It started with perfume on his jacket, then lipstick on his shirt. When I asked, he gaslighted me, so I followed him.
He drove to a shabby building where a young woman greeted him. Not romantic—familiar. The next week, I followed again. Two kids ran out. One had his eyes. My heart dropped.
Later, I found her name—Luiza—in his phone. Their texts weren’t flirty, just about the kids. When I confronted him, he didn’t deny it. He just said, “I was going to tell you eventually.”
Turns out, Luiza was his ex from years before me. She’d gotten pregnant, never told him, and only reached out after being diagnosed with cancer. He’d just found out he had kids.
It wasn’t an affair—it was fear.
I met them later. The kids call me Tita now. Luiza’s in remission. Life’s messy, but real.
The truth hurt, but it healed more than the lie ever could.
Love after the truth? Quieter. But deeper.
