I’m Hannah, 33, and I thought my seven-year marriage to Tom was the kind others dreamed of. But at his work party, our daughter’s innocent outburst revealed a painful secret, breaking my heart but leading me to a stronger, happier life.
Tom and I were the perfect pair, always laughing, holding hands, and finishing each other’s sentences. Even tough times couldn’t shake us for long. Our hardest days came when we couldn’t conceive for two years. Each negative test hurt, and I wondered if I was failing us. Doctor visits brought silent sadness as friends welcomed babies. When I got pregnant, it was a miracle. Our daughter, Emma, now four, brought us closer, completing our little world.
Things were great. Tom had just been promoted at his tech firm, and they hosted a fancy party downtown. The venue was warm, with soft lights and jazz music. Emma and I dressed up—she in a fluffy blue dress, me in a chic red one. I beamed as Tom worked the room, accepting congratulations. Emma stayed close, nibbling cookies as I talked with a coworker’s partner about daycare. Then Emma shouted, “Mommy, see! It’s the lady with worms!” Heads turned. I knelt, hushing her. “What worms, sweetie?” She pointed. “In her house. Red ones on her bed.”
My breath caught. She meant Lisa, a coworker in a sleek green dress, chatting at the bar. I’d noticed her before, always lingering near Tom. “Daddy said she has worms,” Emma said. “I saw them when we went there.” She looked nervous. “Daddy said not to tell. You’d be upset.” My heart sank. Tom appeared, all smiles. “We need to talk,” I said sharply. He resisted, but I pulled him to a quiet corner, leaving Emma with the coworker’s wife. “Emma says you took her to Lisa’s,” I said. He brushed it off. “It’s nothing, Hannah. Later, okay?” I agreed, but doubt grew.
The ride home was quiet, Emma asleep. At home, I confronted him. “Worms on her bed?” He said they were curlers, seen when he grabbed files from Lisa’s place. “Emma wandered in,” he claimed. “I called them worms to settle her. I didn’t want you to overthink.” “Why keep it secret?” I asked. His nervous excuses didn’t add up. “Tell me everything,” I said. He denied wrongdoing, but his silence was loud. I lay awake, Emma’s words ringing. By dawn, I acted. I found Lisa’s contact in Tom’s phone, texting about a fake team event. She met me at a cute café, all polish and poise, sipping a cappuccino.
“Emma says she was at your place,” I said. “Saw worms.” Lisa smiled coldly. “I figured you’d find out. Tom said we’d be open once you left.” Her words stung. “You’re okay with that?” I asked, tears forming. “I’m okay winning,” she said. I walked away, decided. I filed for separation, got a lawyer, collected evidence, and secured Emma’s future. Tom moved in with Lisa, but Emma says they bicker constantly. Tom looks drained at pickups. I’m thriving, taking dance classes, painting, and decorating Emma’s room with moon decals. One night, she asked, “Why’s Daddy gone?” I said, “He lied about worms.” She nodded. “Lying’s not good.” She hugged me. “No worms here.” I laughed. “Never, honey.”
