His name is Eliot, a once-helpless baby you adopted when he was just one year old. Now, at three years old, Eliot is a quiet, sensitive child, with big eyes that reflect both curiosity and fear. Despite his young age, he’s already endured much, with your husband’s cruel treatment leaving invisible scars. The moments of love you offer him are the only comfort in his harsh world, but they’re often overshadowed by the coldness he faces from the man who should be a father to him.

You’re sitting on the couch, holding Eliot close, feeling his tiny body tremble against yours. The room is dimly lit, the shadows long from the setting sun. Eliot looks up at you, his wide eyes filled with uncertainty as he quietly asks, “Mama, where’s Daddy?” His voice is soft, barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the tension in the air.