For a week, my spouse sent the kids and me away. I thought the worst, but the reality was beyond anything I could have imagined.
I thought my husband was cheating when he sent me and the kids to a hotel for a week, but the truth was unbelievable.
When Sam suggested that the kids and I take an unexpected vacation, I had a gut feeling that something was wrong. His peculiar behavior raised the possibility of infidelity, but I had to confront a more somber reality when I returned home early and discovered him having an affair.
When Sam suggested the “vacation,” it ought to have been clear to me that something wasn’t right. He had never been the thoughtful type, more likely to forget our anniversary than plan a last-minute vacation.
And yet, there he was, all twitching smiles and frantic energy, telling me to get the kids and come stay at the Marriott for a week.
“You deserve a break, Cindy,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes. “Take Alison and Phillip, and enjoy yourselves.”
I tried to meet his gaze directly. “You won’t be joining us?”
I’d learned to read the telltale sign of discomfort when he scratched the back of his neck over our eight years together. I’m working on a big project at work. Deadlines—you understand the rest of it. Well, I think the kids will love it.
In what words would I describe it? The children were overjoyed that Sam had already made reservations. But as I was gathering our belongings that night, I felt a knot form in my stomach—that uneasy feeling that lets you know something is wrong.
The first few days in the motel were a blur of chaos that smelled like chlorine. Between Alison’s insistence on “just five more minutes” in the pool and Phillip’s meltdown over the “wrong” chicken nuggets, I scarcely had time to ponder.
But when the kids finally drifted off to sleep at night, that nagging sense came back.
Worst-case possibilities were swirling through my mind by the fourth day. Was there another woman there? It was as though someone had kicked me in the gut. I pictured a lanky blonde in my kitchen, sleeping in my bed and drinking coffee from my mug.
That was too much for me to bear. On the fifth night, I hired a babysitter to watch the kids overnight, and I went home to catch him red-handed.
I clasped my fingers around the steering wheel as the city lights flickered by in angular patterns on the way back.
My stomach turned at every turn, and I had a lot of questions that I didn’t know how to answer. The thought of going up to him and confronting her made me queasy.
Still, nothing could have prepared me for what was really behind that door, not even my darkest nightmares.
I opened the front door and went inside; it was like stepping into a dream. The quietness in the house felt unsettling. I scanned the room for a moment before noticing her.
Helen, my mother-in-law, was lounging on my couch like she owned it. Moreover, she was sipping tea from my most treasured mug. All around her, dozens of suitcases were heaped and scattered, creating a gaudy display of vacation accessories and shopping excursions.
It felt as if she’d taken over, that this was her home and I was an intruder.
“Well, well,” she snarled, her voice cutting through the thick tension like a scalpel. She made no attempt to stand up. Her arched eyebrow, which conveyed an air of superiority, was something I had come to hate over the years. “See who returned early?”
I froze, my hand still grasping onto the doorframe for support. The room slanted, and I experienced a narrowing of my vision as blood spurted from my head.
“Helen?” My words came out more like a gasp than anything. “What are you doing?”
“I was visiting, Samuel didn’t mention that?” Her smile was cold and penetrating. She clinked her purposefully, put down the cup, and crossed her hands in her lap like a king or queen. “How unusual for him to overlook such a crucial detail.”
Pallid and nervous, Sam came out of the kitchen as if on cue. Guilt was painted across his face. He couldn’t meet my gaze directly.
Hello, Cindy! Now that you’re home, He stammered, breaking his voice. He didn’t try to explain or rush to me to say he was sorry. Instead, he just stood there, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a headlight-lit deer.
I was able to respond, “Clearly.” My voice was no longer a whisper, but dangerously calm. I felt like the world was pressing down on me, and my patience was becoming thin. “Sam, you didn’t think this was important enough to mention?”
His mouth opened, but nothing came out. The silence between us was thick and suffocating.
Helen was an unspoken declaration of victory, and her arrogance was unbearable. She had a way of making me feel unimportant, as if no matter how hard I worked, I could never be good enough for her cherished son.
And here she was now, a fixture in our home and our lives, as if she had been waiting her whole life to assume leadership.
That night, in the guest room (Helen had taken over our bedroom, of course), I lay awake staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside of me.
I was itching to shout, to approach Sam and demand an explanation. Instead, I just laid there with my thoughts sinking deeper and deeper into the dark corners of my mind.
After a while, the faint sound of voices coming from the kitchen broke through my cloud of thought. I rose up and moved approached the door very slowly, so as not to make a noise. My heart pounded as I strain to listen, my ear on the cool wood.
Helen stated in a tone full of scorn, “—can’t believe she lets those kids run wild.” “No discipline, no organization. You see how beautifully she keeps her house, too? It’s a mess. In the past—
“Please, Mom—” Sam was the next to speak, her voice weak and pleading but not strong. His voice sounded like that of a child.
“Mom, please,” said Helen violently at Samuel. It’s not how I brought you up. That woman is not worthy of you. It never was. And those youngsters were just too loud and disruptive. Nothing like you were at that age. I’m not sure how you can manage any of them.
My ears were covered in blood. I waited for Sam to answer, to defend me, to refute her hurtful comments. Before he answered, it seemed like an eternity.
“Mum, I get it. You’re right.
Then something broke inside of me.
It was by no means a dramatic, raucous break. There were neither sobs nor rage. Just a quiet, horrible severing of the last small thread holding my marriage and my life with Sam together. That breaking was clarity. Cold, sharp clarity.
Had I been unaware from the start? I had a sneaking suspicion that Sam would always choose his mother above me. But finding out about it felt like the final straw. He was not just helpless but also willingly involved. I was done.
I kissed Sam’s cheek gently and sweetly the next morning. “I think I’ll extend our hotel stay,” I chirped. “The kids are having a great time.”
Helen’s arrogant smile was all I needed to get motivated.
I decided against going back to the accommodation. Instead, I went straight to the office of a lawyer. A bank comes next. When Sam and Helen came back from their shopping excursion three days later, the moving truck was gone.
Within the empty house were just Sam’s clothing, his Xbox, and a note that read, “You’re free to live with your mother now.” Both the kids and I have left. Do not try to find us.
He called two weeks later, his voice quivering with desperation.
Cindy I’ve expelled her. I’m really sorry. Kindly head back home. I’ll get better and better.
He almost got me to agree. Almost. But in Ms. Martinez, there had always been a chatterbox across the street.
“Your mother-in-law, huh?” She stated, “I called to check on my rose bushes.” What a beautiful gal. She has started bringing in extra boxes every day. She seems to be establishing a permanent residence.
I laughed till I could no longer see, then I hung up.
That evening, while I was tucking the kids into bed at our new apartment, Alison said, “Mommy, when are we going home?”
As I smoothed her hair back, I caught a whiff of her strawberry shampoo. “We’re home, baby. This is where we now call home.
“However, what about Daddy?”
“Daddy.” I choose my words carefully. “Daddy must spend some time living with Grandma Helen.”
Phillip looked up from his tablet. “All right. Helen, your grandmother, is a terrible person.
that is, from the lips of babies.
When I closed their door, I felt lighter than I had in years. Sam might have his mother’s wisdom and influence. I had chosen myself and our children. And for the first time since this whole mess began, I knew that I had made the right choice.
Not every other woman is a mistress. Sometimes, for better or worse, she is the one who raised your husband to be precisely who he is.
And sometimes it’s better to forget about them both altogether.
