When the sun rises outside our picture window, I creep out of bed and tiptoe downstairs to make his coffee and slice some fruit for breakfast. Chopping bananas and strawberries, I make a list of silent promises to myself: to trust my husband, to stand by him no matter what, and to do whatever it takes to keep this family together—because I can’t shake the feeling that Lydia wants nothing more than to see us fall apart. And to be honest, if our roles were reversed and I were her—I’d want the same.
