On my son Lucas’s first day of school, his teacher called him Jamie. And he responded. My husband, Travis, didn’t flinch. That single moment shattered everything I thought was safe. Travis had been distant for months — sleeping on the couch, avoiding conversations, and missing family moments. He barely made it to school that day and arrived just after I’d dropped Lucas off. I turned back to get his water bottle — and heard it. “Jamie, sweetheart,” the teacher said. Lucas turned, smiled, and walked over. I confronted Travis. He brushed it off. But my gut said otherwise. Later that day, Travis said he was taking Lucas to his mom’s — but something felt wrong. I followed.

They didn’t go to his mother’s. They went to another woman’s house — the teacher’s. Lucas ran straight into her backyard, already familiar. Travis kissed her like it was routine. I lost it. But I held it together — until Lucas told me the truth: Travis told him to pretend to be Jamie, the teacher’s late son. As a “game.” I couldn’t believe it — my husband had used our child to comfort his mistress, building a fake family behind my back. But I didn’t scream. I acted. I went straight to my mother-in-law — Lucas’s biggest supporter. I told her everything. She was horrified. I let her know: I’d be taking the house, support, and my freedom. She’d still have her grandson. 0Jenna? I left her alone. She’d already lost a child. But Travis? He watched his life unravel — one packed suitcase at a time.