“If you were unhappy,” she said, “you could have talked to me. You could’ve asked for counseling. You could’ve asked for a divorce. Instead, you chose to sneak around with my daughter’s best friend. That’s simple.”
He took a step forward, trying to cross the threshold. She blocked him.
“Don’t come in,” she said.
My mom let out a small, bitter laugh.
“One mistake?” she repeated. “You don’t trip and fall into an affair. You chose this. Over and over.”
He looked past her at me again. “Natalie, tell her I’m not a bad person. Tell her I’ve always loved you both.”
“I thought you did,” I said. “You don’t cheat on someone you love. Not like this.”
My mom opened the door wider.
“Take your things,” she said. “Find somewhere else to stay.”
“I have nowhere to go,” he tried again.
“There are hotels,” she said. “Or you can call Tessa.”
He flinched at that.
He picked up a box and walked it to his car. Then another. Then another.
On his last trip, he stood in the doorway with his hands empty.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
“I’m sorry too,” my mom said. “I thought you were better than this.”
She closed the door.
The lock clicked.
She leaned her forehead against the wood for a few seconds. Then she turned, walked to the couch, and sat down slowly.
I sat beside her.
“I’m so stupid,” she choked.
“You’re not stupid,” I said. “He is selfish.”
She cried into my shoulder until she was wrung out. Then she wiped her face, took a deep breath, and said, “Tomorrow I’m calling a lawyer.”
Later that night, my phone blew up with messages from Tessa.
“Nat, please talk to me.” “I’m so sorry.” “We didn’t plan this.” “You don’t understand.” “I love him.”
I typed one response:
“You chose him over me and my mom. That was your decision. This is mine.”
Then I blocked her everywhere.
My mom blocked them both, too.
Within a few days, people started to find out. Tessa tried to spin it, saying my mom and Mark were “already basically over” and they “just fell in love.” But when people asked, “So why didn’t you wait until they split?” She didn’t have a good answer.
I’m not going to pretend we’re okay yet. My mom is hurt, and angry, and exhausted. I’m angry too. And grieving the version of Mark I thought was real.
“Do you regret marrying him?” I asked her last night.
She thought about it.
“No,” she said slowly. “He was good to us for a long time. I won’t erase that. But I also won’t let the good years excuse what he chose to do now.”
She reached over and squeezed my hand.
Some betrayals don’t deserve second chances.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “I know that must have been awful.”
“It was,” I said. “But watching him keep lying to you would’ve been worse.”
She nodded. “We’re going to be okay, Nat.”
This time, I believed her.
Some betrayals don’t deserve second chances. They deserve a public check, a note on a dessert plate, boxes by the door, and a lock that never opens for them again.
If you liked this story, here’s another one about a woman who noticed something off in an ultrasound her son sent her.
