Dear Husband, I'm tired of lying, good bye!

The door slammed behind us with a violent thud.

Dave’s face was pale with fury as he turned toward me, his jaw tight, eyes wild. “Was it you?” he shouted, voice echoing through the room. “Were you the one who told the media about Franco?”

My chest tightened. “What are you talking about?”

He took a step closer, hands trembling. “Don’t play dumb with me, Elisa! Everyone knows now—everyone! Franco’s been crying in his room for hours, terrified to go to school, humiliated! Who else would know about it if not you? Didn’t we talk about this, if you do this then I will ruin your career!”

“Dave, no!” I said, tears springing to my eyes. “Why would I ever do that? You think I’d use a child for revenge? I was as shocked as you are! I would never—”

“Then who?” he barked. “You’re the only one with motive! You wanted payback!”

He didn’t wait for my answer. He grabbed my wrist, dragged me toward our bedroom, and pushed me inside. The lock clicked behind me.

“Stay there,” he said coldly. “I can’t even stand to look at you right now! How dare you ruin this family!?”

The sound of his footsteps faded, and I sank to the floor, shaking. My chest ached with every breath. I could still hear Franco’s cries faintly from the other room, each sob cutting through me like a knife.

Yes, I hated Dave’s lie, but I love Franco… like a brother. I thought about it, but decided just to let everything go—for the sake of peace. And now this? I decided to call my trusted man to investigate what happened… who leaked everything.

I pressed my hand over my belly, feeling the faint flutter beneath. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s going to be okay, baby.”

But the words felt empty. My tears wouldn’t stop. The pressure in my chest grew heavier, and then—warmth. Wetness. I looked down and saw red blooming through the fabric of my dress.

“No… no, please,” I gasped, clutching my stomach.

Pain tore through me, sharp and deep. My vision blurred as I tried to stand, but the world tilted, and everything went black.

When I woke up, the smell of antiseptic filled the air. My hands were cold. A doctor stood beside the bed, his eyes heavy with pity.

“Mrs. Morales,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry… but you lost the baby due to so much stress.”

The words shattered me. I couldn’t even cry at first. I just stared at the ceiling, my mind blank. My baby. Gone. And everything was in mess. Surely, my lie would be exposed soon. What would I do, then?

Then the tears came—silent, endless. But before I could even breathe, the door burst open. Sandra stormed in, her face twisted with anger.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” she hissed. “Do you know how this looks for us? The news, the scandal, and now this—another mess to clean up!”

I looked at her, still dazed. “I just lost my child,” I whispered. Not even Dave cared about it now, he only cared about his public image.

She crossed her arms. “And whose fault is that? Maybe if you weren’t so dramatic, so desperate to play the victim—”

“Enough!” I shouted, voice cracking. “I’m so done with this!”

But then another voice cut in. Liana.

She stood by the doorway, smirking. “Because of you, my sister has gone insane,” she said coldly. “You destroyed her family, ruined Franco, and you still act like you’re the victim? Pathetic.”

The room spun again, chaos pressing in from all sides. Sandra and Liana’s voices clashed, cruel words raining down on me until I could barely hear myself think.

Then Dave appeared. His expression was unreadable—exhausted, furious, empty.

“Enough!” he barked, silencing them. His gaze fell on me. “You’re going to fix this, Elisa. You’ll go back to work. You’ll do the broadcast tonight and deny everything. Lie if you have to—you’re good at that, aren’t you? Tell me it’s not true, or maybe tell that Franco is our son! Do everything in order to fix this or your career will be the one ruined next!”

I stared at him, my heart breaking all over again.

He waited for a response, but I said nothing. I just nodded weakly.

That evening, I sat before the studio lights, the camera red dot blinking like an eye staring straight into my soul. My script lay untouched. My hands trembled.

The producer’s voice echoed through the earpiece. “We’re live in five… four…”

I took a deep breath.

“Good evening,” I began. “This is Elisa Morales.”

I paused, feeling the lump rise in my throat. “Before tonight’s report, I need to say something—not as an anchor, but as a woman who has lived too long behind lies.”

The crew froze. The control room went silent.

“I didn’t know Franco was my husband’s son,” I said, voice steady despite the shaking. “I was deceived—just like everyone else. And yes, I lied too. I faked my background to fit into a world that never truly wanted me. But I’m done pretending.”

I took off my mic, tears slipping down my cheeks. “I’m stepping down from this position… and from this life of lies.”

Then I walked off set.

Later that night, my phone buzzed nonstop—calls, messages, voicemails from Dave, from Sandra, from everyone. I didn’t read a single one.

I blocked his number.

Then I called my lawyer. “Send the divorce papers,” I said quietly. “And do everything so he would never hear from me again.”

Within the hour, I packed my bags. No more pretending. No more pain.

At dawn, I boarded the first flight out. The sky outside the window turned gold, and for the first time in years, I felt light.

I closed my eyes, whispering to the child I’d lost and the woman I used to be.

“It’s over,” I said. “No more lies.”