Then, one rainy day, I saw Stan and Miranda at a shabby café. Time hadn’t been kind to them. They looked worn out and defeated. When Stan saw me, he rushed over, full of apologies and regret, begging to see the kids again. Miranda, clearly done with him, stormed off, blaming him for their failed life. I listened,
then calmly told Stan to leave his number. If the kids wanted to reach out, they would. But he wasn’t walking back into our lives. As I walked away, I realized I didn’t need revenge—I had something better: healing, strength, and a beautiful life I’d rebuilt from nothing.
