People always said I was kind—maybe too kind. I thought kindness would be returned. But after marrying Jack, things changed.
He grew distant, and our connection faded. One night, my sister Linda called—again—asking me to watch her kids. Tired but loyal, I agreed.
While at her house, I had an asthma attack. My inhaler was at home. Gloria, the neighbor, stayed with the kids so I could rush back.
But when I arrived, I found Linda’s car in our driveway—and laughter upstairs. I walked in to find Jack and Linda in the tub together.
Heartbroken and breathless, something snapped inside me.
Later, I remembered Linda once joked her son Tommy didn’t look like her ex. I took a strand of his hair.
Two weeks later, a DNA test showed a 70% match to Jack. Not full paternity—but enough to plant doubt.
Jack had already left to move in with Linda. I confronted them with the results. Jack demanded answers.
Linda confessed: Tommy wasn’t his—it was Jack’s brother’s.
I turned to the kids. “Ice cream?” I asked gently.
As we walked into the sun, I realized—Linda’s betrayal gave me freedom. And sweet, quiet revenge.
