His Secret Son, My Broken Heart

arm comfort of his presence had evaporated, leaving behind the bitter chill of deceit. I watched his retreating back, a cold, hard knot f

black rectangle, usually attached to him like an extra limb. To

acy had been replaced by a fierce hunger for the truth. He had stripped me of my dignity; I would strip him of his secrets. I rememb

top of his messaging app, was Angela Mcfar

d against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of impending doom. I knew what I woul

, declarations of love. Hotel booking confirmations for the Grand Hyatt, and other luxury resorts. Dates and times that directly contradicted his "business trip" schedule. Ph

almost dropped the phone. The betrayal was so much deeper, so much more profound than I had imagined.

hing. A distinct gap in the conversation. The messages only went back a few weeks. A

t pain anymore; it was about strategy. He thought he w

solve was iron. Click. Click. Click. I photographed every incriminating message, every booking, every photo, eve

ure, a brutal awakening to the monster I had loved. My stomach churned, bile rising in my

fingerprints, and retreated to our bedroom. I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the images burned into my mind. The pain w

e rules had been rewritten. And I