For over ten years, our weekend mornings were untouchable — not because of religion, but because of pancakes and cartoons. So when my husband out of nowhere demanded we start going to church every Sunday, I never guessed the actual reason would destroy our whole life.
My husband, Derek, and I were a couple for twelve years, wed for ten. We had never been the praying type. Not a single time had we walked into a church together — not for Easter, the holidays, or even to get married.
That simply was not our style.
I do marketing for a charity, and Derek works in finance, handling business accounts. Our daily routines were packed, organized, and totally normal.
We share a little girl, Chloe, who just turned nine.
Sunday mornings were special in our home — not for reading the Bible but for catching extra sleep, flipping pancakes, watching cartoons, and maybe doing a grocery trip if we felt productive. It was our own little tradition, our family’s way of finding peace.
So when Derek randomly brought up attending church, I figured he was kidding. He wasn’t.
“Hold on,” I said, tilting my head. “Like… actually sit through a service?”
“Yeah,” he answered, not even lifting his eyes from his breakfast. “I think it would be nice for us. A fresh start or something.”
I chuckled. “You? The guy who once called a church wedding ‘a hostage situation with cake’? That same guy now wants to go pray?”
He offered a tiny smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Things change, Lauren. I have been feeling… super stressed lately. Like, I am holding too much weight. Burning out. My job has been a lot. I just need a spot to catch my breath.”
I looked at him for a moment. His body was stiff, and he hadn’t been sleeping well.
I figured maybe it was a phase. But then he said, really honestly, “I feel great when I am there. I enjoy the pastor’s words. It is uplifting. And I want an activity we can do together as a family. A community.”
I didn’t want to be the kind of wife who ruins a healthy way to cope. So, just like that, church turned into our brand-new Sunday habit.
The first time we got dressed up and drove over, I felt totally awkward. The place was nice and tidy, and the folks were super welcoming.
We took seats in the fourth row, and Derek seemed to know exactly where he needed to sit. Chloe scribbled on a kids’ coloring page while I looked at the colorful windows, guessing how long we were actually going to keep doing this.
But my husband looked totally calm. He nodded along with the talk. He even shut his eyes during the prayer, acting like he had been doing this forever.
Every single week, it went the same way.
Same building, same row. Derek shook hands, grinned, and said hello. Once it was over, he would stick around, talk with the greeters, and help move the donation boxes.
To be honest? It felt totally fine.
And eventually, I told myself, Alright. This is innocent. Strange, but innocent.
Then one Sunday, right after the talking finished and before we walked out, Derek looked at me in the parking lot and said, “Wait right here in the car. I just need to use the restroom real quick.”
Ten minutes went by.
I tried ringing his phone. Nobody picked up. I sent a text — still nothing.
Chloe was standing right beside me by the door and began asking when we were heading home. A weird feeling twisted in my gut. That vibe you get when something is wrong, but you haven’t figured out what it is yet.
I waved down a lady I had noticed before — Sister Marianne — and asked if she could keep an eye on Chloe for five minutes. She smiled sweetly and grabbed my little girl’s hand, talking about juice and snacks while I headed back indoors.
I peeked into the men’s restroom. Nobody was in there.
That is the moment I spotted him.
As I stepped back into the corridor, I saw him through a cracked-open window at the far end of the hallway. He was standing in the church courtyard, chatting with a lady I had never laid eyes on.
She was tall, had blonde hair, and wore a nice cream sweater with pearls. She looked like the type of woman who ran book clubs and neighborhood meetings.
Her arms were folded tight across her chest. Derek was acting super animated, talking with his hands, moving in closer than I was comfortable with.
The glass was pushed open a bit, probably to let the nice spring air inside.
And I caught every single word.
“Do you get why I did this?” Derek asked, his tone quiet but full of emotion. “I dragged my family here… just so I could prove to you what you missed out on when you walked away from me.”
My entire body turned cold.
“We could have had everything,” he continued. “A family, a real life, more babies. Just you and me. If you wanted the perfect setup, the big house, the church… I am ready right now. I will do whatever it takes. Anything.”
I didn’t even take a breath or move a muscle!
I merely stood right there, completely stuck — watching my entire marriage fall apart right in front of my face.
The lady’s answer came out slowly. Her tone was steady, but it had a really harsh bite to it.
“I feel terrible for your wife,” she stated. “And your little girl. Because they are stuck with you as a partner and a dad.”
Derek blinked as she had actually punched him in the face.
She kept going. “I am only going to say this one time. We are never getting back together. You have to stop reaching out to me. This weird obsession you have had since high school? It is not true love. It is creepy. Like, stalker-level creepy.”
He tried to cut her off. She put her hand up like a stop sign.
“If you ever try to talk to me again, I am getting the police involved. And I will make sure you are never allowed near my loved ones ever again.”
She spun around and marched off without even glancing back.
Derek just stood there. His shoulders dropped. Totally crushed. Like a guy watching his dream life vanish right before his eyes.
I stepped back from the glass like it was on fire.
I have no idea how I made it back to the vehicle, only that I found Chloe talking happily, totally clueless about the storm that had just wrecked my universe. I said thanks to Marianne, helped my kid into her seat, and sat completely quiet behind the steering wheel.
Derek hopped in a few minutes later, slid into the passenger seat, and kissed Chloe on the head like absolutely nothing was wrong.
“Sorry, I took a while,” he mentioned. “There was a long line for the restroom.”
I gave a nod and even forced a smile.
As I pulled out of the lot, I realized I had to be sure that what I heard was real. That I wasn’t just making things up in my head.
I chose not to let a simple misunderstanding wreck my whole marriage.
I required solid proof.
So I bided my time.
The next Sunday, we put on our nice clothes as if everything was perfectly fine.
Derek helped Chloe put her jacket on, kept the door open for me, and hummed a happy tune on the walk to the car like a guy whose whole life wasn’t a giant fake.
We sat in our usual row. He chuckled at the pastor’s stories. I sat perfectly still, my muscles tight.
Once it was over, Derek looked at me and said, “Wait right here. Bathroom break.”
This time around, I didn’t wait a second.
I looked around the lobby area, noticed the blonde lady standing by the snack table, and marched right over to her. She was by herself, mixing sugar into a little cup.
Once she looked at me, I watched her whole expression drop.
“Hey,” I said quietly. “I believe we need to have a chat. I am… Derek’s wife.”
She gave a single nod and walked me over to a more private spot. Her jaw was locked tight. She didn’t appear shocked, just incredibly, incredibly exhausted.
“I heard every word,” I admitted. “Last weekend. The courtyard window was cracked open. I didn’t plan to… but I caught it.”
She stayed quiet at first. Just looked at me with this blend of sadness and pure shock.
“I have no clue what is going on,” I went on, doing my best to keep my voice from shaking. “But I cannot drive home and act like I didn’t hear what I heard. I have to know the real story. All of it. Because I feel like I made that whole chat up in my head, and I need actual proof.”
She let out a heavy breath, then dug into her bag and grabbed her cell phone.
“My name is Natalie,” she introduced herself. “And you are not crazy at all.”
She opened her phone, scrolled through her texts, and passed it right to me.
There were years of messages. Years!
A few were sad, others were angry. Some sounded like fake poetry written by a guy begging for attention. Most of them had never even gotten a reply.
Then, right in her newest texts, from just a few weeks back, there was a picture of the church’s front sign, along with a message from him that said, “I see you. I know exactly where you hang out now.”
I stared up at her, my mouth completely dry.
“He figured out I was coming here because I uploaded one single picture on my profile,” she explained. “Just me and a buddy standing by the front steps. The very next weekend, he was sitting right behind my row. Alongside his family.”
I couldn’t even put a sentence together!
“He has been pulling this stuff since we were teenagers. He mailed me notes during college and showed up at my very first office in Portland. I relocated twice and swapped my phone number. He still tracked me down.”
I gave the phone back to her like it was toxic.
“I am so incredibly sorry,” I mumbled.
“No,” she replied, her gaze turning cold now. “I am the one who is sorry. That guy is super dangerous, even if he plays the nice guy act.”
We just stood there without speaking for a minute. I was drowning in total embarrassment, and she was watching me sink.
“I have to keep my little girl safe,” I stated. “I just… appreciate you showing me.”
She offered a tiny nod. “Stay safe. And do not let him spin the story on you. He is a pro at doing that.”
I strolled back over to Chloe and saw Derek waiting there, too, acting like absolutely nothing was wrong. I even smiled at him. But my brain was spinning, my skin felt freezing, and my hands refused to stop trembling.
That evening, I couldn’t catch a wink of sleep.
I kept replaying every single memory from our marriage. Every joke, argument, vacation, weekend trip, and bedtime kiss. All of it suddenly felt like a massive scam. Or even worse — like I was just a stand-in!
Because the issue wasn’t just that he had chased after a different woman.
It was that I was never his actual goal. I had just been a part of his fake act. I was nothing but a stage prop!
The following night, after Chloe went to sleep, I sat on the edge of our bed and stared right at Derek as he strolled into the bedroom. He was sporting a gray sweatshirt and gym shorts, looking at his screen like life was completely normal.
“Hey,” he greeted without lifting his eyes. “Is everything alright?”
I stared right into his eyes. My tone was totally flat.
“I know the real story.”
He completely froze. “Excuse me?”
“The church. Natalie. The whole thing.”
His skin went white as a sheet. But only for a heartbeat. Then he gave a nervous little laugh and shook his head.
“Hold on, what? Lauren, what are you even saying?”
“You know exactly what I am saying,” I fired back. “I heard you last weekend. Out by the garden.”
His eyes got really narrow. “You spied on me?”
“I went looking for you,” I clarified. “You claimed you were using the restroom. You lied. I caught every word.”
Derek’s mouth fell open a tiny bit, then snapped shut again.
“I know you confessed your love to her,” I stated. “I know you admitted you dragged us to service just to flaunt what she was missing out on. And I know she shot you down. Completely. Called you a total creep.”
His nice-guy act finally broke right then. I caught it — a quick flash of pure rage hiding behind that charming face.
“I really don’t think you get what you overheard,” he argued. “This is not what it—”
“It is exactly what it sounds like,” I snapped, my tone getting sharp now. “And I actually spoke to her. I read the texts. The pictures. I saw exactly how long this sick game has been happening.”
He moved a step closer. “Lauren, seriously. We have been husband and wife for ten years. We share a kid. That is literally ancient history.”
“Ancient history?” I repeated. “You sent her a text a few days ago!”
He took a really hard swallow.
“You kissed our little girl,” I yelled, my voice shaking, “right after promising a different woman that you would dump us for her.”
“Absolutely nothing happened,” he defended quickly. “She didn’t even agree to it.”
“That is your excuse?” I questioned. “That she turned you down?”
He went totally quiet.
I pulled in a massive breath, then stood up straight and looked right at him.
“My lawyer is mailing over the divorce papers this week.”
His face scrunched up. “Lauren, please don’t. We can repair this!”
“No, Derek,” I answered, glaring at the guy I once believed I would spend my whole life with. “We cannot repair a thing that was fake from the start. You used Chloe and me. And I absolutely refuse to let our kid grow up believing this is what real love is.”
He dropped onto the mattress, looking completely shocked, like the thought of facing actual consequences had never once entered his brain.
“What am I supposed to say to her?” he questioned.
I turned toward the hallway.
“Tell her the truth,” I replied. “And then prove to her how to own up to your mistakes.”
As I walked away, Chloe’s little nightlight threw gentle shadows across the hall. I stopped outside her bedroom and peeked in. She was fast asleep, totally clueless that her whole universe had just flipped upside down.
And as I watched her chest rise and fall, my heart filled up with something way tougher than sadness: pure determination.
I couldn’t change the sick things Derek had pulled, but I had total control over what happened next.
And I would never again allow a person to use me just to play out some twisted fantasy.