My name’s Megan, and I’m 40 years old. Let me take you back to the beginning, when I still thought my life was good.
My husband, Scott, and I weren’t perfect. Nobody is after 12 years of marriage, three kids, and the daily grind of work, and school runs, and sports practices. Our house was loud and messy. Toys scattered across the living room floor. Dishes piled in the sink by dinnertime. Laundry that seemed to multiply overnight.
But I thought we were happy. Or at least, I thought we were trying.
I worked full-time at an accounting firm downtown. Every morning I’d wake up at six, get the kids dressed and fed, pack three different lunches because apparently all my children have different dietary preferences, drop them at school, and drive 40 minutes to the office.
Then I’d work all day, pick them up, drive them to soccer or piano or whatever activity was scheduled, come home and cook dinner, help with homework, do the bedtime routine, and collapse into bed around midnight after folding the last load of laundry.
Scott worked too, don’t get me wrong. He had a good job in sales. But his help around the house was sporadic at best. He’d do the dishes if I asked him three times. He’d play with the kids when he felt like it. And when I tried to talk to him about how exhausted I was, he’d just shrug and say, “We’re both tired, Meg! That’s just how it is.”
So I stopped complaining. I told myself this was normal. That this was marriage. And honestly, this was what being a mom looked like.
At least I had April, my best friend and neighbor.
She lived next door with her husband, Mike. She’s 38, with no kids of her own, and for the past five years, she’d been my closest friend. We’d have coffee on my porch every Saturday morning. We’d swap recipes and talk about everything under the sun. She’d bring over extra cookies when she baked. And sometimes even watch my youngest when I needed to run a quick errand.
“You’re doing such an amazing job with those kids,” April would say, squeezing my hand across the patio table.
She knew everything about me. My fears, frustrations, and dreams. I trusted her with my whole heart.
Looking back now, I can’t believe how blind I was.
The day everything changed started like any other Tuesday.
I had a budget review meeting scheduled for two in the afternoon. I’d been preparing for it all week, double-checking numbers and making sure every projection was perfect. But at 1:30 p.m., my boss called.
“Megan, I’m so sorry. I have to reschedule. Family emergency.”
I felt bad for him, obviously. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little relieved. An unexpected free afternoon? That almost never happened.
I packed up my desk, grabbed my purse, and drove home. The kids wouldn’t be out of school for another two hours. Maybe I could finally take a bath without someone knocking on the door every five minutes.
I pulled into my driveway at quarter past two. The house looked quiet. Scott’s car was there, which surprised me a little since he usually worked until five. Maybe he had a light day, too?
Then I heard the laughter.
It was coming from our back porch. The porch is tucked behind some overgrown azalea bushes and a big oak tree, so you can’t really see it from the driveway. But I could hear voices clear as day.
Scott’s voice. And April’s.
I should’ve called out. I should’ve walked right up and said hi, but something in my gut told me to wait… and listen.
I moved quietly along the side of the house, staying behind the bushes. My heart was already beating faster, though I didn’t know why yet.
And then I heard April’s voice, bright and cruel.
“God, Megan has really let herself go. I mean, how do you even take her out in public anymore? It’s embarrassing!”
My breath caught in my throat.
Scott laughed. “She’s completely disappeared into the kids,” he said. “Honestly, sometimes I forget she’s even there. But hey, at least she doesn’t suspect anything about us.”
The world went silent except for the rushing sound in my ears.
Then I heard it. The unmistakable sound of a kiss.
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking so hard I almost dropped my purse. My vision blurred. My chest felt like someone was standing on it.
But I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I didn’t run onto that porch and tear them apart like every instinct in my body was screaming at me to do.
Instead, I pulled out my phone. My hands were still shaking, but I managed to open the camera app and hit record. I held it up, angling it through a gap in the bushes.
I recorded everything. Their laughter. Their whispered jokes about me. Another kiss. Scott’s hand on her knee.
I had three minutes of footage that would blow up my entire life.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I backed away slowly. I walked to my car, got in, locked the doors, and sat there in complete silence.
That’s when I finally let myself break.
I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. My whole body shook with sobs I’d been holding in for God knows how long. Twelve years of marriage. Twelve years of believing in us. Of working my butt off to keep our family together while he was busy playing house with our neighbor.
And April. My best friend. The woman I’d trusted with everything. How long had this been going on? Months? Years?
How many times had she sat on my porch, drinking my coffee, giving me advice about my marriage while she was sleeping with my husband?
I wanted to throw up.
But I didn’t. Instead, I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. My mascara was running. My eyes were red and swollen. I looked exactly like what I was: a woman who’d just had her heart ripped out.
I wiped my face with a tissue from the glove compartment and fixed my hair. I waited in that car for 45 minutes until it was my normal time to come home.
And then I walked into my house with a smile on my face.
“Hey, anyone home?” I called out.
The living room was empty. The porch was empty. April was gone, probably back at her own house pretending she’d spent the afternoon doing laundry or some other innocent activity.
Scott came down the stairs a minute later, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered.
“Oh, hey babe. You’re home early.”
“Meeting got canceled,” I said, setting my purse on the counter. My voice sounded normal and steady. “How was your day?”
“Fine. Slow. Came home early to catch up on some emails.”
Liar.
“That’s good,” I said. I walked past him into the kitchen. “I’m thinking of making pot roast tomorrow. Maybe we could have April and Mike over for dinner.”
He froze for just a second. Just long enough for me to notice.
“Oh yeah? That’d be nice.”
“I’ll go ask her now.”
I walked across our lawn to April’s front door. The same walk I’d taken hundreds of times before for coffee dates and borrowed sugar and casual chats about nothing.
Except this time, I knew exactly who she was.
I knocked, and she opened the door with that same bright smile she always wore. Like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“Meg! Hi! What’s up?”
“Hey! I was just thinking, I’m making pot roast tomorrow night, and I’d love for you and Mike to come over. It’s been too long since we all had dinner together.”
Her eyes lit up. Genuinely pleased.
“Oh, that sounds wonderful! What time?”
“Six-thirty? After the kids eat. We can have a nice adult evening.”
“Perfect! Can I bring anything?”
“Just yourselves,” I said, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. “It’ll be fun.”
She had no idea. Not even a flicker of suspicion crossed her face.
“See you tomorrow then!”
I walked back home, my heart pounding but my head clear. For the first time since I’d heard those words on my porch, I felt something other than pain.
I felt power.
The next evening, I set the table as if it was a normal dinner party. White tablecloth. Good china. Candles. The pot roast smelled amazing, filling the whole house with the scent of rosemary and garlic.
Scott came home from work at 5:30.
“Smells great in here,” he said, kissing my cheek like he actually meant it.
“Thanks. April and Mike are coming over, remember?”
“Right. I’ll go change.”
At 6:45 sharp, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find April and Mike standing there with a bottle of wine and warm smiles.
“Come in, come in!” I said, ushering them inside.