My Daughter Called His Mistress Mom

The video had been uploaded thirty minutes ago. With a firm click, I opened it. The setting appeared to be a hotel room, and there was my daughter standing by the table, my son-in-law holding little Celine—everyone was beaming with happiness. Miranda slightly tilted her head, and the camera panned across the room.

And there was Declan. If there’s someone I loathe above all others in this world, it’s Declan. In our youth, we loved each other dearly; I thought we could grow old together in bliss. Then, ten years into our marriage, his first love's husband died unexpectedly in a car crash, leaving her widowed with two young children. At first, Declan secretly helped them behind my back. When I found out, it sparked a huge row, and he had the audacity to call me heartless in his rage.

Not long after, he presented me with divorce papers, cradling her two children in his arms. “Brooklyn and Ares are too young to grow up without a father,” he said. He wanted a divorce so he could be with his first love and play father to her kids. As he said this, our daughter, Miranda, clung to his leg, crying and pleading with him not to leave. But Declan turned away and walked out without a second glance.

I didn’t agonize over closure; I took a significant portion of his wealth and left with Miranda. I changed her last name to mine, Sofia, to ensure she was shielded from a potentially abusive stepfather. I never remarried, dedicating myself to raising her, watching her grow, get into college, fall in love, get married, and have little Celine. Throughout this, Declan stayed away completely. Occasionally, I'd hear that he and his first love chose not to have more children, instead raising her two as his own, devoting himself wholly to them.

Miranda once confided in me that she hated Declan just as deeply as I did. I assumed her memories of our divorce would keep my pain fresh in her mind, steering her clear of him. But I hadn’t expected that they were still in touch! In the video, Miranda was there with Declan, talking softly, without a trace of animosity. They even led the group in singing “Happy Birthday” together. Luke, Celine, and those now grown-up kids joined in.

At the center of this gathering was the woman who had been Declan’s first love, Gwendolyn. She looked as radiant as ever, wearing a stunning Victorian-style dress. Surrounded by everyone, she was the center of attention, living like a queen. She shares the same birthday as me.

Even more outrageous—my daughter, who means the world to me, finished the birthday song, went over to Gwendolyn, hugged her, and called her “Mom.”