After Discovering The Abnormal Relationship Between My Father-in-law And Wife, I Got Divorced-2
The Vanished Holiday
I planned a trip to New York with Lisa for Christmas break, eyeing flights eagerly. Overjoyed, I shared the surprise. Her eyes sparkled briefly before dimming. "I need to ask Dad." Two days later, she relayed his decision. He refused, citing poor year-end safety and the risks of two young people traveling alone. Instead, he arranged a family trip to a lakeside cabin, insisting I join. I protested, "We're in our twenties—what's unsafe about New York?" Lisa shook her head: "If Dad says it's unsafe, it is. Either join us at the lake, or... I won't see you at all during the break."
Ownership of the Passcode
Lisa's phone was always locked. During one date, she left it on the table while in the restroom. The screen lit up with a preview: "Did you take your pills on time?" Sender: Dad. When she returned, I asked casually, "Your dad still manages your meds?" She replied naturally, "Vitamins. He reminds me daily, afraid I'll forget." At the time, I didn't dwell on it. Later, I learned those "vitamins" were low-dose anti-anxiety medication.
The Interrupted Weekend
One rare weekend untouched by James's schedule. Lisa and I curled up in my rented apartment watching a film, relishing the rare peace. Midway, her phone rang—James calling. She answered instantly, voice docile: "Hi, Dad?" I couldn't catch the words, but Lisa's face paled before she murmured, "Okay, Dad, I understand." Hanging up, she faced me with profound apology: "Dad said his car broke down near the Walmart on the west side and wants me to drive over now." That Walmart was at least forty minutes away. Our precious time together dissolved with one call.
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I planned a trip to New York with Lisa for Christmas break, eyeing flights eagerly. Overjoyed, I shared the surprise. Her eyes sparkled briefly before dimming. "I need to ask Dad." Two days later, she relayed his decision. He refused, citing poor year-end safety and the risks of two young people traveling alone. Instead, he arranged a family trip to a lakeside cabin, insisting I join. I protested, "We're in our twenties—what's unsafe about New York?" Lisa shook her head: "If Dad says it's unsafe, it is. Either join us at the lake, or... I won't see you at all during the break."
Ownership of the Passcode
Lisa's phone was always locked. During one date, she left it on the table while in the restroom. The screen lit up with a preview: "Did you take your pills on time?" Sender: Dad. When she returned, I asked casually, "Your dad still manages your meds?" She replied naturally, "Vitamins. He reminds me daily, afraid I'll forget." At the time, I didn't dwell on it. Later, I learned those "vitamins" were low-dose anti-anxiety medication.
The Interrupted Weekend
One rare weekend untouched by James's schedule. Lisa and I curled up in my rented apartment watching a film, relishing the rare peace. Midway, her phone rang—James calling. She answered instantly, voice docile: "Hi, Dad?" I couldn't catch the words, but Lisa's face paled before she murmured, "Okay, Dad, I understand." Hanging up, she faced me with profound apology: "Dad said his car broke down near the Walmart on the west side and wants me to drive over now." That Walmart was at least forty minutes away. Our precious time together dissolved with one call.
NEXT >>