When my wife, Anna, and I got married, her daughter Shiloh was nine years old—a quiet, sharp-eyed kid who watched me like I was an intruder in her life. She hated me from day one. Nothing explosive, nothing dramatic… just a constant, icy wall. No matter what I did—driving her to school, helping with homework, giving her space—she rejected all of it. For illustrative purposes only I always suspected she blamed me for her parents’ divorce. The painful part was knowing the truth: her biological father had disappeared long before I ever met Anna. But kids don’t always see timelines....
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