It all started small. I wasn’t snooping—just about to do laundry. But then I found a gym bag, a second phone, and a message: So excited to see you again tonight. Love you!
It wasn’t Chad’s usual phone. The one I knew. My hands shook as bile rose in my throat. The message didn’t make sense. Chad wasn’t a liar, wasn’t a cheater. But suddenly, I questioned everything—late nights, secretive texts, a new aftershave. Had I been blind?
I should unlock the phone. But fear gripped me. If I did, everything would change.
Chad came home, cheerful as always. I handed him the phone. “Unlock it.”
He hesitated, face drained of color. His eyes told me everything—I was right. And that hit harder than anything.
“It’s not what you think,” he said.
But I needed to know. He unlocked the phone. The messages were there—Thank you for the cake. So excited to see you tonight. Love you!
“Who is she?” I demanded.
Chad looked pained but explained. The phone wasn’t a secret burner—it was a replacement. His mother had found him after years of searching. She’d given him up when he was a child. The flowers, the cake—it was her, not some lover.
I felt relief and shock in equal measure. Chad had kept this hidden to protect us. I had imagined the worst.
“Take me to meet her,” I said.
We went to the nursing home, where Chad’s mother, Miranda, waited. The resemblance was undeniable. She hadn’t just missed Chad—she’d missed all of us.
And in that moment, I knew our story wasn’t over. It was only beginning.
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