“Girls, listen carefully. You are *not* staying here long. I’m not spending my twenties raising somebody else’s kids. During the adoption interview, you *must* say you want a different family. Tell them you don’t feel safe here or whatever. Make it convincing.”
My blood turned to ice. I froze on the porch, keys still in my hand.
“Don’t you even cry,” Jenna snapped, her voice like a whip. “Go finish your homework. Hopefully you’ll be gone soon.”
I heard small footsteps retreating upstairs. Then Jenna’s voice again, lower, on the phone.
“They’re finally gone… Karen, I can’t do this anymore. I just need him to put my name on the property deed. Once he adopts them officially, they become *our* problem legally, but I need them *gone* before that. That house and the rest of the insurance money should be for *us*. A nice wedding, vacations, our own kids someday. Not this instant-family bullshit.”
I stumbled back to my car, sat in the driver’s seat with the door closed, and shook. Nausea rolled through me. This woman I had planned to marry had been playing a long game. The house was worth nearly $600,000 in today’s market. The remaining insurance payout after funeral costs was about $180,000. Enough for a fresh start—if you didn’t have two grieving children attached.
I almost stormed back in. Almost. But something colder took over. *No confrontation. Not yet.* She needed to expose herself completely. Publicly. Irreversibly.
I waited ten minutes, composed my face, and walked back inside with a cheerful smile.
“Hey, baby! I’m home! How are my girls?”
Jenna appeared from the kitchen, her mask instantly back on—warm smile, apron dusted with flour like she’d been baking cookies. “Ethan! You’re early! The girls are finishing homework. Dinner’s almost ready.”
That night, after the twins went to bed, I sat with her on the couch and played the role of my life.
“Jenna… I’ve been thinking. Maybe you’re right. This is too much. Maybe I should give the girls up for adoption. Find them a stable two-parent family. I’m only 25. I can’t do this forever.”
Her eyes sparkled with something ugly and triumphant. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s the *perfect* decision. You’re so strong for realizing it. Those poor girls deserve… something else. We deserve our life back.”
