An affair.
A betrayal.
A secret life.
A marriage built on deception.
And a husband finally caught.
Six months later, May and I lived in a small apartment.
It wasn’t glamorous.
The walls were thin.
The budget was tight.
But the place felt peaceful.
There were no hidden phones.
No whispered conversations.
No locked drawers.
No lies.
One evening, May climbed into my lap.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
She looked worried.
“Did I do something bad at the party?”
The question broke my heart.
I kissed her forehead.
“No.”
She relaxed slightly.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“What did I do?”
I smiled.
Then pulled her closer.
“You told the truth.”
And sometimes, the truth is the bravest thing anyone in the room can do.
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