I hung up and sank onto the couch, my thoughts racing. Our daughter. How was I going to explain this to her?
She was only five. How do you tell a child that her father is gone, that her family is breaking apart?
The next morning, I opened the building chat. My finger hovered over the “send” button, the pictures of Benjamin and Jake ready to be shared.
My heart pounded in my chest as I thought about the fallout.
But this was my chance to take control of the situation, to show him that I wasn’t going to be silent or ashamed. He’d humiliated me, betrayed me, and now it was time for him to face the consequences.
I hit send.
Almost immediately, my phone blew up with messages. Shock, confusion, and sympathy filled the chat.
Neighbors were stunned, and a few even texted me privately, offering their support.
Then came the call. Benjamin.
“Cleo, take the photos down. Please,” his voice was frantic, desperate.
“You don’t need to do this.”
“Oh, I do,” I said calmly. “You didn’t think twice about betraying me. I’m not deleting anything.”
“Please, Cleo,” he begged, “this could ruin me.”
“I don’t care anymore, Benjamin,” I replied, my voice steady.
“You made your choices. Now you’ll live with them.”
There was a long pause on the line. “I’ll see you in court,” I added, and then I hung up.
I felt a strange sense of peace wash over me.
This wasn’t how I’d imagined my life, but I wasn’t going to be a victim. I was taking control of my own story, and I was ready for whatever came next.
Source: amomama
