The scandal tore through our extended family like wildfire. People took sides. Some said my sister was young and foolish. Others said my husband was manipulative. I didn’t care. I cut them both out of my life completely.
I changed the locks.
Blocked their numbers.
And I forbade him from seeing our children until the court sorted things out. I needed space. I needed protection. My kids needed stability.
For three months, I lived on anger. It fueled me. It kept me strong. Every time I pictured them together, I hardened my heart even more.
Then one night, there was a knock at my door.
My sister stood there in dirty clothes, her hair tangled and unwashed. Her face was pale, hollow. She was trembling — not just from the cold, but from something deeper. Fear.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” she whispered.
