My husband came to pick me up and our newborn triplets from the hospital, but when he saw them, he told me to leave them there
After years of longing, Emily’s dream finally came true—she gave birth to three beautiful daughters. But just one day later, her husband left them, claiming the babies were cursed.
As I held my newborn daughters, my heart overflowed with love for Sophie, Lily, and Grace. They were perfect, the tiny miracles I had prayed for through years of longing.
Watching their peaceful faces as they slept, I whispered promises of love and protection, vowing to never leave their side.
But when Jack returned from running errands, something felt wrong. His face was pale, and his movements were hesitant. He lingered by the door, unwilling to come closer.
“Jack?” I asked softly, patting the chair beside me. “Come meet our girls—they’re here. We did it.” He mumbled something about their beauty, avoiding my gaze and shifting uneasily.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice trembling with growing concern. Taking a deep breath, he finally said, “Emily, I don’t think we can keep them.” The words hit me like a punch. “What are you talking about? They’re our daughters!”
He hesitated, then told me his mother had visited a fortune teller. According to her, our daughters would bring nothing but misfortune and, eventually, cause his death.
I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing, as anger started to bubble beneath my shock.
“You’re going to abandon us because of a fortune teller’s nonsense?” I demanded, my voice shaking with fury. “These are your daughters, Jack!”
He looked at me, guilt in his eyes. “If you want to keep them, that’s your choice,” he muttered. “But I can’t stay.” And with that, he turned and walked out the door, leaving me devastated.
Despite the heartbreak, I knew I had to be strong for my girls. Every day was tough—three newborns and no partner—but I refused to give up. They were my everything. Their smiles and tiny hands wrapped around mine gave me the strength I needed.
One day, Jack’s sister, Beth, visited. She was the only member of his family who stayed in contact, and I secretly hoped she might convince Jack to return. That afternoon, her face was heavy with worry.
“Emily, I need to tell you something,” Beth said, her voice hesitant. “I overheard Mom talking to Aunt Carol… There was no fortune teller. Mom made it all up.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “What?” I asked, my mind reeling. “She was afraid Jack would choose you and the girls over her,” Beth admitted. “She thought scaring him would keep him close.”
Fury surged within me. This lie, fueled by selfishness, had torn my family apart. That night, I called Jack to tell him the truth, but he dismissed me, defending his mother and refusing to believe she would lie.
Weeks passed, and I adjusted to life as a single mother. Friends and family rallied around me, and I found unexpected joy in every milestone my daughters reached. Their laughter became the heart of my world.
Months later, Jack’s mother showed up at my door, pale and tearful. She confessed everything, begging for forgiveness. “I was afraid of losing him,” she cried. “I never thought he’d leave you.”
I crossed my arms, fighting to control my anger. “Your fear destroyed my family,” I said coldly. “You’ll have to live with that.”
A year later, Jack showed up at my door, remorse in his eyes. He begged to come back, claiming he had realized his mistake. But it was too late.
“You abandoned us when we needed you most,” I said firmly. “I built a life for my daughters without you, and we’re stronger because of it. You made your choice, Jack. Now live with it.”
As I closed the door on him, I felt a sense of peace. My daughters and I were a family—strong, united, and unbreakable. Jack had cursed his own life, not ours.
