My Son Covers for My Husband's Affair

Tamsin's POV

"Hey, Steven, you see your mistress every single day. How has your wife not figured it out?"

"Because I'm smart about it. I've got the perfect cover."

My husband's smug voice came through my headphones.

"What, the classic 'working late' excuse? Come on, man. Everyone uses that—"

"No, no. Better than that. I've got Jerry on my side."

I stopped breathing.

"Your kid? Seriously?"

"Absolutely. The little guy covers for me. Every time I say I'm working late, he backs me up. 'Daddy works so hard, Mommy. We should let him rest.' It's perfect. Tamsin believes everything that kid says. She's completely blind to it."

The other man laughed. "That's... dude, that's genius. She really has no idea?"

"Not a clue. She trusts Jerry completely." I could hear the smile in Steven's voice. "Makes everything so easy."

My whole body went numb. Only the suffocating weight in my chest reminded me I was still breathing.

Jerry. My six-year-old son. He'd been helping my husband Steven lie to me.

I don't know how long I sat at my desk. Eventually, I pulled off my headphones.

The email that started all this was still open on my screen. The sender line was blank. The subject line read: "You know." An audio file attached. No message. No explanation.

Who sent this? Why now?

I clicked frantically through my inbox, searching for any clue. Nothing.

And now I knew. My husband had been cheating for a year. And my son had been covering for him. Both of them lying to my face, day after day, treating me like a fool. It was absurd.

Jerry. My six-year-old son who hugged me every morning and needed me to read to him before bed. I loved him more than anything in this world.

But he'd been helping Steven betray me. Lying to me the whole time.

Something in my chest cracked.

I grabbed my purse and left.

I'd barely opened the front door when I heard the TV. Jerry's favorite cartoon was playing.

"Mommy!" Jerry came running. "You're home early!"

He threw himself at me like always. I caught him.

"Hey, buddy," I said.

"Daddy's in the living room," Jerry said, grabbing my hand and pulling me inside. "Come on!"

Steven was stretched out on the couch, phone in hand. He looked up and smiled when he saw us.

"You're home early," he said. "Everything okay?"

"Just a headache." The lie came automatically. "Thought I'd rest at home."

"Good idea." He barely glanced at me before returning to his phone. "I've got to work late tonight, though. Big project deadline."

I studied him, searching for any sign of guilt or nervousness. There was nothing.

"Daddy works really hard," Jerry said, climbing onto the couch next to Steven. "Right, Mommy?"

Steven's voice from the recording echoed in my head. "Every time I say I'm working late, he backs me up."

I forced a smile. "Right. So hard."

I couldn't talk to Jerry with Steven right there.

I made mac and cheese for dinner because it was Jerry's favorite, but I couldn't taste anything.

Steven finished eating and left, claiming he needed to get to the office.

Jerry stood at the door, waving. "Work hard, Daddy!"

After the door closed, I finally remembered what I needed to do.

"Jerry, sweetie?" I said gently. "Can you turn the TV down for a minute? Mommy needs to talk to you."

"Okay!" He lowered the volume. "What is it, Mommy?"

I knelt in front of him. "Jerry, does Daddy really work late a lot?"

Something flickered across his face. Just for a second. Before today, I never would have noticed. Then he nodded hard. "Uh-huh. Daddy says his job is very important."

"I see." My throat tightened until I could barely speak. "And you help Daddy, right? You tell Mommy that Daddy's working?"

"Yes!" He looked proud of himself. "Daddy says it's important to support him. That's what family does."

Oh god. He actually thinks he's doing the right thing.

I reached out to touch his cheek. He leaned into my palm like always. "Jerry, baby, I need you to understand something. Mommy and Daddy might not be together anymore after this. We might—"

"What do you mean? Are you going to live in different houses?" His voice cut through what I was trying to say.

"I... yes. Probably."

He jerked away from me so fast I almost fell forward. "No! I don't want that!"

"Jerry, do you want to talk to Mommy about—"

"I want to live with Daddy." His face scrunched up, but not like he was sad.

It felt like someone had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart. "What? Honey—"

"I don't care!" His voice got louder. "I want to stay with Daddy! You can't make me live with you!"

"Jerry, please, just listen—"

"No!" He actually stomped his foot. "I want Daddy! Not you!"

He ran upstairs. A few seconds later, I heard his bedroom door slam.

I was still kneeling there, feeling like my heart had shattered into pieces.

I don't know how long I sat there, eventually, I pulled myself together.

My phone vibrated. A text from my former colleague. She'd been trying to recruit me for weeks now, impressed by my work and eager to have me join her new studio. I'd always said no, the studio was in France, and that felt too far from home.

But today, something shifted.

I typed back: [I'm in. I'll wrap things up here in a month and fly to Paris.]