I remember thinking I’d spend a quiet day catching up on work while my husband and daughter made memories. I had no idea that a simple change in plans would lead me to something I was never meant to see.
I’ve been with my husband, Robert, for nine years—long enough to know his habits, like how he left cabinet doors slightly open or checked the locks twice before bed.
We had a seven-year-old daughter, Ava. Our life was usually calm, the kind of routine that feels steady enough that you stop questioning it.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was stable.
Or at least, I believed it was.
That Saturday, Robert and Ava were supposedly out riding the teacups at Disneyland.
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