I knew he would be great with kids. He didn’t have any children of his own, but he’d always told me he wanted them someday. He was kind, empathetic, patient, and genuinely one of the sweetest people I’d ever dated.
I was sure they would get along perfectly.
Stephen worked for a huge corporation that almost everyone in our town had worked for at some point, so he had a stable salary and a nice place to live. Overall, he seemed like a genuinely good match.
I felt good about our relationship, and I had high hopes for us.
I don’t know if I would have married him, but I could definitely see things working out. We got along well, and after a year together, I trusted him.
It wasn’t Stephen’s first time at my house, either.
Every other weekend, when my daughter stayed with her dad—my ex-husband—Stephen would come over. He’d seen her playroom and all of her things. He had even bought her a few toys and pieces of furniture.
