Fourteen years of marriage. Two incredible children. A life I believed was unshakable. Then one evening, everything collapsed the moment Stan brought another woman into our home.
That night marked the beginning of the hardest—and most transformative—chapter of my life.
Before it all unraveled, my world revolved around routine. I was a mother of two, moving through days filled with carpools, homework checks, and family dinners. Lily, my bright and spirited twelve-year-old, and Max, my endlessly curious nine-year-old, were my entire universe. Life wasn’t perfect, but I truly believed we were happy.
Stan and I had built our life from the ground up. We met at work and connected instantly. Friendship turned into love, and not long after, he proposed. Saying yes felt natural.
Over the years, we faced setbacks and struggles, but I believed they had only strengthened us. I was wrong.
Lately, Stan had been coming home late. I brushed it off as ambition—deadlines, pressure, career demands. He wasn’t as present anymore, but I told myself love didn’t disappear just because someone was tired.
I wish I’d known the truth sooner.
It happened on a Tuesday. I remember because I was cooking alphabet soup for dinner—Lily’s favorite.
I heard the front door open, followed by the sharp click of unfamiliar heels. My heart jumped. Stan never came home early.
“Stan?” I called, drying my hands as I stepped into the living room.
That’s when I saw them.
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