My Husband Started Sneaking Out to His Van Every Night – When I Found Out the Truth, I Couldn’t Stop Crying

Photos of me.

Of him. Of Maddie. Of Theo.

Our wedding. Our first crappy apartment. Us in college.

Me at 22, in a sundress. Me at 30, pregnant and scowling.

Me laughing. Me asleep on the couch.

Me holding Maddie. Me holding Theo.

There were printed screenshots of texts.

Polaroids. Blurry selfies.

Random candid shots I didn’t even remember.

On the floor, plastic milk crates were filled with notebooks.

Each notebook had a year written on the spine.

On a little folding table sat a digital voice recorder, pens, blank scrapbooks, and a stack of envelopes.

My hands were shaking when I picked up the closest notebook.

The first page had a date.

Under it:

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