It was supposed to be a simple, joyful family day at the fair—one last attempt to make my husband Simon reconnect with our daughter, Sophie. She had her heart set on a pink alien plush in a claw machine, and though I tried my best, I couldn’t win it. Strangely enough, the next day, I spotted the exact same toy sitting in the backseat of Simon’s car. My heart lifted—maybe he had finally done something thoughtful for Sophie. But when I asked him about it, he denied everything, even gaslighting me by saying there was no toy at all.

Days later, a visit to my best friend Christine’s house shattered what was left of my trust. Sophie burst into tears when she saw Jimmy, Christine’s son, holding the very same pink alien. I calmly asked Jimmy where he got it—and with innocent honesty, he told me Simon gave it to him in exchange for keeping his visits to Christine a secret. My stomach dropped. That single toy became the smoking gun in a betrayal I never suspected, right under my nose, involving the two people I trusted most.

Unable to contain my heartbreak, I confronted Christine and found messages on her phone confirming the affair. When I asked why Simon hadn’t simply divorced me, she claimed he was afraid I’d “take everything.” That was exactly what I planned to do. I left with Sophie, got a lawyer, and filed for divorce the same day. My daughter deserved more than a father who treated her like an afterthought and a mother who pretended everything was okay.

I made sure Sophie got her alien toy—this time, a bigger one—and watched her smile return as she clutched it tightly. That night, when Simon walked in, I handed him the divorce papers and told him he was finished. As he shouted and slammed the door, I checked on Sophie. She was sleeping peacefully, hugging her alien. At that moment, I knew we’d be just fine. We didn’t need him. It was me and Sophie now—and we were more than enough.