It’s been like clockwork the past few years. Every summer, Dariel and I pack up, take our son Milo, and head somewhere family-friendly—beaches, theme parks, the usual. And then, come fall, Dariel books another trip.
Solo. No family, no friends, just him. He says it’s his way of decompressing, “recharging.” I’ve asked before if he wanted me and Milo to tag along, but he always says no, that it’s something he needs to do on his own.
I’ll admit, it stung a bit at first. I figured maybe it was a cultural thing—he grew up differently, maybe needed space in ways I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to push.
Besides, marriage is about trust, right? But last week, while folding laundry, I noticed something weird. A receipt crumpled in his jacket pocket.
It was for a dinner—expensive, like two-hundred-dollar-steak level expensive—from his last “solo” trip. Two entrees, a bottle of wine, and a dessert for two. I stared at it way too long.
My mind ran wild. Who was the second dinner for? A friend?
A client? Someone… else? I didn’t say anything right away.
Instead, I did something I’ve never done before: I checked his phone. Felt sick to my stomach the whole time. Nothing too suspicious in texts.
But then I noticed he had a second Instagram account. Private. Barely any posts.
Except for one story highlight, geotagged in the same city he always visits alone. The profile picture wasn’t him. It was of a little girl.
And I don’t even know what to do next. Normally, I’m the type of person who tries to give the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was a friend’s child.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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