My name is Caroline “Carrie” Mitchell. I’m thirty-two years old, living in the rainy, coffee-scented city of Portland, Oregon. And like every mother in this world, I wake up each day with one mission:
To protect my child.
After my first marriage fell apart, after the papers were signed and the promises shattered, I brought home the only piece of that life that mattered—my daughter Emma. I held her in our tiny apartment, kissed the top of her soft head, and promised:
“No matter what happens, you’re safe with me.”
It wasn’t always easy. We rebuilt our lives from scratch—hand-me-down furniture, dollar-store dinners, and bedtime stories whispered through exhaustion. But we had each other. And for a while, that was enough.
A Second Chance at Love
Three years later, everything changed.
I met Evan Brooks.
Nothing dramatic—no movie-style meet-cute—just two lonely adults who happened to be standing in the same grocery aisle arguing with a price scanner. He had gentle eyes and a tired smile that looked like he had weathered storms too. He made me laugh. And slowly, he made me believe that love could still be kind.
When he met Emma, he didn’t try to win her over with gifts or jokes. He was simply patient. Consistent. He always kneeling down to her level when speaking to her—as if to say:
You matter. You’re seen. You belong.
I thought maybe… just maybe… peace had finally found us.