The footage broke my heart.
Within hours of Kate leaving for school, my wife and her daughters were in her room—again and again. Sophie and Mia rifled through her drawers, trying on clothes and makeup. Anna—my wife—sprayed Kate’s perfume on herself, laughed, and left the bottle half-open on the desk. They treated Kate’s things like a free-for-all, as though her privacy meant nothing.
No wonder my daughter had been so quiet. She wasn’t just adjusting to a new household—she was being invaded. Her room, her sanctuary, wasn’t hers at all.
That night, after Kate had gone to bed, I went to the hardware store. I didn’t make a speech, I didn’t call a family meeting. I just bought a simple lock and installed it on Kate’s door.
