I woke before everyone else. It was still dark, but I was already smoothing the stubborn creases in Lucas’s brand-new school shirt—his first day of first grade. I wanted everything perfect, even though our life was anything but.
Travis had fallen asleep on the couch again, beer can rolled under the table, and the TV replaying ESPN. I nearly tripped over his shoes.
“Travis? Get up. It’s school day.” He mumbled without opening his eyes. After ten years, I’d learned not to expect much. But this morning was important—Lucas had been dreaming all summer about the three of us going together.
“Daddy’s coming, right?” he asked. “Of course,” I said, and tried waking Travis again. He rolled away lazily, promised to drive over later, and waved me off.
He’d become distant—late nights, little talk, sleeping on the couch—and that morning, something felt wrong: a quiet alarm in my gut.
We arrived at school; Lucas looked small and brave. I held his hand into the building, hoping for our moment. But Travis didn’t show. Just a text: “I’ll try—might be late.” So I walked Lucas in alone. Moments later, Travis arrived. I backed off.
Inside the door, I heard the teacher call: “Jamie, sweetheart, can you come help?” Lucas didn’t correct her and walked over. Travis stood calmly, like it was normal. My chest tightened. I forced a cheer, hugged Lucas, and rushed him off.
After school, Travis said he’d take Lucas for a father‑son night at his mom’s—fishing and hot dogs—while I took a taxi. But I followed instead.
His car led to a charming house with a pool. Lucas jumped out as if he knew the place. Travis greeted a barefoot blonde woman with a slow kiss—it was Jenna, Lucas’s teacher who’d called him “Jamie.”
I watched, stunned. I wanted to confront them but held back for Lucas. I circled the yard, tried to climb in—and ended up in poison ivy and bruises. Travis rushed to stop me; Lucas ran over.
“What are you doing, Mom? You okay?” he asked. He thought it was a game—Travis had told him to pretend to be someone else to comfort Jenna, and he’d gotten candy for it.
My heart shattered. I sent Lucas inside. Confronted Travis: “You used our son,” I cried. He said Jenna lost her child named Jamie, and this made her feel better. I said they built a fake family using our child.
I went to Margaret, my mother‑in‑law. I told her how Lucas was lied to, made to answer to a different name, dragged into this “game.” Margaret looked horrified. When I revealed the affair, she whispered, “That poor child”—and I wondered if she meant Lucas or me.
I told her I’d take the house, support payments, freedom—and she could have her grandson. I left Jenna alone, not for mercy but because she’d lost more already. Later, Travis came home to find me packing. His life quietly slipping away—no slap needed.