Until I found a second phone tucked away in his gym bag.

It was locked. But when it buzzed, the notification flashed: “CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU AGAIN TONIGHT.”

I felt my heart stop. I waited until he got home, placed the phone on the table, and said, “Unlock it.” His hands shook as he reached for it.

“It’s not what you think…” he began, but I was not buying it. “Unlock it now or we’re over!” I insisted.

He did it and I saw message after message from a woman named Tasha. Flirty emojis. Dinner plans. A photo of her blowing him a kiss. I thought I was going to throw up. My knees went weak.

I walked away from the table, pacing the kitchen like a caged animal. “How long?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Six months,” he mumbled.

“Six MONTHS?!” I shouted. “While I was taking care of the kids? While I was working late and trusting you?”

He had no defense. Just silence. And guilt all over his face.

I cried that night in the guest room. I barely slept. My mind raced through fourteen years—birthdays, anniversaries, his stupid inside jokes. Were they all fake?

The next morning, I took the kids to school like nothing happened. But I was broken inside. I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to scream it from the rooftops. Another part didn’t want my kids’ lives to be ripped apart.

That afternoon, he texted me. “I want to talk. Please. Not in front of the kids.”

We met at the little coffee shop down the road. I sat across from him, arms crossed, sunglasses still on. He looked like a wreck—barely slept, eyes red.Read More Below