While He Was Toasting His New Life, I Handed Him a DNA Test That Changed Everything (2 of 4)

Fifteen years of marriage. Three children. And not a shred of hesitation in his voice.

He thought I’d fall apart. That I’d beg. That I’d play the role I’d rehearsed for over a decade—the devoted wife who always came second to her husband’s ambition. But I’d done my falling years ago. Quietly, alone, while folding his shirts and ignoring lipstick stains that weren’t mine.

It wasn’t surgical red—that would’ve been too obvious. No, it was a deeper shade. Crimson. Almost classy. I noticed it while doing laundry, pressed into the collar of one of his dress shirts. That was the first crack. The one I didn’t want to see.

To the world, we were picture-perfect: Dr. Thomas Green, the brilliant heart surgeon with a charming smile, and me, Courteney—the woman who gave up her master’s degree to raise his children, host his colleagues, and applaud from the sidelines.

I told myself the late nights were normal. That the sudden weekend conferences were real. That all couples grow quiet with time.

But then, the week before our anniversary, I saw a message on his phone while he showered.

“Can’t wait to feel you again. When are you leaving her?”

I confronted him the next morning, still shaking.

He didn’t deny it.

“Yes,” he said, buttering his toast. “I’m done. This life bores me.”

He was bored.