For fifteen years, I believed I was in a committed marriage. It wasn’t perfect — no relationship ever is — but we had a life. A home. Two beautiful children. A routine. The kind of life that doesn’t exactly sparkle but still feels solid. Safe.
Or so I thought.
It started like any other Tuesday evening. The kids were in their rooms — one reading, the other scrolling endlessly on his phone. I was heading down the stairs, planning to thaw some chicken for dinner. That’s when I heard my husband’s voice coming from the living room. I paused for a second, just out of habit.
But what I heard made me stop cold.
A Chilling Confession
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