ng ball.

“You lied to me,” I said. “You looked me in the eyes and lied. You allowed me to set up the guest room, to turn my home office into a makeshift kid’s room?

You watched all of that, and you didn’t think about telling me the truth?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you, Becca,” he stammered. “It was years before we met. Daisy and I broke up before Patrick was born.

I’ve always supported him financially, but I kept my distance. When Daisy reached out, she said that she needed help. And I felt obligated.

That’s my son, after all.”

“Obligated?” I spat. “You lied to me about who they are! You let me believe they were your cousin and nephew!

Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?”

“I know,” he said, tears pooling in his eyes. “But I was scared. I thought it would push you away.

I thought it would be easier this way. I’m sorry. I’ll tell Daisy and Patrick to leave tonight if that’s what you want.”

His desperation might’ve softened me on any other day, but right then, it only made me angrier.

“They should’ve left the moment this charade started.

You’ve disrespected me in every way possible.”

He didn’t try to argue.

“You’re right,” he whispered. “I’ll fix this.”

The next few days were excruciating.

Daisy avoided me entirely, and Patrick kept to his room, his usual chaos replaced by an eerie silence.

Derek threw himself into damage control, arranging for Daisy and Patrick to move into a rental while simultaneously begging for my forgiveness.

I confronted Daisy once, though.

“Why would you go along with this lie?” I demanded, watching her make her way through my kitchen while she made a sandwich.

She flushed with shame, almost dropping the jar of mayonnaise.

“I didn’t want to lie,” she said softly. “But Derek thought it would be easier.

I’m sorry. I never wanted to cause problems.”

Her apology didn’t heal the wound, but it clarified one thing for me:

This disaster was Derek’s making.

Once Daisy and Patrick moved out, the house felt unbearably quiet.

Derek tried everything to make amends. He left me notes apologizing for his lies, attended therapy on his own, and took on every household chore without being asked.

His remorse was evident, but my trust in him had been shattered.

It took weeks of reflection, long conversations with my best friend, Sharon, and more than a few sleepless nights before I made my decision.

“Just know what you’re getting into, Becca,” Sharon said, stirring her matcha latte.

“I’ll support you, of course, but please, think about it from all sides.”

One evening, I called Derek into the living room. He sat across from me, his face tense with anticipation.

“I’m not ready to forgive you, D,” I began, my voice steady. “But I’m willing to try.”

Relief washed over his face, but I held up a hand.

“This is your last chance, Derek,” I said firmly.

“No more lies. No more half-truths. If you want this marriage to survive, you have to earn back my trust.”

“I will,” he said, his voice thick and heavy.

“I promise.”

Rebuilding our marriage won’t be easy, and part of me wonders if it’s even possible.

But for now, I’m taking it one day at a time. I’ve learned one thing through all of this. Trust isn’t something you can take for granted.

It’s fragile.

As for Derek?

He’s on thin ice. And if he thinks I’ll ignore the warning signs ever again, he’s dead wrong.

So now, I have to figure out how to be a stepmother.

Source: amomama