For twelve years, I believed we were a family.
My name is Sarah. I’m forty-three years old, and I met Daniel when I was thirty-one at a friend’s birthday party.
He was the kind of man who made everything seem easy. He always spoke calmly, remembered exactly how I liked my coffee, and never forgot to call if he was going to be late.
Two years later, we moved in together.
Four years later, we bought a house in a quiet suburb. Daniel had a poor credit history, so the
