While I was at my husband’s office party, I realized his secretary's son looks very familiar. Almost identical to my husband. I never liked these office parties. But as my husband's wife, I played my part.
Smiled at his colleagues. Nodded at their stories. Held my wine glass just enough to seem engaged.
And then I saw him. A boy-maybe ten, standing near the buffet table. His mother, Diane, my husband's secretary, was deep in conversation with another employee, oblivious to the way ! was staring.
My stomach twisted. The shape of his nose. The arch of his eyebrows. The way his mouth curved slightly downwards.
It was all too familiar. Almost identical to my husband. I shook my head, forcing a polite smile when my husband walked by and squeezed my hand. I tried to dismiss the thought as ridiculous. A coincidence. Nothing more. But then the boy turned his head, laughing at something someone said, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I saw my husband's face staring back at me. I couldn't breathe.
I spent the rest of the evening pretending I wasn't unraveling inside. Pretending I wasn't studying every small interaction between Diane and my husband.
The casual familiarity. The inside jokes. The way her eyes lingered just a second too long. When we finally left, I sat in silence beside him in the car, gripping my coat tightly around me. I had to be wrong. I had to be. But deep down, I already knew. I just wasn't ready for what he told me when I confronted him.
I spent the next few days convincing myself I was imagining things. That my mind had twisted shadows into something more sinister than reality. And yet, I couldn't stop thinking about the boy. His face haunted me, appearing in flashes-at the dinner table, in my dreams, in the mirror. My husband's face, but younger.
So I did what I never thought I would. I found Diane's old photos. A deep dive into social media, a quiet investigation. There were baby pictures, birthdays, first days of school.
And in each one, the resemblance became more undeniable. The same features I'd fallen in love with years ago, staring back at me from a child that wasn't mine. I felt sick. That night, as my husband read the news on his phone, unaware of the storm building inside me, I finally spoke.
"He looks like you." The words were soft, barely above a whisper, but they cut through the quiet like a blade.
He didn't look up right away.
Just a slight pause in his scrolling, the tightening of his jaw. And in that silence, I had my answer.
Because when he finally met my eyes, I didn't just see guilt. I saw regret. I saw history. I saw confirmation of a betrayal I could never undo. And I realized that I had lost my husband long before l even knew it.
What will you do if you were in my shoes?
