Chapter 2: The Messages That Broke Me

I’d always trusted him. Even when friends whispered about long hours and pretty coworkers, I brushed it off. That wasn’t us, I kept telling myself.

I thought all his hard work was for our family. I thought he’d always be loyal to our marriage.

I’d defended him to everyone—my friends, my parents, even myself. I thought I knew him better than anyone.

But honestly, no woman comes away from checking her husband’s phone without scars.

It’s a line you can’t uncross. Every message, every emoji, every little in-joke felt like a betrayal. I wanted to throw the phone across the room.

Every message between him and Rachel felt like a knife, stabbing into my heart.

I scrolled through their photos, their memes, their late-night confessions. Each one sliced a little deeper. Until I could barely breathe.

The pain was overwhelming, nearly drowning me.

I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to steady my heartbeat. My vision blurred, and I thought I might pass out.

The suffocating feeling drained all the color from my face. My vision went dark.

I staggered back, my knees buckling. The room spun around me, and I gripped the dresser to keep from collapsing.

David caught me as I staggered, his voice hoarse and full of guilt: “Babe, I’m sorry, but I swear, I haven’t crossed the line with her.”

His hands were gentle, but I jerked away. Couldn’t stand it. The words sounded rehearsed, as if he’d practiced them in the mirror.

“By ‘crossed the line’... you mean slept together?”

My voice was flat, almost robotic. I needed to hear him say it.

“We haven’t.”

He looked me straight in the eye, but I couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth. I didn’t even care anymore.

“So you think you’ve done nothing wrong, then?”

I waited, but he just looked away, his mouth working like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

David’s answer didn’t matter to me anymore.

Whatever he said, it wouldn’t erase what I’d seen. The damage was done. No going back.

I handed his phone back, walked out of the room, and said to our daughter, “Emily, we’re going home now.”

My voice was gentle, but firm. Emily looked up at me, her eyes wide and confused. She didn’t get it.

Our daughter looked confused. “Mom, why are we leaving so soon? Didn’t you say we’d spend the weekend with Dad?”

Her lower lip trembled, and I felt a fresh wave of guilt crash over me. I knelt down, brushing her hair back from her forehead.

“Something urgent came up, sweetie. We’ll visit Dad next time.”

I forced a smile, hoping she wouldn’t see the cracks. I zipped up her little backpack and took her hand.

As I carried her out, she still looked puzzled.

She clung to me, glancing back at David. Her eyes searching for answers neither of us could give.

But when she saw my expression, she didn’t dare ask anything else.

She just buried her face in my shoulder, quiet and small.

David chased after us, trying to stop me. “You drove five hours to get here. At least stay for the weekend.”

His voice was desperate, pleading. He reached for my arm, but I pulled away.

“No.”

My answer was final. I didn’t owe him anything—not after what I’d seen.

He’d already planned to go camping with Rachel this weekend. I wasn’t about to get in their way.

The realization stung, but I refused to let him see me cry. I was done being the backup plan.

“If you have time on Monday, come back and handle what needs to be done.”

I didn’t say ‘divorce’ in front of our daughter, but David understood.

He went pale, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to argue, but the fight had gone out of him.

He tried even harder to stop me. “You just drove five hours, and now you’ll have to drive five hours back. You can’t handle that.”

His concern sounded hollow. Like he was reading lines from a script he didn’t even believe. I stared at him, my face blank.

Does he still care about my health? Somehow, I doubt it.

The question hung in the air, unanswered. I thought about all the times I’d needed him, all the times he’d let me down.

When he saw me and our daughter just now, was he worried about my exhaustion, or just afraid Rachel would see us?

I wanted to scream, to shake him, to make him admit the truth. But I kept my mouth shut, holding Emily close.

As we stood there in silence, suddenly the door behind us opened.

It was Rachel. She walked right in, unlocking the door with her fingerprint.

She looked surprised to see us, but not ashamed. Not even a little. She stood tall, her chin lifted, as if she had every right to be there.

“David, I...”

Her voice faltered when she saw me, but she quickly recovered, her eyes flicking over me with something like amusement.

She stopped short when she saw me. For a second, she just stared.

For a second, the room was frozen—David caught between us, Emily clutching my hand, Rachel standing in the doorway. The tension was thick. You could cut it with a knife.

Seeing Rachel at that moment, my mind went blank for a few seconds.

I couldn’t process it. The way she walked in like she owned the place. Tossed her bag on the counter, casual as anything. It was like she’d done it a hundred times before.

Then I remembered what David said earlier: that they hadn’t crossed the line.

I almost laughed. If this wasn’t crossing the line, what was?

Can a regular coworker unlock your door with her fingerprint? Yeah, right.

The answer was obvious. I looked at David, daring him to deny it.

Just as I looked at David with a mocking expression, an even bigger blow hit me—

Our daughter Emily actually knew Rachel.

She let go of my hand and ran over. My heart just stopped.

She greeted her: “Miss Rachel!”

Her voice was bright, happy. Rachel smiled back, a little too warmly.

Rachel looked embarrassed, but her eyes were full of defiance.

She met my gaze, lips curling into a half-smile. She didn’t look away. Not for a second. In that moment, I realized she wasn’t sorry at all.

She’d claimed in their chat that she was working late tonight, but now she was here.

The lie was so blatant it almost made me laugh. I glanced at David, but he just looked at the floor.

Clearly, she’d come on purpose because of me.

She wanted me to see her, to know she’d won. The realization burned, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

She even said to David, “I called you but you didn’t answer. I was worried something happened, so...”

Her tone was syrupy sweet, but her eyes were sharp. She was staking her claim. Right in front of me. Right in front of my daughter.

David didn’t bother explaining, just told her, “Go back for now.”

His voice was strained, clipped. Rachel hesitated, then shrugged.

Rachel hesitated, then said something shocking: “Since I’m already here, can’t I eat with you all? Mrs. Carter and Emily probably don’t mind, right?”

She looked straight at me as she spoke, daring me to object. I felt my blood boil.

David’s face darkened, his eyes full of agitation.

He clenched his fists, his jaw working. For a second, I thought he might actually yell, but he just glared at Rachel, then at me.

I had no patience to watch them put on a show. I shook off David’s hand and walked straight out the door.

I didn’t look back. My feet carried me down the hallway, past the neighbors’ doors, past the faded welcome mats, past the smell of someone’s burnt dinner. I barely noticed.

In the elevator, Emily hugged my neck and asked carefully, “Mom, do you not like Miss Rachel?”

Her voice was so small, so uncertain. I squeezed her tight, fighting back tears.

Swallowing my sadness, I tried to sound calm. “Why do you ask? Are you close with Miss Rachel?”

I tried to sound casual, but my voice wobbled. Emily looked thoughtful, her brow furrowed.

Emily nodded. “When Dad was busy at work, he let me stay with Miss Rachel. She even made grilled cheese for me.”

The words hit me like a punch. I forced myself to smile, to keep my voice steady.

“When was this?”

I tried to keep my tone light, but my hands were shaking.

“Last holiday.”