My 25-year-old son married a kind, gentle 23-year-old woman named Tina. At first, their life looked full of promise. When their baby boy was born, I believed love would hold them together.
Instead, the truth slowly surfaced. Tina began mentioning my son’s infidelity—not dramatically, just quietly. At first I hoped she was mistaken. She wasn’t. He had cheated multiple times, and she had proof. I was ashamed. That wasn’t how I raised him.
I apologized to Tina and told her honestly that if she ever chose to leave, I would support her. She forgave him anyway, believing he would change for their child.
Months later, my son called to say he was filing for divorce. He had found someone “better.” Tina was left alone with a one-year-old, struggling to survive in a tiny rented room. Then came the final blow—my son invited us to his wedding.
When I asked why he cheated, he laughed. “Tina’s great,” he said, “but I deserve better.” Something inside me broke.
On his wedding day, my husband and I went to Tina’s instead. I helped with chores, held the baby, and gave her time to rest. When my son called, I told him the truth: I was ashamed of him.
He hasn’t spoken to us since. Sometimes I wonder if I overreacted—until I look at Tina and know I didn’t.
