When Brielle’s daughter began sketching “two mommies” in her drawings, what seemed like innocent imagination slowly unraveled into a painful truth. What started as a curious mystery would soon force Brielle to face a chapter she thought was long closed — and the person she never imagined would come back.
I used to think I knew everything about my daughter.
Brittany is eight years old — bright, bubbly, endlessly curious. She creates entire fantasy worlds out of cardboard and ribbon. Her stuffed animals have elaborate dramas that rival TV soap operas. And brushing her teeth often turns into a three-minute musical.
She’s magic wrapped in a ponytail.
But lately… something’s been off.
She’s been coming home with little things I never gave her.
First, it was a bracelet — clearly handmade, strung too tight for her to have made it at school. Then came a lip balm in a flavor she’d never choose on her own — cotton candy. I found snack packs in her backpack I’d never bought: fruit gummies, seaweed, cookies with glittery wrappers.
When I asked, she gave a vague answer.
“Oh, just some girls in class,” she said with a shrug.
Sure, kids trade things. I used to swap barrettes and stickers when I was her age. But there was something in her voice — or maybe in my gut — that didn’t sit right.
Then the pictures started showing up.
At first, they made me smile.
Brittany had always been expressive through her art. Once, she drew our family as cupcakes — I was the one with chocolate sprinkles and a cherry on top. Her doodles filled our fridge and the margins of every workbook she owned. Her art was her language, and through it, I saw the world through her eyes — joyful, safe, full of color.
So when I found a drawing tucked between math problems — a little girl holding hands with two women — I didn’t think much of it. I assumed it was me and her teacher, Miss Kayla.
I closed the book and didn’t question it.
But a few days later, I found another one.
This time, the drawing was taped into her sketchbook. Two tall women, smiling, standing beside a small girl. But now one was clearly labeled “Mom” — and it wasn’t me.