I always believed my marriage was strong—until I found two tickets in my husband’s old jacket.
Eric and I had what I thought was a solid relationship. We supported each other’s dreams, celebrated life’s highs, and weathered its lows together. When our son, Damien, was born, Eric was the perfect father—attentive, loving, and devoted. But as his career took off, requiring frequent travel, our time together dwindled. I told myself it was temporary, that his sacrifices were for our family’s future.
Then came the day I decided to clean out our closet. Buried beneath old sweaters was a jacket Eric hadn’t worn in years. As I pulled it out, two slips of paper fluttered to the floor.
Flight tickets.
Dated around the time Damien was born—the same week Eric had claimed he was away on business. But the destination wasn’t a corporate hub. It was a romantic getaway, famous for secluded beaches and luxury resorts. And the name on the second ticket? My stepsister’s.
The betrayal hit me like a punch to the gut. All those years of trust, of believing his absences were for work, shattered in an instant. The man I loved had been living a double life—with someone who was supposed to be family.
I didn’t confront him. I packed my bags, took Damien, and left. Some lies are too big to forgive.
Now, at my father’s house, I’m rebuilding my life—one free of secrets.
