Last week, while my wife Claire was in the shower, I noticed a notification pop up on her phone. I assumed it was one of our daughters, Emily or Sarah, confirming plans for their “girls’ dinner.” Curious, I opened the message, thinking it might be a simple update about their plans.

Instead, I saw a text from an unsaved number: “I can’t wait to see you!” followed by a kissing emoji. My heart froze. I clicked on the thread, and there it was—a string of messages making dinner plans and exchanging sentiments like “I miss you” and “Once a week isn’t enough.” My stomach dropped.

After 28 years of marriage, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Hoping to catch Claire in a lie, I texted both Emily and Sarah, asking them about their girls’ dinner plans. What happened next shattered me even more. Both of them confirmed they were excited about dinner and looking forward to it. I felt like the ground beneath me had given way.

Not proud of this, but I decided to turn on location sharing on Claire’s phone before she left the house. After she walked out, I followed her to the restaurant, still holding onto a shred of hope that I was wrong—that maybe I’d see Emily and Sarah there, laughing with their mom.

But when I arrived, my worst fears were confirmed. There wasn’t a girls’ dinner. Claire was there with another man—her boss, Daniel. They were sitting close, holding hands, and leaning in to kiss. My heart broke into a million pieces. Part of me wanted to wait, to stay calm, but the rage and betrayal overwhelmed me. I snapped pictures of them together and stormed back to my car.

As I sat there shaking, I opened our family group chat and sent the photos. “Glad you’re enjoying girls’ dinner together!” I wrote before turning off my phone and driving straight to my brother Mark’s house. I asked to stay the night, too wrecked to go home.

The next morning, I turned on my phone to a flood of messages and voicemails—over 40 texts and 20 calls. Claire had gone through every excuse in the cheater’s playbook, begging for forgiveness, but I couldn’t even bring myself to listen. I drafted a message to her: “I will be getting a divorce. I recommend you hire a lawyer.”

Before I could send it, Mark stopped me. He advised me to meet with every top divorce lawyer in town first to ensure she couldn’t use them. I spent the entire day making appointments and consulting with attorneys. By evening, I had chosen the most aggressive lawyer I could find.

Finally, I checked my phone and scrolled through the messages. Both Emily and Sarah had been apologizing.

Emily, my youngest and the quintessential daddy’s girl was nearly frantic. She had texted me dozens of times, saying she regretted lying and hated every moment of it. Even her boyfriend messaged me, saying she was on the verge of a panic attack and begging me to call her.

I finally replied: “Emily, I love you, but please understand that what you’ve done has hurt me deeply. I need you to give me space.”

Her response was almost instant: “Okay, I’m so sorry. I’ll never forgive myself. I love you too.”

I didn’t reply.

Sarah, my eldest, was a different story. She and I always had a good relationship, but she was much closer to her mom. Her apology felt hollow. She said she was sorry but added that I shouldn’t throw away “a good marriage” over “one mistake.”

That infuriated me.

“Sarah, this isn’t a mistake. This is a betrayal—by my whole family. Please don’t reach out again until I make first contact.”

She didn’t reply, but I know she showed my message to Claire. Not long after, Claire sent me a message accusing me of being too hard on Sarah and claiming I shouldn’t take this out on her. I didn’t respond. From now on, I plan to communicate with Claire solely through lawyers.

It’s been five days since everything came crashing down. I’m still staying at Mark’s house, unable to face my own home. Every morning, I wake up crying, and every day, I oscillate between crushing sadness and all-consuming anger. Losing Claire is one thing, but the betrayal from my daughters cuts deeper than I ever imagined.

How am I supposed to look Emily and Sarah in the eye again? How do I even begin to forgive them? Sarah’s wedding is this fall, and I’ve been paying for almost everything. Now, I can’t even fathom attending.

I don’t know how to move forward. I feel utterly destroyed.