him walk up to the front door, slip his wedding ring into his pocket, and be greeted by a woman I had never seen before.
She was younger, smiling warmly, holding a mug of coffee like she’d been expecting him. Without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed her — not the quick, polite kind, but the slow, familiar kind that made my stomach turn.
I stayed hidden, my hands trembling, watching him step inside like he belonged there. I waited almost an hour before he came back out, his hair slightly messy, his wedding ring back on his finger as if nothing had happened.
When he drove off, I walked up to the house and knocked. The woman opened the door, still smiling, until she saw me.
“You must be…” she started, but I cut her off.
“His wife.”
Her face drained of color. And in that moment, I knew — I didn’t need any more explanations.
That night, I didn’t confront him. I quietly gathered my daughter’s things and left to stay with my sister. Because some truths don’t need an argument… they just need an exit.
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