So he had turned to the only person he trusted: my husband. And the profile… wasn’t my husband’s at all. It was Greg’s.
Every message. Every photo. Every heartbreaking line.
Even “My wife is dead.”
Greg’s eyes softened as he told me how terrified he’d been to put himself out there again. I felt the floor tilt under me. I had been ready to destroy my marriage, ready to walk away forever, all because I never asked a single question.
In that moment, I realized something painful but true:
Sometimes the sharpest wounds come not from betrayal… but from the assumptions we make in silence.
