Jack never took sick days — not for the flu, a sliced thumb, or even his mother’s death.
So when he said he was staying home sick, I was surprised. He looked awful, so I told him to rest and left to wrangle the kids for school.
In the morning chaos — missing hair ties, homework, and a repeated plea from Ellie for a pet snake — I opened the front door and froze.
A life-sized clay statue of Jack stood on our porch.
Perfect down to his crooked nose and chin scar. It was eerie. The kids were stunned. I yelled for Jack, and when he saw it, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.
Without explaining, he dragged the statue inside and told me to take the kids to school. He promised to explain later.
As we were leaving, Noah handed me a note he’d found under the statue.
It read:
Jack,
I’m returning the statue I made when I thought you loved me.
Finding out you’ve been married for nearly ten years destroyed me.
You owe me $10,000—or your wife sees every message.
This is your only warning.
–Sally
Suddenly, the statue wasn’t the biggest problem.
I held it together for the kids, dropped them off, then sat in the car shaking. Jack had cheated. I called a divorce attorney that day.
The lawyer warned the note alone wasn’t enough—we needed proof. That night, I found Jack passed out at the kitchen table. His laptop was open. His emails with Sally were all there: begging her not to tell me, promising he’d pay, swearing he still loved her.
I took screenshots and reached out to Sally.
She responded quickly, apologizing. She hadn’t known he was married. They’d been together nearly a year. When I asked if she’d testify, she said yes.
A month later, we were in court.
Sally brought emails and photos. Jack couldn’t deny anything. I got the house, full custody, and he was ordered to pay Sally for the sculpture.
Outside the courthouse, he tried to speak. I cut him off.
“You didn’t mean to hurt me,” I said, “You just didn’t mean to get caught.”
Then I walked away — for good.
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