1. I Wish You Were My Mom Michelle The silence of the house felt strange. It wasn’t the comforting silence of a quiet night, but a thick, heavy one, as if something in the air had changed without me fully understanding it. It was almost nine at night, and after finishing the housework, I was in the living room with my legs crossed on the sofa and a warm cup of tea in my hands. Outside, the rain gently pattered against the windows, and on the TV, a movie played in the background without me paying any attention. My gaze shifted between the phone screen and the clock on the wall. Ryan and Candace should already be at the hotel, resting after the first day of the skating competition. At that moment, my phone vibrated. One notification. Then another. And another. I frowned and swiped my finger across the screen. Suddenly, my breath caught the impact of what I was seeing. The images were there, in an anonymous message. Three photos, each one more hurtful than the last. The first: Ryan, with his carefree smile, one arm around Candace and the other around Blake’s waist. Blake. His ex. The only woman Ryan always compared me to, and the reason I never felt completely secure, despite being married and being the mother of his daughter. The second: Candace laughing, hugging Blake as if she had known her all her life, as if she were part of the family, as if I didn’t exist. The third… The third was the cruelest. Ryan and Blake together, without Candace between them. The way he looked at her. The closeness of their bodies. The phone began to tremble in my hand, and the sound of the rain became a distant murmur. A cold void settled in my stomach, displacing the air from my lungs. I felt the betrayal seep into my skin, into my bones, into every corner of my body. My husband, my daughter, my life… Everything I believed to be solid crumbled with the ease of a well-kept lie. And then, I knew. There was no room for doubt. There were no explanations that could justify this. Ryan was cheating on me. And he was doing it in broad daylight; with my own daughter’s full knowledge and permission. Everything suddenly began to fall into place. My hands tightened around the phone. I try to take a deep breath, but the air doesn’t pass through my throat. A burning sensation churns in my stomach, mixing pain and rage into a lethal combination. I dialed Ryan’s number without thinking. One ring. Two. Three. Nothing. I sigh, biting my lip hard. I dial again. This time, he cuts the call and fury shakes me to my core. “Really, Ryan? Are you really going to hide?” The rain pounds harder now, and I get up abruptly, pacing back and forth in the living room like a caged animal. My mind fires thoughts at full speed. Since when? How could I have been so naive? How many times has he looked me in the eyes with lies in his mouth? And worst of all: Could Candace be in on it? My little Candace, who adored her father, even over her own mother. Since she was born, it was always the two of them, leaving me out. I looked at my phone again to see if the images had disappeared. No. The images are still on my screen, glaring like a cruel reminder of my own blindness. But I’m not a woman who sits still waiting for answers. If Ryan thought he could play me and get away with it… he was sorely mistaken. I inhale deeply, close my eyes for a moment, and force myself to think clearly. I can’t let anger take over. Not yet. There’s something else I need to know. I take the phone with a trembling hand and zoom in on the image of Ryan and Blake smiling together. I scrutinize the details: the lighting, the colors, the background. A huge sign with the name of the skating event. A bar decorated with warm lights. People in the background… The reflection in the mirror behind them. My heart races. I adjusted the image with two fingers and there they were. Ryan. But not just Ryan and Blake. A second later, I felt the hard blow of truth in my chest. In the reflection, far from the perfect pose of the photo, Ryan had a hand on Blake’s thigh. Not casually. Not innocently. An intimate gesture, a furtive caress. A wave of nausea rises to my throat. The room seemed to grow smaller, the air denser. The phone screen lit up again. A new message. “I thought you should know. It’s not the first time.” The number is unrecognized. The phone slips from my hands and falls to the floor with a dull thud. I stand frozen, feeling my entire world shatter into a thousand pieces. But what hurt the most wasn’t the betrayal itself. It wasn’t the deceit, nor even the humiliation of discovering it through an anonymous message. What hurt the most… was the certainty that, at some point, I had trusted him blindly. During those ten years by his side, serving them as if I were a maid, I lost myself in the process. Yes, I sidelined myself and prioritized them, trying to be part of their little world of two. But on the other hand, I could have expected it from Ryan, as he was always clear about his feelings. He married out of obligation, even though I loved him. But my daughter… the child I carried in my womb and loved from the moment I knew she was coming into this world. That little one hated me from the start. Now I see it clearly. The phone hitting the floor snaps me out of my daze. I remain motionless, with clenched hands, my breath ragged. The rain pounds the windows furiously, as if the sky shares my rage and cries with me. “It’s not the first time.” The message’s words shatter what little trust I had left. It’s not the first time. That meant this wasn’t a momentary mistake, nor a fleeting attraction. It was something calculated. Recurrent. Planned behind my back. Perhaps, all those times Candace refused to let me accompany them. And that was three years ago. My stomach churns. My mind tries to convince itself that it was a mistake, but no… the truth was there, in the photo, in the reflection, in the way Ryan avoided answering her. My legs weaken as I bend to pick up the phone. The screen has a small c***k in the corner, but it still works. I look at the photo once more, and this time I can’t help but feel the fury coursing through my body like an electric shock, and a strange force makes me stand up. I refuse to sit here drowning in pain. I’m not going to be the woman who cries in the dark while my husband humiliates me hundreds of kilometers away. With trembling fingers, I open my contacts and search for Ryan. My eyes scan his name and the photo we still have together on my phone screen. A memory of another life. This time I didn’t call. I wrote to him. “Why aren’t you answering me?” The message was sent. One minute passed. Then two. Nothing. Every passing second fuels the fire inside me. I’m not going to let him ignore me this time. This is the last time. I rummage through my purse and pull out my coat. If Ryan won’t give answers, I’m going to get them. At that moment, my phone vibrates again. A message. From Ryan. I opened it, my heart pounding furiously. “Not now, Michelle. We’re very busy.” My eyes scan those words over and over, incredulous. Not now? I let out a bitter laugh. I don’t feel sadness, but anger. And it’s not even directed at them or the woman who opened my eyes. I look at the photo again, and for the first time, there’s no pain but determination. If Ryan thought he could handle this on his terms, he was very wrong. Because when he returns, I won’t be the same woman he left behind. No more. ***** I went straight to the airport. There must be a flight. If not now, it will be first thing tomorrow, but I’m not moving from there. I need to get there and see the betrayal, the lie, with my own eyes. Fortunately, I’m told there’s a last-minute flight with a seat available. I don’t hesitate to book it. I have money. My parents gave me an account when I got married, as they always had doubts about my marriage. However, over the years, everything seemed to be going well in my new home. Ryan was never the most affectionate man, but he treated me with respect and some affection. During the first years, and especially after Candace was born, he behaved like a good husband. I came to believe that he had finally recognized my love and that, little by little, it moved him. So I devoted my body and soul to our family. However, after our daughter was born, she became the center of his life. They loved each other from the first moment he held her in the hospital. Only with him would she stop crying. Although it sounds strange, to me, she seemed restless, as if I couldn’t calm her. Sometimes I felt like a bad mother. I was barely nineteen and knew nothing about motherhood. He, at twenty-five, seemed much more prepared for the new role, without neglecting his job as the great CEO of Allen Industries. All of this goes through my mind as I look out the airplane window, watching my city disappear into the distance. I know what awaits me won’t be pleasant, but I need to witness it firsthand. Am I being masochistic? Maybe, but this is the last time. I’ve already given them more than enough. ***** Upon arriving in California, I decided to stay at a place close to the event. It’s still early, so I head down to the restaurant to eat something. A cup of coffee is just what I need; I want to be wide awake and focused. After finishing my meal, I went for a walk. It’s not the first time I’ve been here; when I was younger, I used to participate in these competitions. I loved the sport until I got pregnant and had to set it aside. Now, as I approach my thirties, I wonder what might have been if my life had taken a different path. Maybe I would have made it to the Nationals, perhaps even further. But now that’s just a “what could have been.” ***** “Welcome to the second day of competitions in the regional figure skating program. Congratulations to all who have advanced; be proud of your achievements. Only the best are here.” I hear the presenter’s voice, and for a moment, I’m transported back years, when I was also part of that group of nervous young women about to take the ice. The excitement, the adrenaline, the uncertainty before each performance. Today, however, I’m on the sidelines, just another spectator. From a distance, I see my daughter preparing to enter the rink. Her father squeezes her shoulder firmly, encouraging her, but she looks for the woman accompanying them. Blake smiles at her sweetly, as if she were her own daughter. She rarely lets me be the one to calm or console her. But with that woman, everything seems so natural, so fluid, as if she were the missing piece of our family puzzle. Did she steal my husband and daughter from me? Now I’m not sure. Maybe they gave themselves to her willingly. Perhaps they were never really mine. Candace enters the rink to warm up, and at that moment, Ryan wraps his arms around Blake and pulls her close. She is slender, elegant, confident. Despite being the same age and having competed together in our time, she has managed to maintain her figure. I, on the other hand, have let myself go. I’ve gained some weight, and my wardrobe choices are more discreet, more practical. I’ve always been that way. I never focused on my appearance because I believed love was built on deeper things. I thought that by giving myself completely to my family, by being the perfect wife, my marriage would be safe. Naive of me. I approach slowly, trying not to be noticed. I’m wearing a cap, dark sunglasses, and my hair is tied back, as if my very presence were sinful. I stop close enough to hear them. They talk about trivial things, lighthearted comments, shared laughter. But it’s not the words that really hurt me; it’s the gestures. Ryan keeps caressing her waist, kissing her face with tenderness, with spontaneity. With her, those gestures come naturally. With me, however, there were always excuses, evasions, and coldness. Does it hurt? Absolutely, it hurts! It’s not just the betrayal, but the inevitable comparison. No one witnessed the times I was rejected when I asked for the same. But what is begged for never holds the same value as what is freely given. For a moment, I forced myself to focus on Candace. I must admit she’s good, that she might have inherited my talent. She performs her routine with grace, with strength, with a confidence I used to have. When she finishes, a shower of applause greets her. Her face shines with happiness as she runs into the arms of her father—and hers. “You were perfect, darling!” The sweetness in Blake’s voice is disarming. Candace hugs her, a gesture that is f*******n to me. “Thank you, Aunt Blake. Thank you for everything you’ve taught me. I love you so much… as if you were my mother.” Each word is a dagger to my heart. “Daddy… you should ask for a divorce. If my mother doesn’t make you happy, maybe it’s time for someone else to do it. I support you.” My world stops. The air becomes dense, heavy. My own daughter is pleading for my replacement. “I don’t think your mother will easily agree to stop being my wife,” Ryan responds with cruel calmness. Blake then sees me. Though distance separates us, I can see it in her gaze. She recognizes me. She smiles, as if challenging me, and kisses Ryan in front of Candace, without any shame. “Come on, darling. She is your mother, after all.” “Yes, she is… but I wish you were my mother.” My husband places a kiss on his daughter’s forehead and another on his lover’s crown. He embraces them both with the assurance of a man who has found his place. They look happy. They look complete. And who am I to stand in the way of their complete happiness? I smile. I stood up and take one last look at them. There is nothing left for me in this situation. If my disappearance is what they need to be happy, I can give them that gift. I turn around and leave.
You Were
Status: Ongoing
