Before I landed in the hospital, life was good. I had been happily married to Toby for three years. We weren’t rich, but we lived comfortably — I worked retail, and he had a stable finance job. He was often exhausted, but I appreciated his efforts and looked forward to our future together, dreaming about a house, a big kitchen, and one day, a baby.
When Toby left for a work trip one Friday, I decided to deep clean the apartment. That’s when I fell off a ladder and broke my leg. In the hospital, the nurse assigned to me, Stephanie, was kind and attentive. We talked, and I started to feel at ease with her.
Then, I noticed a bracelet on her wrist — the exact one my grandmother gave me and I had lost a month ago. I asked about it, and she said her boyfriend gave it to her — a month ago.
My heart dropped.
I confronted her with a photo of Toby, asking if he was her boyfriend. Her face said it all. She had no idea he was married — to me.
We came up with a plan to confront him and involve the police. But when Toby arrived and the officers questioned him, Stephanie suddenly denied everything. I was shocked.
Then Toby confessed. He had stolen the bracelet and given it to her after meeting her during a rough patch in our marriage. It was supposed to be a fling, but things escalated.
I chose not to press charges — but I did choose to leave. I couldn’t stay with someone who betrayed me so deeply. We divorced shortly after.
Letting go was painful, but necessary. I lost my marriage — but found the truth.
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