The doorbell rang exactly at 18:00. < img src = "https://zycie.news/crrops/1a202a/620x0/1/0/2025/03/17/csnzpqkyrbmd0vjn8af2sabwredfzochhidrvtun.jpg" alt = "woman @pexels" styles = "background-color: rgba (152,146,137.1)" > < p > I knew that this moment would come.

< p > but I didn't think he would hurt so much.

< p > m & oacute; Jers opened the door.

< p > followed by Dw & Amp; Oacute; Jka children.

< p > his children.

< p > and now & hellip; were to become my responsibility.

< p > my husband's ex -wife died in the case two weeks ago.

< p > car & oacute; d slipped, roofing, death on the spot.

< p > sudden. Brutal.

< p > children were alone.

< p > and the court decided that their father should take care of them.

< p > whether it was just ?

< p > yes

< p > did I want that ?

< p > no.

< p > I looked at them as they stood in the doorstep.

< p > The girl was maybe eight years old, boy ten.

< P >Their eyes were empty, as if their whole world collapsed in an instant.

< p > and probably it was.

< p > but it wasn't my fault.

< p > I wasn't their mother.

< p > I did not ask for this responsibility.

< p > — Well, go in — M & oacute; Jer, and artificial joy sounded in his voice.

< p > children have taken a few uncertain step & oacute; w.

< p > their suitcases blurred traces on the floor.

< p > I didn't move.

< p > I could not.

< p > because I felt I couldn't do it.

< p > in the evening I sat on the couch, clenching my fists.

< p > — I don't want this & mdash; I said quietly.

< p > m & oacute; Je husband looked at me with tired eyes.

< p > — They are my children. I had no choice.

< p > — But I had!

< p > did not understand.

< p > did not understand that I was not ready to become a mother for someone who does not even want me.

< p > because the children looked at me as if they knew that I did not want them in this house.

< p > and it hurt.

< p > but even more the thought that I would have to pretend it was different.

< p > The first night was the most difficult.

< p > The girl cried in the room for a long time.

< p > I heard her quiet sobbing.

< p > The boy stared at the ceiling, not m & oacute; not a word.

< p > m & oacute; Jer, entered their room, pr & oacute; blessing them.

< p > and I was lying in our bedroom and wondered if I would ever feel good in this house.

< p > because I knew one.

< p > It will never be our home again.

< p > Now it was them.

< p > and I was alien to it.

Natasha Kumar

By Natasha Kumar

Natasha Kumar has been a reporter on the news desk since 2018. Before that she wrote about young adolescence and family dynamics for Styles and was the legal affairs correspondent for the Metro desk. Before joining The Times Hub, Natasha Kumar worked as a staff writer at the Village Voice and a freelancer for Newsday, The Wall Street Journal, GQ and Mirabella. To get in touch, contact me through my natasha@thetimeshub.in 1-800-268-7116