Cleaning my teenage son’s room seemed like such a mundane task. Until the piggy bank fell.
When the ceramic shattered across Jake’s bedroom floor, I froze at what spilled out – not the pocket change I expected, but thousands in cash and damning photos of my husband with other women. The surveillance-style pictures showed David in hotels, restaurants, even our favorite vacation spots with women I’d never seen before.
Jake’s confession hit like a punch to the gut. He’d followed his father, documented the affairs, and then… blackmailed him. My sweet boy had been collecting hush money in that piggy bank for months.
The divorce was messy. The betrayal cut deep. But nothing hurt more than watching my son walk out the door with the man who destroyed our family. Now I’m learning how to rebuild – one shattered piece at a time.
