Mark and I had been married for seven years. I was 34, working as a freelance graphic designer from home, and up until recently, I saw our life as solid and full of promise. Everything changed after the evening of his promotion celebration.

We were "that couple"—the one friends liked to mention as relationship goals. The kind that held hands in the grocery store just because. We finished each other’s sentences and laughed at the same silly jokes. Even when we faced challenges, we’d find our way back to each other like clockwork.

The toughest period we endured was during the early years when we were trying to start a family. Month after month, test after test—each one negative. It was emotionally exhausting. I questioned whether I was the reason we weren’t expanding our little world.

Doctors’ visits became routine. Friends posted their growing bellies and baby scans while I sat quietly with a blank test strip in my hand. So when I finally got pregnant, it felt like a dream finally come true.

And when our daughter Sophie arrived, she brought warmth and joy like I never imagined. She completed our family and gave new purpose to everything. I truly believed our life was finally as close to perfect as it could be.

Sophie, then four, was smart, bright-eyed, and wonderfully candid. She loved orange juice without pulp and wasn’t shy about announcing when nature called—even during church services!

Life was good. Mark had just been promoted to partner at his firm, and his company celebrated with a party in a trendy downtown venue. The space had character—brick walls, string lights, a lively band. Sophie and I dressed up for the event. She looked adorable in her pink dress and unicorn barrettes, and I wore a simple navy gown.

Knowing how polite and calm Sophie usually was, I had no doubts about bringing her to the event. As we mingled, I watched Mark receiving praise and congratulations from just about everyone in the room. I was proud. We stood by the dessert table while he made his rounds, basking in his big moment.

I was deep in conversation with another guest’s spouse, discussing local preschools, when Sophie tugged on my sleeve and said something I couldn’t make sense of.

“Mommy, look! That’s the lady with the worms!”

The comment was loud enough to draw attention. I crouched to her level, gently reminding her to speak softly. “What worms, honey?”

The other woman smiled politely and walked away, sensing we needed a moment.

“In her house,” Sophie explained, as casually as ever. “The red ones. On her bed.”

A chill swept through me. “Whose house?” I asked quietly.

She pointed across the room.

There, standing near the bar in a sleek black dress, was a woman I recognized. Tina, from the accounting department. I had seen her before at company functions—always just a little too familiar with Mark.

“She has worms. Daddy said so,” Sophie added. “I saw them when we—”

She hesitated, then whispered, “I’m not supposed to tell. Daddy said Mommy would be upset.”

My heart sank.

Before I could say more, Mark showed up beside me, all smiles and flushed cheeks from the party atmosphere.

“Can I talk to you?” I asked.

“Right now?” he said, puzzled. “I just got here—”

“Yes. Now.”

I quickly arranged for the woman I was chatting with earlier to watch Sophie for a few minutes and led Mark into a quiet hallway near the coatroom.

“What’s going on?” he asked, concerned.

“Sophie says you took her to Tina’s place.”

He blinked. Then laughed nervously. “Really? Let’s not do this here.”

I wasn’t having it. “We’ll talk later, but we will talk.”

We returned to the party, but the mood between us had shifted. The drive home was silent, tension hanging in the air. Sophie dozed off peacefully in the backseat, unaware of the emotional storm quietly brewing up front.

Once home and with Sophie asleep, I brought it up again.

“She said she saw red ‘worms’ in Tina’s bed?”

Mark rubbed his forehead. “They were hair rollers. The soft kind. Sophie got confused. I made up a story to distract her.”

“That doesn’t explain why she was even there.”

“Tina forgot to send over some documents. I picked them up and Sophie happened to be with me. It was quick.”

“In her bedroom?”

“No! I mean… she was showing me something on her computer, and Sophie wandered down the hall. That’s probably when she saw them.”

“Then why tell her to keep it secret?”

He adjusted his shirt collar. “I didn’t want you to take it the wrong way.”

I stared at him, letting his silence say what he wouldn't. That silence said more than any explanation ever could.

That night, sleep didn’t come. I lay there, my mind spinning, replaying Sophie’s innocent voice: "Mommy would be upset."

By morning, I knew what I had to do.

I found Tina’s number saved in Mark’s laptop and texted her under the pretense of helping with event planning. She agreed to meet for coffee without hesitation.

We met at a café not far from her apartment. She was well put together, stylish, confident. After exchanging polite greetings, I got to the point.

“My daughter says she’s been to your apartment. Saw red rollers on your bed.”

Tina stirred her drink slowly, then looked at me without surprise.

“I figured you’d come around eventually,” she said calmly. “He told me it wouldn’t be long before things changed.”

I felt a tightness in my chest.

“So you’re comfortable being the reason a marriage ends?” I asked quietly.

She smiled. “I’m okay being chosen.”

I stood up. “Well, he’s all yours now.”

On the drive home, I didn’t cry. I didn’t shout. I just felt... finished.

In the weeks that followed, I did what needed to be done. I met with a lawyer, filed for separation, and carefully planned every step for Sophie’s sake. I handled the paperwork, organized my finances, and prepared to move forward.

Mark didn’t put up much resistance. He moved in with Tina shortly after.

From what I hear, things haven’t been smooth for them. Sophie prefers not to visit unless Tina isn’t there, and she sometimes shares stories about disagreements she overhears. Mark, once so lively, now barely makes conversation during drop-offs.

As for me?

I’ve found peace. After months of tears and self-doubt, I finally sleep soundly. I took up Pilates, returned to my sketching, and even redecorated Sophie’s room with glow-in-the-dark stars.

One night, as we cuddled before bed, Sophie asked a question that hit me deep.

“Mommy, why doesn’t Daddy live with us anymore?”

I met her eyes. Gentle, trusting.

“Because he wasn’t honest.”

She nodded solemnly. “Being dishonest is bad.”

“Yes, sweetheart. It is.”

She hugged me tight. “I’m glad there are no worms here.”

I smiled. “Me too, baby. Me too.”