She wasn’t the young, glamorous mistress that my worst fears had conjured. Instead, she was a weary-looking woman in her 50s, dressed in worn clothes, her hair streaked with gray.
She looked up at us with eyes that held a sorrow I could feel in my bones.
My husband’s face twisted with guilt, his gaze falling to the ground.
“Emily, this is Janet. She’s… she’s my biological mother.”
The world seemed to spin as I tried to comprehend what he was saying.
“Your mother? I thought… I thought she was…”
“Gone…” he responded, a bitter smile crossing his face.
“That’s what I told everyone, yes.
After she abandoned me, I was put up for adoption, and I never thought I’d see her again. But a few months ago, I accidentally came across her begging in the streets not far from my work, homeless and struggling. I didn’t know how to bring her into our lives, especially after everything she’d done.”
My heart wrenched as I took in the woman before me.
Janet’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
“I… I don’t want to cause trouble. I told Peter I’d be fine on the streets, but he… he insisted.”
I felt a surge of anger, confusion, and pity all at once.
This woman, who was supposed to be a ghost in my husband’s past, was now sitting right in front of me, vulnerable and very much alive. I couldn’t deny the sense of betrayal bubbling within me, but it was softened by the understanding that Peter had been struggling with this alone.
“What was your plan?” I asked Peter, my voice wavering. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
He looked down, visibly ashamed.
“I was afraid, Emily.
Peter let out a heavy sigh, running a hand over his face.
“My love… this isn’t how I wanted things to be, but I didn’t know what else to do. I thought I could help her without disrupting everything.
She’s been sober for months, and I couldn’t just leave her out there.” Continue reading…
