When I pulled into the driveway, my heart sank. My kids, Jake and Emily, sat on the porch with packed suitcases. “What’s going on?” I asked, rushing toward them.
“You told us to pack. You texted that Dad was coming to get us,” Jake explained, handing me his phone. My stomach churned as I read the message: Pack your things, Dad will be here soon. But I hadn’t sent that text.
Before I could react, a car pulled in. It was my ex, Lewis. I told the kids to go inside, standing firm as he approached, smug and arrogant. “Leaving the kids alone, huh? Maybe they’re better off with me,” he sneered.
“They were alone for two hours, and you manipulated them with fake messages,” I shot back, seething. Jake, overhearing, begged us to stop fighting. Lewis left, but I knew this wasn’t over.
Determined to protect my children, I confronted his girlfriend, Lisa, showing her the fake texts and evidence of his lies. She was defensive at first but slowly realized the truth.
Weeks later, I heard their relationship was falling apart. I didn’t need to destroy him; the truth did that for me. Justice, not revenge, was all I needed.
