At 10, while Mom was hospitalized for what we thought was appendicitis, Dad sent us outside to play, then took us to Burger King. That night, I found him at the kitchen table, holding Mom’s wedding ring and cigarettes—odd, since he never smoked. He looked lost, barely noticing me. Days later, he revealed Mom’s illness was serious, not appendicitis. The house grew cold; Dad was distant. Aunt Derya arrived, bringing warmth, but tension lingered. One evening, alone with Dad, I heard a woman’s laughter. Peeking in, I saw a stranger with him, sipping wine,

relaxed on our couch. I told Derya, who confronted him. The woman left. Mom, growing weaker in the hospital, learned of Dad’s affair with an old flame. From her bed, she filed for separation, leveraging their prenup. Dad moved out. Mom came home, frail but resilient, and went into remission. Years later, at my brother’s graduation, Mom thanked Dad for his betrayal—it revealed her strength. He left for Nevada; we never saw him again. Mom rebuilt our family with love, laughter, and lentil soup. Betrayal showed Dad’s true colors, but it freed us to shine brighter.