The woman answered slowly, her voice calm but sharp.

“I feel sorry for your wife,” she said. “And your daughter. Because they have you for a husband and father.”

Brian looked stunned.

She continued, “I’ll say this once. We are never getting back together. You need to stop contacting me. This obsession you’ve had since high school? It’s not love. It’s creepy. Stalker-level creepy.”

He tried to interrupt. She stopped him with a raised hand.

“If you ever contact me again, I will file a restraining order. And I will make sure you can’t come near me or my family ever again.”

She walked away without looking back.

Brian stood there, shoulders slumped—like a man watching a fantasy crumble.

I stepped away from the window, shaking.

I don’t remember getting back to the car—only that Kiara was laughing, unaware of the devastation I carried. Brian joined us minutes later.

“Sorry I took so long,” he said. “There was a line for the bathroom.”

I nodded. I even smiled.

But I needed confirmation. Proof.

The next Sunday, I waited.

After service, when he said, “Wait here. Bathroom,” I didn’t hesitate.

I approached the blonde woman by the coffee table.

“Hi,” I said quietly. “I think we need to talk. I’m… Brian’s wife.”

She followed me, tired but unsurprised.

“I heard everything,” I said. “Last week.”

Her name was Rebecca. She showed me years of messages. Years.

Photos. Obsession.

“I see you. I know where you go now.”

My hands shook.

“I need to protect my daughter,” I told her.

“Be safe,” she replied. “And don’t let him twist this.”

That night, I confronted him.

“I know the truth.”

“Church. Rebecca. All of it.”

“My attorney is sending the divorce paperwork this week.”

“No, Brian,” I said. “We can’t fix something that was never real.”

As I watched Kiara sleep, I felt something stronger than heartbreak.

Resolve.

And I promised myself I would never again be used to chase someone else’s fantasy.