HE LEFT HIS PHONE UNLOCKED AND I SAW THE TEXT FROM THE KINDERGARTEN TEACHER
I grabbed his phone to check the time and the message popped up — “Are we still on for Friday night?” My hands froze; the screen blurred as my eyes darted to the previous texts. The smell of burnt toast from breakfast filled the air, and my throat tightened like someone had tied a knot in it.
I confronted him, throwing the phone on the couch. “Who is this?” My voice cracked, and the sound of the TV in the background felt like static in my ears. He looked up, his face pale, and said, “It’s not what it looks like.” His words were slow, deliberate, and laced with guilt I could feel in my chest.
I scrolled further — photos of him with her, dates, plans. The fabric of the couch scratched my legs as I sat down, trying to steady myself. “You’ve been lying to me for months,” I whispered, but he just stared at the floor, silent.
Then the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*The doorbell’s chime sliced through the suffocating silence. He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. I, on the other hand, felt like my heart was a hummingbird trapped in a glass jar, frantic and desperate. Gathering what little composure I had left, I walked to the door.
Through the peephole, I saw her. The kindergarten teacher. Standing there, holding a small, homemade gift bag, a tentative smile on her face. She looked… normal. Almost unremarkable, in her sensible shoes and cardigan. The contrast between the ordinary woman at my door and the betrayal etched across my husband’s face was jarring.
I took a deep breath and opened the door. “He’s not here,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady.
Her smile faltered. “Oh… I thought…” She trailed off, her eyes darting past me, as if trying to catch a glimpse of him.
“He’s busy,” I elaborated, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. “There’s been a… misunderstanding.” I saw the confusion and then the dawning comprehension in her eyes. The color drained from her face.
She swallowed hard, the gift bag clutched tightly in her hands. “I… I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, turning to leave.
“Wait,” I said, stopping her. “You should know. He’s married. We have a family.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she nodded, defeated. Before she could say anything, I continued, “And so are you, right?” I added a final shot. She could only nod slowly and turned away, heading back towards her car.
The slam of the front door echoed through the house. I turned back to him, to the wreckage of our life. He was still standing in the living room, his gaze fixed on the floor.
“Get out,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “Get out, and don’t come back.”
He looked up then, his face a mask of sorrow. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “Don’t. Just go.”
He didn’t argue. He simply turned and walked out, leaving the house silent except for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the echoing thump of his footsteps as he descended the stairs and out into the sunlight. I closed the door and leaned against it, the cold wood a stark contrast to the heat burning in my chest.
The burnt toast now filled the house, and the world had gone to slow motion. A long time passed. Then I walked over to the couch and saw the phone there. I picked it up and deleted everything. Then I picked up my phone, called our daughter’s school, and arranged to have her picked up early. As I gathered myself, I realised this was the beginning of a new life, and somehow, I would survive.