I’m Dorothy, 63, and my kids, Miley and Ryan, have been my world since their dad, Simon, left us. For my 63rd birthday, I sent them sweet invitations, hoping for a family reunion. But as the day passed with no sign of them, my heart sank. Then a delivery arrived—a cake with the chilling message, “WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID.” My mind raced, wondering who knew the secret I’d kept about Simon’s troubled past.
Simon struggled with gambling and drinking, owing money to scary people. One night, he left to “deal with it” and was found dead in a car crash at Miller’s Gorge, called an accident. I hid my doubts to shield my kids. That night, Miley and Ryan showed up, emotional, with notes saying, “Ask your mom what happened to your dad.” I shared the truth—his addictions, the threats, my suspicions. They hugged me, saying, “We believe you.” A stranger delivered the cake, caught on our doorbell camera, but the police found nothing. The truth freed us, bringing us closer than ever.
Later, I faced a betrayal. I’d planned a Maui trip for my 10th anniversary with my husband, Wade, saving all year. But days before, his mom, who never helped us, moaned about needing a vacation. Wade suggested she take my ticket, calling me dramatic when I protested. I handed over my ticket—then secretly put all reservations in his mom’s name, booking Wade into a grimy motel by a loud construction site.
Wade called, fuming, but I said, “Don’t dismiss me again.” I escaped to Oregon’s wine country, sipping wine in peace. When I got back, Wade left flowers and a real apology. I stayed with my sister, reclaiming my spark. Now, Wade’s in therapy, and we’re planning a new trip—just us, my way. This viral story shows secrets hurt, but standing up for yourself can rebuild love and respect.
