The next afternoon, we decided to tell them everything. I made hot chocolate, a small comfort I hoped would soften the blow of what we were about to say. My husband, Daniel, sat stiffly on the couch. Sasha, the girls’ other mother, was on the edge of the armchair, looking ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. I knelt on the rug between Mia and Sophie, wanting to look them both directly in the eye.Continue reading…
