Chapter 1The Son’s Birthday

On my son's fifth birthday, I found messages on my husband David’s phone about a hotel room with another woman. He called her baby, bought her jewelry, and promised a Disney trip after our party.

I confronted him. He admitted to cheating but swore we were his real family. After eight years of marriage, I couldn’t ruin our son’s birthday, so I pretended nothing happened.

Then a voice message played aloud: “David, I’m on the roof. I’ll jump if you don’t come now!” He bolted for the door. I told him coldly, “If you leave, we’re done.” He froze, but didn’t look back.

…

* * *

Unlocking David’s phone had been an accident.

But seeing the messages from a girl named Lily was not.

They stretched back to last March, a relentless, daily stream.

When it was windy, she’d remind him to wear a jacket.

When it rained, she’d share a picture of the new umbrella he’d bought her.

On Valentine’s Day, she’d sent a photo of herself wearing the necklace he’d given her, shyly modeling a new piece of lingerie.

And then there was today’s message, sent with a cute kitten emoji:

“When is your son’s party over? I’ve already booked the hotel at Disney. We can leave tonight.”

…

I scrolled through their so-called love story for half an hour and still hadn't reached the beginning.

The old me would have thrown this phone at his face, screamed "You bastard!" and walked out without a second thought.

But that was then. Now, we’ve been married for eight years, and today is our son’s fifth birthday.

Both our families are here at the hotel, ready to celebrate. The party starts in less than an hour.

And this is the moment I find proof of his affair.

A thousand tiny needles pricked at my heart, a searing, relentless pain.

But I didn’t have time to cry.

My five-year-old son was waiting for me in the living room. It was his day.

The minutes ticked by.

I went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, fixed my hair, and then walked out to the living room. I called David, who was helping Tim open a new Lego set, into our bedroom.

I laid it all out for him.

I didn't ask him who she was.

I just asked him, "Tim is only five. What are you going to do?"

The smile vanished from David's face.

His hands trembled as he pulled out a cigarette, then another, and another, until the entire pack was empty.

He didn't move until our son knocked on the door, his small voice asking when we were leaving for the party.

That seemed to snap him out of his trance. His voice, hoarse from the smoke, was strained.

“I admit it, I cheated. But you and Tim are my real family.”

“It will never happen again.”

Right there, in front of me, he opened his messages, blocked her number, and deleted the chat history. As if he could erase it all like a bad dream.

I wiped my own tears, fixed my makeup, and opened the bedroom door with a smile plastered on my face.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, then hoisted Tim onto his shoulders and carried him out to the car.

As if nothing had ever happened.

It wasn't until eight o'clock that night, when the waiter rolled in the birthday cake and the lights dimmed for the candles, that the illusion shattered.

David's phone lit up, and a voice message played loud enough for the whole table to hear:

“David, I’m on the roof. If you don’t come, I’m going to jump!”