My Dad Betrayed My Mom During Her Final Days – I Made Sure He Faced the Consequences

My Dad Had an Affair While My Mom Was Dying in a Hospital – He Thought He Got Away with It Until I Taught Him a Lesson He’ll Never Forget

Blair has to deal with more than just grief after losing her mother to cancer. Betrayal and a commitment she plans to fulfill are hidden beneath the hush.

Blair demonstrates that some girls never forget in a tale of subdued anger, gradual retaliation, and poetic justice. What about karma? She does nothing except wait.

I used to believe that I was an easily forgiving person. Don’t forget, but forgive. Yes, I did.

However, something inside of me cracked—clean and sharp—when my mother passed away while my father was clutching the hand of another woman in an expensive Italian restaurant.

Grief isn’t the only issue here. It has to do with treachery. It has to do with the quiet that hovers over you like a second shadow. It’s also about what you do when you recognize that the people you care about the most may be the ones who deplete you.

Blair is my name. My mother, Rachel, was my entire universe until a year ago. I am twenty-five years old. My moral compass was her. Warm, incisive, and a bit too giving when it comes to birthday reminders. She pushed me out of my shell by encouraging me.

She would exclaim, “Blair, come on, girl,” “When are you going to emerge from your bubble? Leave. Learn to love something else by adopting a cat, and you’ll also learn to love yourself.”

As it happens, she was correct. As my mother had always intended, I learnt to love without conditions when little Gem entered my life.

I hope my mother is allowed to teach if there is such a place as paradise. She turned even the division of cells into a romantic tale.

Conversely, my father, Greg, is a completely different matter. In a boomer-makes-weird-jokes-at-funerals sort of way, he’s charming. He wore a cologne of sarcasm. Additionally, he was the type of person who need a space to be centered about him.

Everything was different when Mom became ill. Pancreatic cancer in stage four. It went by so quickly that there were days when I reasoned that I could buy her some time by blinking more slowly.

“It’s okay, honey,” she would murmur, her lips parched and circles under her eyes. “I’m battling this. For me, for you, and for Dad, too. I will thus be all right.”

However, she wasn’t. Each day was more difficult than the one before it.

She was eventually admitted to the hospital’s bright wing for long-term care. I made the decision to return home at that point.

She had said, “Don’t you dare, Blair,” “I don’t want you to sacrifice everything for me! What about Gem, the small one? She needs her home, doesn’t she?

“Gem’s home is wherever I am, Mom,” I countered. “And my home is wherever you need me to be.”

Tears that had threatened to flow for days began to fill up in my mother’s eyes. Slowly, she nodded.

“All right. Because I genuinely just want you here, even if I was going to resist you.”

When my mother’s hair fell out, I held her hand. When she began to lose the ability to walk correctly, I held her body.

He’d comment, “Too sterile in there, Blair,” “Hospitals make me anxious.”

He came once every seven days. No more than fifteen minutes. He would then grumble something about traffic while kissing her on the cheek. It made me despise him. But she was always forgiving and smiling.

My mother once said, “Let him cope the way he needs to,” in a morphine-faded whisper. “Baby, this can’t be easy to see. Your strength is greater than Dad’s.

She continued to keep him safe. Even so.

Then she said it one evening.

She put down her cup of soup and said, “Have you noticed how weird your dad is around Lisa?”

Mom’s coworker was Lisa. At the school, she taught chemistry. bubbly. Blond. attempted to pass off store-bought cupcakes as though she had cooked them. She was one of those people who would try on scents in stores and then leave, leaving everyone else feeling irritated.

Lisa was… intriguing.

Before Mom mentioned that, I hadn’t observed anything between my dad and Lisa, but now I couldn’t help but notice.

I became acutely aware of him all of a sudden. I would attempt to overhear his phone conversations. I would question him about his intentions for the evening at least a dozen times. I had no idea what I was doing or why, but I had to know whether my mother had a suspicion.

Dad informed me one evening that he would be to the gym rather than seeing Mom.

“I apologize, Blair, but I’ve been suffering from a bad back. I’ll have to extend it. Tomorrow, I’ll see my mother. She enjoys those costly pastries, so I’ll take some. You appear worn out, therefore you should get some rest.”

However, his gym bag was still by the door when he left the house.

I decided to follow him. I would do it again, even if I’m not proud of it.

With small candles on the table and fairy lights draped across the terrace, he drove here. The scene was lovely and romantic.

Until I met Lisa.

She was there, radiant, wearing a sleek red dress, her wavy hair cascading down her back. Holding a container of those dumb cupcakes, she smiled as if she hadn’t just been sitting at my mom’s hospital bedside a week before.

He reached across the table, and I saw it. He touched her hand. His wedding ring dancing in the candlelight.

I was ill.

However, I took pictures. Not enough of them. I was afraid I may drop the phone because my hands were shaking so much. However, I did get them.

I drank coffee to stay awake while I waited by the kitchen table that evening. I was prepared to surprise my father by turning out the lights. Happy as anything, he hummed something as he entered. I remained silent until he turned on the light switch.

Simply, “You were with Lisa,” I said.

He stopped. I still had his back to me.

He questioned, “You followed me?” as if that were the major betrayal.

“She’s Mom’s co-worker, Greg.”

He let out a sigh as if I were tiring.

Blair, I am not your friend; I am your father. It is either Dad or nothing.

I remained silent.

“Look, it’s been months since Mom was my wife. Blair, I’m lonely. Comfort is what I need.

I wanted to yank out his hair. I didn’t shout, though. I didn’t, even though I wanted to.

Rather, I went out. I drove directly to the hospital and climbed into Mom’s bed. I kept the pictures from her. I was honest with her.

As she shed her silent sobs, her entire body shook. She was graceful in her destruction, as she was in everything else.

After some time, she urged, “Make me a promise.”

I said, “Anything, Momma,” I said.

“Don’t let him get away with it.”

I promised myself I wouldn’t.

After three months, my mother ceased to struggle. She had left.

It was a straightforward funeral. Family. close companions. There was Lisa, dressed in black, wiping her eyes dry with tissue as if it were stage directions. She gripped my dad’s arm as if she were supposed to.

I remained silent. Then no. I had discovered that grief is a thief. Your voice is stolen before you can even breathe.

I discovered Mom’s journal a few weeks later when I was gathering her belongings. There was a letter to me inside.

“I’ve left you, sweetie, if you’re reading this.

if not voluntarily. Never voluntarily. I will forgive you for taking any necessary precautions to keep yourself safe if your father is still with Lisa. Of all of us, you were always the strongest.

Mom, I love you.”

That was it. I only needed that.

Dad was unaware that the house wasn’t really his. The deed still had Mom’s name. I therefore received her portion once she passed away. I went quietly, without fuss, to see a lawyer. I waited after that.

My plan was in three stages. Simple enough.

First, smile. I accepted Dad’s statement that Lisa was “moving in to help him adjust.” I assisted with box carrying. Lisa requested that I hang her blue curtains in the living room. I portrayed a distraught daughter who merely wished to get closure and move on.

Step 2: I was polite. I assisted in preparing the Sunday meals. I accompanied them when they went shopping. Lisa’s remarks about “how hard grief is, right?” made me giggle.

They believed they had triumphed.

Step Three: Pancake Saturday. I used Mom’s recipe to serve them both papers over heaps of delectable pancakes.

“I’m selling my half of the house,” I declared as I poured orange juice into a glass.

“You can’t do that, Blair!” he exclaimed. “And it’s mine, anyway.”

“I am able to. Yes, I am. I inherited everything from Mom, including her share of the house.

Lisa blinked and said, “We have nowhere to go…”

Gem meowed at my feet as if to reassure me that I was strong. For my mother and me.

However, I shrugged and said, “That’s not my problem though,”

Trying to seem sympathetic, she lowered her voice and said, “Blair, I never meant…”

“Lisa, you attended my mother’s wake with cupcakes. old cupcakes from the supermarket. When you delivered your ostensibly tearful speech, your eyes were completely dry. Please save your performance.

After that, my father didn’t even make an effort to fight me. Thus, the house was sold.

It was purchased by a kind retired couple. I gave Dad thirty days’ notice to leave. He left Mom’s wedding band on the kitchen counter the day she passed away, and I did the same.

I took Gem and Mom’s stuff and relocated to a new town. I believed I was finished. I believed it to be over.

However, it turned out that my father had asked Lisa to marry him. One morning as I was getting ready for work, I received the notice by email. It seems like they intended to use their new backyard for a small wedding. Something personal and elegant.

Naturally, I declined when I RSVP’d. However, I sent a small item in my place.

The wedding photographer, my cousin Jenna, got an envelope that morning. The pictures I had taken that evening were inside. Dated. time-stamped.

“My mother was dying in a hospital bed when these photos were taken. On your special day, I hope they make you happy.

Before taking the first picture, Jenna, bless her dramatic heart, read it out loud.

Lisa took off running. literally. in high heels.

“She threw her bouquet of flowers on the ground and she ran, Blair!” Later, Jenna told me. Uncle Greg, on the other hand, simply stood there in disbelief. I thought he was going to cry at one point, but instead he just sat down and gazed up at the sky. After that, my mother took care of him. I went out.

I have no regrets whatsoever.

In my mother’s words, forgiveness is sacred. Honoring the truth is also important. And compared to him, my mother deserved so much more.

He believed he had gotten away with it, poor Dad. However, he failed to remember that I was my mother’s daughter. Additionally, she consistently stated that Karma was patient.

I suppose she was correct.

How would you have responded?