For ten years, I thought my marriage was perfect — full of laughter, trust, and love. But after my husband Tim hired a new secretary, things changed. Late nights. Perfume that wasn’t mine. Lipstick on his collar.
The only person who comforted me was my mother-in-law, Gabrielle. Then one day, Tim came home raging — someone had hung a banner outside our house: “Welcome home, cheater!”
I hadn’t done it. Gabrielle had.
“You needed proof,” she said softly. “I lived this with his father.”
When I found lingerie in Tim’s briefcase, I finally saw the truth. With Gabrielle by my side, I left him — and that banner became my symbol of freedom, not shame.
