Instead of confronting him directly, I devised a plan. When he said he’d be working late, I dressed in a red gown he once bought me and went to the restaurant mentioned in the letter. There, I spotted a woman in red, likely his other “wife.”
David entered, his smile fading the moment he saw me. He had told the woman we were separated but co-parenting for the kids’ sake. Her confusion mirrored mine—how could she date him for years and not know the truth?
I left before he could explain, telling him to face our daughters himself. That letter ended our marriage. Though bitter at first, I later felt relief—it was the closure I didn’t know I needed.
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