional, she plays by his rules, until he breaks his own. Now, with the truth buried and her independence won, Lacey must decide how far she's willing to go to reclaim her story. Some debts are paid in silence. Others demand a voice...

Some parents have rules. Mine had ultimatums. Well, my father did.
I was 17 when my dad, Greg, sat me down at the kitchen table with a manila folder in front of him and a smug little smile that already told me this wasn't a conversation, it was a contract.

"You can go to school on me, Lacey," he said, folding his arms. "But there are conditions, my girl."
He listed them like rules from a parental Bill of Rights:
No grades lower than an A-minus.
He'd pre-approve every class.
Weekly check-ins to go over syllabi, deadlines, and professor reviews.

My father sat there, with a custard tart and a mug of coffee, and spoke to me like I was a risky investment, not his daughter.
"Look, it might sound harsh," he said. "But I'm trying to teach you responsibility here, Lacey."
But what he meant was control. Because my father never just talked. He inspected. He hunted. And he watched for weakness like a sport.
In middle school, he'd go through my backpack after dinner like he was searching for contraband, rustling through crumpled papers and half-sharpened pencils as if a missing worksheet might expose some hidden flaw in me.

In high school, it got worse.
My father would email teachers if a grade was posted a day late. He once forwarded a screenshot of my online portal with a single B highlighted.
"Subject line: Explain this, Lacey. No dinner until you do."
I didn't even have time to respond before he texted me the same thing.

Once, in high school, I got called to the counselor's office because he accused a teacher of hiding an assignment. She had just been behind on grading. The counselor looked at me with something between sympathy and exhaustion, like this wasn't the first time my dad had stormed into a school office with the weight of his expectations.

So, yeah, I knew what I was signing up for. But college was the golden ticket. It was the prize at the end of all the stress. And like most seventeen-year-olds desperate for some version of freedom, I thought maybe, just maybe, my father would ease up if I proved myself.

My mom had passed away when I was 13. Before she died, she made my father promise he'd look after my education no matter what.
Still, I tried.
I worked really hard and I stayed out of trouble. I built a college list from scratch, color-coded spreadsheets and all. I wrote draft after draft of essays at the kitchen table, while slurping instant ramen... and all the while, my father would hover in the living room, never reading my essays but just making sure that I was working.

My grades were good. They were mostly A's, a few B's here and there. But I mean... I took Honors English, AP Psych, and I had Continuation in comment...

02/21/2026

My Neighbor Begged Me to Interrupt Her Dinner Tonight – I Was Shocked When I Found Out Why

I thought I was just doing my neighbor a favor by interrupting her dinner, but as I watched from the window, everything changed. What I saw that night wasn't just a family squabble — it was a betrayal that would destroy everything she thought she knew.

You know how people say time flies when you're not paying attention? That's exactly how the last five years of my life have felt since I moved into this quiet neighborhood. After my messy divorce, I needed a place where I could just be, somewhere I could settle into my own company.

I wasn't expecting to make close friends, but then Hazel moved in next door with her husband, Sebastian, and things changed. We hit it off almost instantly. She was one of those rare people who made you feel seen and understood — like you could tell her anything.

Our friendship grew quickly, from casual chats over the fence to morning coffee sessions in our kitchens. Sebastian was always there in the background, the kind of guy who never caused any drama. Their marriage seemed perfect, at least on the surface.

But lately, Hazel wasn't herself. She'd been more on edge, throwing out cryptic comments about how things were "getting weird" at home, especially with her mother-in-law, Donna.
Hazel said Donna was stirring up drama behind the scenes, spreading lies about her, and making life unnecessarily hard. At first, I thought she was exaggerating. I mean, how bad could it really be, right? I'd met Donna a few times; she seemed like your typical overbearing MIL, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Then, yesterday, Hazel called me with this strange request. She asked me, out of the blue, to interrupt their family dinner.
"Seven sharp," she said. No other details, just this urgency in her voice that made me agree without pushing her for more.
I figured maybe she was just trying to escape another awkward family moment. But what happened next… well, let's just say I wasn't ready for it.
So, there I was, at 7 p.m., standing at Hazel's door. I knocked twice before Sebastian answered with his usual warm smile.

"Addison! What a surprise. Come in," he said, stepping aside to let me in. But before I could even respond, Hazel came rushing into the hallway, practically shoving past him. Her hand grabbed mine in a tight grip, and I barely had time to process it before she dragged me outside again.
"Hazel," I whispered urgently, "forget about Donna for a second. Look over there…"
"Hazel, what's going on?" I asked, my heart racing as she led me across the yard and into my own house. "Why did you just pull me out of there? You need to explain what's happening."

"Just... come with me," Hazel said, her voice low and trembling. "You'll see in a second, I promise. We've got the perfect view from your upstairs window."
I followed her, still confused but too curious to refuse. She led me up the stairs and into the guest room, pushing open Continuation in comment...

02/21/2026

My Family Demanded My Late Son's College Fund – I Said: 'Okay but Only Under One Condition'

Losing my son changed everything. I saw my family's true colors when they demanded his college fund like they were entitled to it. I said "okay" but with one condition that shook them all to their core.

I'm Scott. I'm a single dad, and six months ago, I buried my 15-year-old son, Ben.
The funeral was packed. Everyone came and cried, and they promised they'd be there for me. But as the days turned to weeks, the phone calls stopped, the visits ended, and their concerned texts became distant memories.
Everyone disappeared... except Daniel, Ben's best friend.

Ben had been sick for three years. His heart condition meant endless hospital stays, sleepless nights, and watching my boy fight for every breath. During those dark days, there was only one constant visitor... a gangly 16-year-old kid who showed up every single weekend without fail.

"Mr. Scott, I brought Ben some new comic sketches," Daniel once said, clutching his homemade drawings. His eyes would light up as he pulled out chair after chair, settling in for hours beside Ben's bed.
"You didn't have to come today," I'd tell him during particularly rough weeks.
"Yes, I did," he always replied. "Ben's counting on me."
While my own family found excuses to stay away, this kid never missed a visit. Not once.

"Dad," Ben whispered to me one evening, his voice barely audible over the machines. "Promise me something."
I leaned closer. "Anything, son."
"If something happens to me, give Daniel my college money. He deserves it more than anyone."
I squeezed his hand. "Don't talk like that, sweetie. You're going to need that money yourself. I'm sure you'll..."
"Dad, please. Promise me."
The machines beeped steadily in the silence. "I promise, son."
Then a few weeks later, my son passed peacefully.

After the funeral, I expected Daniel to drift away like everyone else. Instead, he knocked on my door the following Tuesday.
"I just wanted to check on you, Mr. Scott."
I opened the door wider. The kid looked exhausted. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his shoulders sagged with grief that seemed too heavy for someone so young.
"You don't have to do this, Daniel."
"Yes, I do. Ben was my best friend. You're all I have left of him."
"Come in. I'll make some coffee."

"Actually," he said, shuffling his feet, "I brought something."
He pulled out a small wooden box, handcrafted and smooth. "I made this for Ben. Was going to give it to him next visit. Now I... I want you to have it."
My throat closed up. Inside were Ben's hospital bracelet, a photo of the two boys laughing, and a note in Daniel's beautiful handwriting: "Thanks for being the best friend ever!"
That became our routine. Every Tuesday, Daniel would appear with his gentle smile and patient heart. We'd sit in my kitchen, share stories about Ben, cry together, and sometimes just sit in comfortable silence.

"Tell me about the time you two got detention," I asked him once.
"Oh man!" Daniel laughed. "Ben convinced me to help him sneak out during lunch to buy you birthday flowers from Continuation in comment...

02/21/2026

My Stepdaughters Hid My Daughter's Passport So She Couldn't Go On Vacation—I Wanted to Cancel It Entirely, but Karma Hit First

Michael thought his blended family was finally settling into a rhythm until his stepdaughters pulled a stunt that made his blood boil. Hiding his daughter’s passport to keep her from a long-awaited vacation? Unforgivable. But before he could act, karma stepped in, and what happened next left everyone speechless.

You think you know the people you live with until they show you exactly who they are.

When I married Pam, I thought we’d build a peaceful life together, even with our complicated family dynamics. But after what her daughters did to Kya, I realized I’d been fooling myself all along.

When my first wife passed away, my world shattered.

But that feeling was not just for me. It was also for my daughter, Kya. She was only 13 when that happened.

I did everything I could to keep her world stable and ensure she never felt alone.

That’s why, when I met Pam a few years later, I thought maybe I could build something good again. She was warm and understanding, and we connected in a way I never expected after my loss.

She had two daughters, but back then, I didn’t think it would be an issue.

Danise was already married, and Tasha was engaged. I assumed it would just be me, Pam, and Kya in the house.

A fresh start. A second chance at family.

But life had other plans.

One by one, Pam’s daughters’ relationships crumbled. Within two years of our marriage, both Danise and Tasha had split from their partners and moved back in with their toddlers.

Soon, my once-quiet home became a chaotic whirlwind of toys, tantrums, and tension.

I felt for them. Divorce isn’t easy. Being a single mother isn’t easy. But sympathy only goes so far when the people you let into your home start treating your daughter like an outsider.

It started small.

“Hey, Kya, can you get me a glass of water?” Danise asked one evening, lounging on the couch.

Kya, being the sweet kid she was, didn’t mind. But then it became a pattern.

“Kya, take the trash out.”

“Kya, watch the kids for a sec.”

“Kya, go grab my laundry from the dryer.”

One night, I overheard them while I was heading to the kitchen.

“I don’t see why she has to sit around when we’re all working so hard,” Tasha muttered to Danise.

My hands clenched into fists. I walked into the living room and looked straight at Pam.

“This stops now,” I said. “Kya isn’t your daughters’ maid.”

Pam sighed. “They don’t mean any harm. They’re just overwhelmed with the kids.”

“Then they can ask politely. And actually pay her if they want help with the kids.”

Pam agreed, and things settled. But only for a while.

Kya, being the smart girl she was, started refusing to help when Danise and Tasha kept “forgetting” to pay her. To keep the peace, Pam finally stepped in.

“I’ll pay you, honey,” she told Kya one evening, handing her some cash. “They should. But since they won’t, I think it’s only fair I pay you.”

That was the balance we struck. And for a brief moment, I thought we had finally found some peace in Continuation in comment...

02/21/2026

My Dad Kicked Me Out When He Found Out I Was Pregnant — 18 Years Later, My Son Paid Him a Visit

When I was seventeen, one moment of truth cost me everything: my home, my family, and the last shred of my father's love. Eighteen years later, the son I raised alone walked back into that silence and said something that neither of us saw coming.

My dad wasn't the emotional type. Affection was measured, never freely given. Rules were rules, and his love came with conditions, mostly unspoken, always rigid.
He believed in discipline, appearances, and doing things the "right" way, which usually meant his way. So when I sat him down as a teenager to share the most vulnerable truth of my life, I already knew I was crossing a line I couldn't uncross.

I still remember the way my father looked at me when I told him I was pregnant.

It happened on a Tuesday evening. He was at the kitchen table, glasses perched low on his nose, flipping through the paper like it was any other day. My hands were shaking.
"Dad," I began, "I need to tell you something."
He didn't look up. "Go on."
"I'm pregnant."

He finally lifted his eyes. And then — nothing. He didn't move. Didn't even blink.

The silence stretched until it pressed against my chest.
"Who's the father?" he asked, his voice clipped and unreadable.
"His name's Tyler. He's in my class. He—he doesn't come from much. His family's struggling, but he said he'll try to be there."
A beat.
"You're keeping the pregnancy?" he asked.
“Yes.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose. "Think very carefully about what you're saying right now."
"I have," I replied. "And I'm not changing my mind."
He stared at me, jaw clenched, like he could will me into rethinking everything. When that didn't work, his expression shifted, not to anger, but to something worse. Contempt.
"You're seventeen," he said, his voice low. "And you're choosing to ruin your life over some broke boy who can barely take care of himself?"
"I'm not ruining anything," I said, quietly but firmly. "I can do this. I will do this."

He pushed his chair back and stood. Walked to the front door. Opened it.
"You want to raise a bastard child with some broke boy?" he muttered, eyes locked on the street beyond the porch. "Then go do it on your own."
That was it. No yelling. No questions. Just one sentence that ended everything.
I was seventeen. And just like that, I was homeless.

My father — a well-known businessman who owned a chain of successful auto garages — never gave me a second thought.

Not a call. Not a dime. I don’t think he ever looked for me.
To him, I had made my bed. And he was content to let me lie in it, no matter how cold or broken it was.
The father of my baby didn't last long either. Two weeks after I left my dad's house, he stopped answering my calls. He had made promises, about standing by me, about doing the right thing. But promises don't pay for Continuation in comment...

Romance Never Ages

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