Instead of rage, I chose clarity. The next night, I invited Daniel and Madison to dinner. I set the table beautifully, poured wine, and then connected my phone to the TV. Their secret filled the screen: the photos, the messages, every detail they thought was hidden. Their faces drained of color. Daniel begged. Madison wept. But I didn’t waver. I told them both they would explain the truth directly to our children—or risk never seeing them again. That night, they confessed everything, shattering our kids’ trust the way they had shattered mine.
