Two days.
I couldn’t stop thinking about how quickly everything had happened—and how easily it could’ve been worse.
The following week, a restraining order was issued.
Nora deleted her social media accounts and started fresh with stricter privacy settings.
But something else shifted, too.
One evening she wandered into the kitchen while I was cooking.
“Thanks for yelling,” she said awkwardly.
I looked up.
“I’ll always yell,” I replied.
She smirked faintly.
“I know.”
There’s something complicated about being a stepmother.
You love fiercely.
But sometimes you wonder if you’re allowed to.
That day at the school gate, there was no question.
