My husband left me and our six children for a fitness coach – I didn’t even have time to think of revenge before fate caught up with him.

The phone vibrated against the kitchen counter exactly at the moment I was scraping dried peanut butter off a plate.

It was such a late, tense moment after bedtime, when the chaos is finally over and all six children are asleep. I had survived three final sips of water, a forced sock swap, and my youngest had whispered her usual bedtime question in the dark:

You’ll be there tomorrow morning, right?

‘I will certainly do that,’ I would add. ‘Always.’

Then I came downstairs, saw my husband’s phone light up, and picked it up without thinking.

“Always.”

After sixteen years of marriage, you know that you are allowed to touch his life without asking.

It makes you rely on everything on autopilot, until a single heart emoji turns into a weapon.

Cole was taking a shower. So, of course, I answered the phone.

“Alyssa. Trainer.”

And underneath that was a message that broke me in two.

Honey, I can’t wait until we see each other again. 

We’re going to the hotel by the lake this weekend, right

I answered the phone.

I should have put my phone away. Instead, I held onto it as proof, as if it could still save me if I just stared at it long enough.

Footsteps echoed through the hallway. I stood in the kitchen, rooted to the spot.

Cole walked in, with wet hair, wearing sweatpants, and his towel draped over his shoulder. He looked nonchalant and relaxed, as if he wasn’t worried about anything.

He saw the phone in my hand and frowned for a moment, but he simply reached past me for a glass from the cupboard.

‘Cole,’ I said, staring at him.

He didn’t answer. He poured his glass, took a sip, and then looked at me as if I were standing too close to the fridge.