The Weekend Secret

For months, I had played along.

Every Friday night, I packed a small bag and left my own house so my husband, Scott, could have his son, Ben, over for the weekend.

Why? Because Scott’s ex-wife, Patricia, insisted that Ben shouldn’t be around me.

“It’ll confuse him,” Scott said. “She’ll make things difficult if she finds out.”

At first, I protested, but Scott made it clear—either I disappeared, or he might lose time with Ben altogether. So, I gave in.

My parents were baffled.

“Why are YOU the one leaving?” my mom asked every weekend.

“It’s just temporary,” I always said.

But weeks became months. And the more time passed, the more I felt like a stranger in my own marriage.

Then, one Saturday, I decided I had had enough.

I came home. Unannounced.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

I expected to see Scott playing with Ben, maybe watching cartoons. Instead, what I saw made my stomach drop.

Scott wasn’t just spending time with his son.

Patricia—his ex-wife—was there.

Not just there. Comfortable. On my couch. Her shoes kicked off. A glass of wine in her hand.

And Scott? Sitting beside her, laughing. Cozy. Like a family.

Like I didn’t exist.

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.

Scott’s face went pale. Patricia’s smirk grew.

Ben, oblivious, ran up and hugged his mom’s leg. “Can we go to the park now?”

Patricia ran a hand through Scott’s hair. “Maybe after lunch, sweetheart.”

Lunch?

My house. My kitchen. My food.

Rage boiled in my veins.

“So THIS is why I have to leave every weekend?” I snapped. “So you can play happy family?”

Scott stood, his hands up. “It’s not what it looks like—”

Patricia cut him off, sipping her wine. “Oh, honey. It’s exactly what it looks like.”

That was all I needed to hear.

I turned on my heel, walked to our bedroom, and grabbed my already-packed weekend bag.

But instead of heading to my parents’ house, I went straight to a lawyer.

If Scott wanted to keep playing house with Patricia, he could do it permanently.

Without me.