Mark and I have been married for 10 years, with two kids, a mortgage, and what I thought was a solid life. Sure, Mark never helped around the house — I handled work, the kids, cooking, cleaning, everything. But I told myself, “It’s fine. We’re a team.”Except Mark was playing for another team.
Last week, I came home after a long grocery trip. Arms full of bags, I heard voices on the porch — Mark and Emma, our neighbor’s 25-year-old daughter. They were laughing, and my name came up. Something told me to hide and listen.
“I can’t believe she hasn’t figured it out,” Emma giggled.Mark laughed. “She’s so busy with the kids and the house. She doesn’t even look like a woman anymore. You’re so much better, my princess.”
Then they kissed.I stood there, frozen, gripping the grocery bags. Angry, humiliated — but calm. I didn’t confront them. Instead, I went inside through the back door and started planning. Read more below
