“Is that for me?” Owen nodded. She accepted it. “Thanks.”
Then she held up a sheet of stickers she had brought. “Do you want one?” Within twenty minutes they were arguing over who got to press the button on an exhibit. Both mothers laughed before they could stop themselves.
The sound felt almost disloyal to the pain, then unexpectedly healing. Nia and Caroline sat on a bench while the children played within sight. “This is weird,” Caroline said. Nia exhaled.
“Extremely.” “I thought I’d hate seeing her.” “Amara?” “No.
You.” Nia gave her a sideways look. Caroline shook her head. “Not because of you.
Because I thought if I saw you, I’d feel like the stupid other woman.” Nia was quiet for a moment. “I thought seeing you would make me feel replaced.” “Do you?”
“No.” Nia watched Owen show Amara how the dinosaur’s jaw opened. “I feel lied to.” Caroline nodded.
“Me too.” That became the closest thing they had to friendship for several months. They coordinated sibling visits, shared information about school schedules, and alerted each other when Andre made requests that affected both children. They did not discuss dating, loneliness, or whether one had ever been happier with him.
Those comparisons would have been corrosive and meaningless. Each relationship had been real to the woman living inside it and fraudulent in ways only Andre fully understood. The divorce negotiations became more difficult in the spring. Andre wanted broad parenting time with Amara.
Nia did not oppose his role as father, but she wanted a gradual schedule tied to counseling and demonstrated consistency. Her attorney argued that the issue was not whether Andre loved his daughter; it was whether his history of deception made abrupt trust unreasonable. They eventually agreed on a step-up plan: daytime visits first, then overnights after several months, with all exchanges documented and no use of either child to carry messages between adults. Caroline reached a similar agreement regarding Owen.
The two schedules forced Andre to confront practical consequences he had once hidden with lies. He could not be in two homes on the same Saturday. He could not promise both children the same holiday. He could not create fake duty days to escape conflict because every parenting period now existed in writing.
The logistical pressure he had claimed as justification for secrecy became, under honesty, manageable. There were calendars. There were compromises. There were disappointed children sometimes.