Then came Ruth, the sweet elderly neighbor who seemed friendly—until Louis started spending more and more time at her house. I grew suspicious, especially when I noticed how often he “helped” her. One morning, I followed him—and what I saw shattered everything: Louis in the garden, being kissed by a much younger woman, with Ruth proudly serving lemonade to them both.
It turned out the girl was Ruth’s granddaughter, and the affair wasn’t a secret to her. When I confronted them, Louis tried to deny it, but the truth was clear. Ruth even blamed me, saying if I had been a better wife, he wouldn’t have strayed. That was the moment I knew: this wasn’t love. This was betrayal.
I ended it. Packed his things, filed for divorce, and sold the house. Ruth later showed up at his mom’s, furious he’d lied to them too. I almost pitied her granddaughter. But I was done with all of it. Losing that house gave me something better: the freedom to start again, on my own terms.
