Every Time His Son Comes Over, My Husband Asks Me to Disappear from My House to Please His Ex

When Marilyn agreed to leave her house every weekend so her husband could spend time with his son, she thought she was being understanding. But after months of this, she returned home unexpectedly and saw the truth.

I thought my six-month marriage to Scott was strong. We had dated for two years before getting married, and during that time, I got to know his six-year-old son, Ben.

The boy was sweet and shy, with his father’s blonde hair and a smile that could melt ice. His mother, Patricia, seemed fine with me at first. She would even chat with me during drop-offs, asking about my job as a high school teacher.

“You’re so good with Ben,” she once said, watching him show me his latest Lego creation. “It’s nice that he has another positive influence in his life.”

But after the wedding, things changed. Patricia stopped talking to me, and months later, Scott dropped a bombshell.

It was a quiet spring Tuesday evening. I was making dinner, looking at the rain outside, while Scott tried to fix a cabinet handle.

Suddenly, he cleared his throat.

“Honey, I think it would be better if you went to your parents’ on weekends,” he said, still focused on the cabinet.

I blinked. “I’m sorry. What? Why?”

He sighed and straightened up. “Patricia doesn’t want Ben around you anymore. She says it’ll confuse him. If she finds out you’re here when Ben visits, she’ll make things difficult. I just want peace.”

I put down my knife and grabbed a kitchen towel.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Ben and I get along great. He loved the science experiments we did last weekend. Remember the volcano? He learned so much. Plus, he loves my cooking.”

“I know, I know,” Scott ran his hands through his hair. “It’s just… she says it’s different now that we’re married. She doesn’t want Ben to think you’re his mother too.”

“I’m his stepmother, so…”

“I know. It’s ridiculous. But it’s temporary until Patricia calms down. Please? You know how she gets. She’s threatening to reduce my time with Ben.”

“So your solution is to kick your wife out of her own house every weekend?” I frowned, putting the towel down. “Scott, this is insane.”

“Not kick out,” he said quickly. “Just… take a little break on weekends. Visit your parents. They’d love to see you more, right?”

It felt wrong, but I didn’t want Scott to lose time with his son. I felt forced to agree.

That Friday, I packed my bag and drove to my parents’ house, past familiar neighborhoods and the park where Scott had proposed.

Mom opened the door, concern written all over her face. “Marilyn? What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting for the weekend,” I said, forcing a smile. “I thought I should spend some time with my favorite parents.”

She let me in without a word, but I knew she didn’t believe me. She let it go that night, but over breakfast the next morning, she asked for the truth.

I had to tell her.

“Why are YOU the one leaving? It’s your house,” she said angrily while buttering her toast. “Henry would never have asked me to leave our home. Not for anyone.”

“It’s just temporary,” I lied, pushing my eggs around the plate. “Patricia’s going through some things. It’s easier this way.”

“Easier for whom?” Mom asked gently. “Honey, something about this doesn’t feel right.”

“I know, but can we just let it go?” I mumbled. She nodded.

But weekends turned into every weekend, and then months.

Every Friday, I packed my bags like I was being evicted from my own house—the one I bought before I met Scott.

It wasn’t fair. But according to Scott, Patricia liked this arrangement, so we had to keep it up. He constantly reassured me that he loved only me and hated that his ex was acting this way.

But we had to do it for Ben.

I wanted to understand. I loved Scott and his son. But how much more was I supposed to take?

That Friday, as I drove to my parents’ house, a thought hit me: “Are you an idiot?”

Why was I taking this? This wasn’t normal!

I couldn’t justify it anymore, so I made a U-turn and went back home. I parked in the driveway and opened the front door with my key.

The house was too quiet for a Friday night with a six-year-old.

Then I saw the truth.

Ben wasn’t there.

Instead, Scott was on the couch with Patricia. His arm was draped around her. She was wearing my pajamas—the new ones I had just bought.

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.

Scott jumped up, hitting his knee on the table. “Marilyn! You’re… you’re supposed to be at your parents’,” he stammered.

I wasn’t looking at him. My eyes were on Patricia, who smirked and ran a hand over the silk pajama shirt. “Well, well. Looks like someone went off-script.”

“Where’s Ben?” I asked.

“At my mother’s,” Patricia replied smoothly. “He’s always at my mother’s on Friday. Didn’t Scott tell you?” She turned to him. “Oh, darling, don’t tell me you’ve been lying to your new wife?”

It all clicked. “This was never about Ben, was it?”

“Smart girl.” Patricia smiled and stood. “I told Scott that if he wanted another chance with me, I needed weekends to see if we could fix things. Sending you away was his idea,” she shrugged. “He’s always been good at finding… creative solutions.”

I laughed bitterly. “That’s interesting because Scott told me something very different.”

I pulled out my phone and hit play on a recording from last week.

Scott’s voice filled the room: “I love you, Marilyn. Patricia is just being selfish. I’m only doing this until Ben’s older. Things will go back to normal for us. Then we can think about having kids. You’re the love of my life.”

Patricia’s smirk vanished. She grabbed her slipper and threw it at Scott. “You lying piece of garbage! You were playing both sides?”

He ducked, and the slipper hit a decoration, shattering it. I didn’t care. It was an ugly gift from his mother.

Patricia grabbed her purse and pushed past me.

“Feel free to keep my pajamas. I know you can’t afford them!” I yelled.

She froze for a second but kept walking. Once she was gone, Scott pleaded behind me.

Ignoring him, I went upstairs, grabbed his polo shirts, and threw them out the window.

“What are you doing?!” he shouted.

“If you get closer,” I warned, “I will scream, and you know the neighbor will call the police.”

“Please, Marilyn,” he begged.

His suits, dress shoes, watch collection, golf clubs, and suitcases followed.

“Now pick your junk off my lawn and get out of my life,” I said calmly.

“Please, I was only thinking about Ben. I wasn’t playing both sides.”

“SHUT UP AND GET OUT!”

The neighbors heard me. Scott stared at me one last time, then left.

As he picked up his things, he turned back.

“Marilyn, please. We can work this out. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I don’t want to hear from you except through lawyers,” I said and shut the door.

I leaned against it, breathing deeply.

A minute later, my phone buzzed.

“Everything okay? You never made it here.”

I smiled and typed back: “Everything’s perfect, Mom. No one is ever kicking me out of my place again.”