While juggling morning chaos, I found a pink sticky note on my husband Thomas’s car that shattered my routine.

“Sorry, I scratched your car last night. You shouldn’t park on the street! – Neighbor from 283. This is my number in case you need anything!”

Confusion gripped me. We didn’t live near that house, and Thomas had just returned from a business trip. My heart raced with unease.

After dropping the kids at school, I called the number. A woman named Jane answered, explaining that she accidentally scratched his car while parking outside her home. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as she mentioned seeing him parked right in front of her house.

I couldn’t confront Thomas without proof. So, I went to bed beside him, forcing myself to sleep despite the turmoil inside me.

The next morning, after dropping off the kids, I drove to Elm Street to investigate. At the door of 283, a woman named Mary answered.

“Oh my God, I had no idea he was married!” she exclaimed.

She told me they’d been seeing each other for months and that Thomas had claimed to be single. Heart aching, I asked her for help in gathering evidence of his infidelity for my lawyer.

“What the hell is this?” I demanded.

“Sierra, what are you doing here?” Thomas stammered, but I had my evidence and was ready to file for divorce.

In the following weeks, Mary and I became unlikely allies, and my children quickly grew attached to her. When the divorce papers were signed, I felt a surge of relief and empowerment.

Though my heart and home were broken, my children filled my life with joy, reminding me of what truly mattered. As for Thomas, he moved back in with his parents without putting up a fight.

What would you have done?