He Cheated. I Survived.

I used to believe I was a man who stood by his principles. Raised to do the right thing, to speak up even when it was hard — I carried that belief with me into adulthood. But somewhere along the way, between long hours, workplace pressure, and fear of rocking the boat, I let that part of me go quiet.

Some mornings I’d stand in the kitchen holding a spoon, not remembering if I’d already stirred the oatmeal or if I was just staring at it. The kids would be yelling. The baby would be crying. My coffee would be cold. Again. And I’d wonder if this is what being a mother was supposed to feel like — like disappearing one piece at a time.

(Shared with permission. I would never share anyone’s story without it. My work is grounded in safety, consent, and deep compassion.)