Every Time His Son Comes Over, My Husband Asks Me to Disappear from My House to Please His Ex
Marilyn believed she was being understanding when she consented to leave her home each weekend so her husband could spend time with his son. However, she returned home unexpectedly after months of this arrangement and realized what was really going on.
I truly believed that Scott and I had built a solid foundation for our marriage, even though we had only been married for six months. Before saying “I do,” we spent two wonderful years together, strengthening our bond and envisioning a future as a family. During that time, I also had the chance to meet Ben, Scott’s bright and energetic six-year-old son, and I was eager to embrace my role in both of their lives.
With a smile that could melt the coldest heart and a mop of blond hair just like his father’s, Ben was a shy but sweet little boy. From the start, his mother, Patricia, seemed perfectly fine with me. During drop-offs, she would even strike up small talk, asking about my work as a high school teacher.
One afternoon, as Ben excitedly showed off his latest Lego masterpiece, Patricia had smiled and said, “You’re so good with him. It’s nice that he has another positive influence in his life.” Her words reassured me—I thought we were all on good terms.
But after the wedding, everything changed. Patricia grew distant, barely acknowledging me. Then, months later, Scott blindsided me.
It was a quiet spring evening, the kind where the sound of rain against the window made the world feel a little softer. I was chopping vegetables for dinner while Scott fiddled with a broken cabinet handle. The rhythmic patter of rain and the comforting routine of our evening made what happened next even more jarring.
Scott cleared his throat—hesitant, deliberate.
“Honey, I think it would be best if you spent weekends at your parents’,” he said, still staring at the cabinet as if it held the answer to all our problems.
I froze mid-chop, my knife hovering above the cutting board. Slowly, I turned to face him, my brows knitting together.
“I’m sorry… what?” My voice was barely above a whisper. “Why?”
Scott let out a weary groan, straightening up and fidgeting with the stubborn cabinet handle. “Patricia doesn’t want Ben around you anymore,” he admitted, his voice heavy with resignation. “She says it’ll confuse him. If she finds out you’re here during his visits, she’ll cause trouble. And honestly… I just want peace.”
I set down the knife, wiping my hands on a kitchen towel as my mind scrambled to process his words.
“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice edged with disbelief. “Ben and I get along so well. Last weekend, he was thrilled about our science experiments. Do you remember how excited he was when we built that volcano? He learned so much! And he loves my cooking.”
Scott sighed, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair before placing the broken handle on the counter. “I know,” he muttered. “I know. But Patricia insists that now that we’re married, things are different. She doesn’t want Ben thinking you’re his mother.”
I scoffed. “Scott, I am his stepmother.”
“I get it. It’s ridiculous. But it’s just until Patricia calms down. You know how she gets when she doesn’t get her way.” His eyes pleaded with me. “Please. It’s only temporary.”
I stared at him, incredulous. “So your solution is to kick your wife out of her own home every weekend?” I placed the towel back in its spot, crossing my arms. “Scott, this is insane.”
“Not kick out,” Scott corrected, his tone defensive. “Just… take a little break on weekends. Go visit your parents. Didn’t you say they wanted to see you more?”
His words twisted in my gut. It felt wrong, but I didn’t want to be the reason Scott lost time with his son. So, on Friday, I packed an overnight bag, my heart heavy as I drove past the park where he had proposed, past familiar streets that once felt like home, and headed to my parents’ house—just twenty minutes away, yet suddenly a world apart.
When Mom opened the door, a furrow of concern etched across her face. “Marilyn? What are you doing here?”
I forced a smile, stepping inside. “Surprise visit! Thought I’d spend some quality time with my favorite parents.”
She didn’t press me that night, but I could feel her eyes watching, searching. The truth caught up to me over breakfast the next morning.
She set down her coffee mug, fixing me with a look that unraveled every flimsy excuse. “Alright,” she said. “Tell me what’s really going on.”
And just like that, I had no choice. I had to tell her everything.
“Why are you the one leaving?” Mom demanded, her voice sharp as she furiously spread butter on her toast. “This is your house. When I was your age, Henry would never have asked me to leave our home—not for anyone.”
I stabbed at my eggs, avoiding her gaze. “It’s just temporary,” I lied. “Patricia is… going through some things. This is just easier.”
Mom set down her knife with a quiet clink. “Easier for who?” Her voice was calm but firm, the kind that always made me squirm.
I sighed. “I know. But can we just… let it go?”
She studied me for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod.
But it wasn’t temporary. A few weekends turned into every weekend. And then months passed.
Every Friday, I packed my bags like a guest in my own home—the same home I had bought before I ever met Scott.
And still, we continued. Because, according to Scott, Patricia was finally happy with this arrangement. And it wouldn’t be fair to change things now.
“It’s only for Ben,” he’d remind me. “You know I hate this. I hate that she’s like this. But we have to do what’s best for him.”
So, for Ben’s sake, we complied.
Scott jolted upright, his face draining of color as Patricia leisurely turned her head toward me, completely unfazed.
“Marilyn—” Scott started, scrambling for words.
“What. The hell. Is this?” My voice shook with fury as I gestured at the two of them—on my couch, in my house, with her wearing my pajamas.
Patricia sighed dramatically, stretching as if she were lounging in a five-star hotel. “Well, this is awkward,” she murmured, sipping from a mug that I recognized—because I had bought it.
Scott ran a hand through his hair, standing but not moving toward me. “It’s not what it looks like,” he stammered, but his guilty expression told me otherwise.
“Oh? Because it looks like I’ve been leaving my own house every weekend so you could play happy little family with your ex-wife.”
Patricia smirked. “We just wanted to make things easier for Ben.”
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “Ben isn’t even here.”
Silence.
I swallowed the lump of rage in my throat and took a steady breath. Then, with an eerie calmness, I nodded to myself.
“Okay,” I said, turning on my heel.
Scott stepped forward. “Marilyn, wait—”
But I was already marching toward our bedroom—my bedroom—because if she got to wear my pajamas, she might as well help me pack Scott’s things.
Scott’s face twisted in horror as my voice crackled through the speaker:
“It’s absurd, Scott. You’re asking me to leave my own house every weekend.”
His response followed, loud and clear. “I know, I know! But if I don’t, Patricia will make my life hell. She’ll say I can’t see Ben, and I just… I need to keep the peace.”
Silence filled the room.
Scott looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Patricia, however, only let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Wow,” she mused. “You really recorded him? That’s rich.”
I crossed my arms. “What’s rich is the fact that you thought I wouldn’t figure this out. That I’d just keep packing my bags like some obedient fool while you two played house behind my back.”
Scott reached out. “Marilyn, please. I love you. This—this was just—”
I took a step back. “No, Scott. This was just the last straw.”
Patricia sighed, smoothing a hand over my silk pajama top again. “Well, I guess I don’t have to sneak around anymore.”
I leveled my gaze at her. “No, you don’t,” I said smoothly. “Because this house? It’s mine. And neither of you belong in it.”
Patricia let out an amused hum. “That so?”
I pulled out my phone again, this time dialing. “Yeah,” I said, pressing the speaker button.
Scott paled. “Who are you calling?”
The line rang once before a familiar voice answered. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
Patricia’s smirk finally vanished.
Scott stammered, “Marilyn, let’s not—”
“Oh, I think we should,” I interrupted. “Because it turns out I have some unwanted guests in my home.”
Scott’s voice was a desperate hum in the background as I climbed the stairs, but I didn’t slow down. Not for him. Not for his apologies. Not for his empty promises.
“Marilyn, please! I was trying to keep everything together—I didn’t want to lose you!” His footsteps were heavy behind me. “I love you!”
I turned sharply at the top of the stairs, my glare cutting through him like a blade. “Love?” I scoffed. “You don’t love me, Scott. You love convenience. You love control. You love playing both sides and thinking you can get away with it.” I let out a bitter laugh. “You know what’s funny? Patricia and I actually agree on something—you are pitiful.”
He looked like I’d slapped him, his mouth opening and closing uselessly.
I walked into our—my—bedroom, yanking a suitcase from the closet. But this time, I wasn’t the one leaving.
Scott’s face twisted in panic. “What are you doing?”
I unhooked his shirts from the hangers and tossed them into the suitcase. “Packing your bags.”
His hands flew to his head, eyes wide. “No, Marilyn—let’s talk about this! We can fix it, we—”
I shoved the suitcase into his chest. “You already broke it.” My voice was steel. “And I’m done cleaning up after you.”
His shoulders slumped, realization finally hitting him.
I stepped back and folded my arms. “You have five minutes, Scott.” My voice was cold, unwavering. “And then I want you out of my house.”
Disregarding him, I collected his priceless polo shirts from his closet and tossed them out the window.
He yelled, “What are you doing?!”
I started by holding up my hand to stop him, saying, “I will scream my head off if you get any closer to me, and you know the old gossip in front will call the police.”
“Please, Marilyn,” Scott said as he took a helpless step back. I didn’t listen, though.
Then came his golf equipment, his trip luggage, his dress shoes, his collection of watches, and his pricey clothes.
The voice I used was dangerously calm. “Now, go pick that junk off my lawn and get out of my life,” I said.
“Please, just listen,” he pleaded one last time, desperation thick in his voice. “I wasn’t choosing sides—I was thinking about Ben. I was only pretending to be her.”
“SHUT UP AND GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” My voice rang through the night, loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. His shoulders sagged, his eyes locking onto mine in a silent, final appeal. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned and walked away.
As Scott gathered his scattered belongings, a few curious neighbors lingered on their porches, watching the scene unfold. He hesitated at the car door, stealing one last glance over his shoulder before getting in and driving off.
“Marilyn, please. We can fix this.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I’ll tell you everything—I swear. I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted everyone to be happy.”
I met his gaze one last time, my heart a war zone of anger and betrayal. “I don’t want to hear from you again—except through lawyers.”
And with that, I shut the door.
As the adrenaline slowly faded, I leaned against the door, taking a deep, steadying breath. My phone buzzed in my pocket a minute later, the familiar vibration pulling me from my thoughts. It was a message from my mom—her worry palpable in the short text.
“Is everything okay? You never made it here.”
I replied back, grinning: “Everything is OK, Mom. I will never be evicted from my home again.
