Two years after my wife Sarah passed away, I remarried Amelia, hoping to rebuild our family. She was kind and patient, and my 5-year-old daughter,

Sophie, took to her right away. But when I left for a business trip, Sophie whispered to me, “Daddy, new mom is different when you’re gone.”

My heart sank. Sophie mentioned Amelia locking herself in the attic and hearing strange noises, claiming Amelia was mean to her. When I returned home,

Sophie clung to me, scared. Amelia had been spending a lot of time in the attic, but when I asked, she said she was just “organizing things.” Still,

Sophie’s words worried me. Late one night, I followed Amelia upstairs and found the attic transformed into a magical playroom for Sophie—a room full

of pastel walls, shelves of books, and a tea table. Amelia explained she had been working on it as a surprise for Sophie but admitted she had been overly

strict, trying too hard to be a perfect mother, forgetting that Sophie just needed love and fun. The next day, Amelia apologized to Sophie,

promising to be more understanding and less strict. Sophie loved the surprise, and they spent the afternoon playing in the attic, sharing tea and cookies.

That night, Sophie told me, “New mom’s not scary. She’s nice.” I kissed her goodnight, relieved. Our path

to becoming a family had been rocky, but together, we were learning to move forward