During a quiet spring cleaning afternoon, I stumbled upon Eric’s old jacket—forgotten in the back of our closet. It was heavy with dust and memories, but what I found in its pocket was heavier: two plane tickets from five years ago. The dates matched the week our son Damian was born. But the destination wasn’t for business. It was a romantic beach town. And the name listed beside Eric’s wasn’t a colleague or friend—it was my step-sister’s. In an instant, everything I believed about our marriage crumbled. Eric and I had built a life together—at least, that’s what I thought. From our joyful wedding to the birth of our son,
I believed we were a team. His frequent business trips, though hard, were something I accepted. He missed important milestones, including Damian’s birth, but I trusted his explanations. I told myself his sacrifices were for us—for our future. I never imagined they were lies. The betrayal cut deep—not just because he cheated, but because he stole years of trust and truth from me. And it wasn’t just him—it was her. My own step-sister. Someone I considered family. That kind of pain doesn’t come with.