Five years ago, I walked into a coffee shop seeking peace, unaware that a chance encounter would shape—and ultimately shatter—my future. I’m Seraphina, or Sera for short, a lifelong people-watcher. That day, my attention landed on Thomas, a charming man lost in a book but quick to laugh with the barista.
When our eyes met, it felt like fate. Moments later, we were talking as though we’d known each other forever. By the time we said goodbye, I believed I’d found something special. I had no idea how wrong I’d be.
Two years later, we were married, and within a year, our son, Max, was born. Life seemed perfect—our home, our family—but beneath the surface, cracks formed. Thomas grew distant, often glued to his phone or coming home late. I brushed it off, blaming work stress.
That Christmas, I arranged a family photo shoot, determined to create lasting memories. But Thomas arrived late, rushed, and disengaged. Still, I pushed through, sending out what I thought were perfect holiday cards.
Weeks later, everything unraveled with a single text from Thomas’s sister, Eliza: “HON, THAT’S NOT YOUR HUBBY IN THE PIC!” Confused, I zoomed in on the photo. The mole near the pinky wasn’t Thomas’s—it was his twin brother, Jake.
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