On the eve of Mother’s Day, I was in my room, scrolling through my phone. It was late, and I was getting ready to sleep. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Dad. Curious, I opened it and it was an audio message.

I pressed play.

“Hey, beautiful,” Dad’s voice said. “I can’t wait to see you. I miss the warmth of your body next to mine.”

I froze. This wasn’t right. Who was he talking to? My heart pounded as I listened further.

A teen on his phone | Source: Pexels

“I’m pulling up to your house in a minute. You better be ready,” he continued.

I couldn’t breathe. This message wasn’t meant for me. I felt my stomach churn. I had to know what was going on.

I quickly sent him a message. “Dad, what is this? Who are you talking to?”

My phone rang almost immediately. It was Dad. I answered, my hands shaking.

A teen on his phone | Source: Pexels

“Hey, Dad,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Listen,” he said sharply. “I’ll explain everything when I see you. Don’t tell your mom about this. Understand?”

“But, Dad,” I stammered. “What’s going on?”

“Just keep your mouth shut,” he hissed. “Or you’ll regret it.”

He hung up. I stared at my phone, my mind racing. What was happening? My dad, the man I looked up to, was hiding something. And he wanted me to keep quiet about it. I felt a mix of anger and fear.

A teen on his phone | Source: Pexels

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. How could he do this? What did he mean by “you’ll regret it”? I felt like I was in a nightmare.

The next morning was Mother’s Day. I got up early and went downstairs. Mom was in the kitchen, making breakfast. She looked up and smiled when she saw me.

“Morning, sweetheart,” she said. “Happy Mother’s Day to me!”

I forced a smile. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.”

A woman in the kitchen | Source: Pexels

Dad walked in, acting like everything was normal. He kissed Mom on the cheek and sat down at the table. I couldn’t look at him.

“Did you sleep well?” Mom asked me.

“Yeah,” I lied. “I did.”

Dad looked at me. “We need to talk later,” he said quietly.

I nodded, but my stomach was in knots.

The day went on, and we pretended to be a happy family. We went out for lunch, gave Mom her gifts, and smiled for pictures. But inside, I was a mess. I couldn’t stop thinking about the message.

A breakfast table | Source: Pexels

In the afternoon, I found a moment alone with Dad. We were in the living room.

“What’s going on, Dad?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looked around to make sure Mom wasn’t nearby. “It’s complicated,” he said. “But you need to trust me.”

“How can I trust you when you’re lying to Mom?” I said, tears welling up in my eyes.

A dad talking to his son | Source: Pexels

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that message,” he said. “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” I echoed. “You’re cheating on Mom, and you call it a mistake?”

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed. “I’ll fix this. Just don’t say anything to your mom. Promise me.”

“I don’t know if I can,” I said, my voice breaking.

A dad and his son talking | Source: Pexels

“You have to,” he said. “Please.”

I felt trapped. How could I lie to Mom? But how could I go against Dad? I nodded slowly. “Okay,” I said. “I won’t say anything. But you need to fix this.”

“I will,” he promised. “I will.”

My heart pounded, my mind swirling with the weight of what I had learned. Dad just walked away, and no matter how many times I tried, he refused to talk about it again later on. I didn’t sleep all night, my thoughts racing, my stomach in knots. When dawn broke, I felt numb and exhausted.

The next day, Dad greeted us with a cheerful “Good morning!” and kissed Mom on the cheek. She smiled back, completely unaware of the storm brewing within me.

A man kissing his wife on the cheek | Source: Pexels

I waited until I caught him alone in the garage, tinkering with his car. I approached him, my heart thumping.

“Dad,” I said, my voice trembling. “We need to talk.”

He turned, looking mildly annoyed. “What now?”

“About the message.”

He sighed and reached into his wallet, pulling out a crisp $500 bill. “Here,” he said, holding it out to me. “For keeping your mouth shut.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. “So it’s true, then? Everything I was afraid of?”

A man fixing a car | Source: Pexels

He didn’t meet my eyes. “Just take the money.”

I took the money, feeling a mix of rage and heartbreak. I put on a fake smile. “Fine, Dad,” I said, turning away and heading to my room.

In my room, I let the tears come. My father had betrayed my mother, and now he was trying to buy my silence. I knew I had to do something.

A man taking money out of a wallet | Source: Pexels

Mother’s Day dinner was approaching, and I had an idea. I used the money Dad had given me to buy all of Mom’s favorite foods. I called up my grandparents, aunts, and uncles, inviting them over for a surprise dinner. They were more than willing to come.

By evening, the house was buzzing with activity. Mom was delighted, thinking it was a special celebration just for her. I set the table with care, making sure everything was perfect.

Tea set out for mother’s day with a note and snacks | Source: Pexels

When everyone was seated, I stood up, holding my glass. “I’d like to make a toast,” I said. Everyone looked at me, smiling.

“Mom,” I began, “you are the most wonderful mother anyone could ask for. You are kind, loving, and always there for us. We are so lucky to have you.”

Mom beamed, her eyes shining with tears of happiness. I took a deep breath, feeling the anger swell within me.

A family dinner | Source: Pexels

“But,” I continued, my voice growing colder, “there’s something you all need to know about Dad.”

Everyone looked confused. Dad’s face turned pale.

“I got a message from him last night,” I said, pulling out my phone. “And it wasn’t meant for me.”

Family dinner | Source: Pexels

I played the audio message. The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. As Dad’s voice echoed through the room, talking to another woman, everyone listened in shock.

Mom’s face crumpled, her hand flying to her mouth. My grandparents exchanged horrified glances. My aunts and uncles looked at Dad in disgust.

A sad woman | Source: Pexels

“Dad,” I said, my voice shaking with anger, “is this how you show your love and respect for Mom? For us?”

He stood up, trying to speak, but no words came out. He looked at me, then at Mom, and finally, he just hung his head in shame.

“How could you?” Mom whispered, tears streaming down her face.

Dad had no defense. He had nothing to say. He just stood there, exposed and guilty.

I turned to Mom, my voice softening. “You deserve better than this, Mom. We all do.”

The room was silent, the truth hanging heavy in the air. Dad had betrayed us, and now everyone knew.

A sad woman | Source: Pexels

After filing for divorce from my father, I asked him to leave our house. The house belonged to Mom before their marriage, and I made sure he left. Dad was now homeless, and as much as it hurt, I knew it was the right thing to do.

Was my decision to expose him and push him out justified? After seeing how he treated Mom and how he tried to buy my silence, I believe it was. He had broken our trust and our family, and there was no going back.

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I Taught My Dad a Real Lesson after He Humiliated My Mom

When an 18-year-old college student, Brittany, feels the pangs of homesickness, a simple call to her little brother, Ian, reveals a family in turmoil. Overwhelmed by her mother’s silent struggle under her father’s constant criticism, Brittany decides it’s time for a lesson in gratitude and teamwork.

Feeling homesick is a funny thing; it sneaks up on you when you least expect it, wrapping its cold fingers around your heart and squeezing tight until you’re gasping for the warmth of home.

That’s exactly how I, Brittany, felt, being away at college for over three months. It was the longest I’d ever been away from home, and each day stretched on endlessly without the familiar chaos of my family’s presence.

A young girl using her smartphone | Source: Shutterstock

One day, overcome by a wave of nostalgia, I picked up my phone and dialed Ian, my ten-year-old younger brother. He had always been the beacon of innocence and joy in our family, and just hearing his voice could make any bad day better.

“Hey, bug,” I greeted, using my childhood nickname for him. “I miss you a ton. How’s my favorite little man doing?”

Ian’s voice, a mix of excitement and surprise, came through the phone. “Britt! I miss you too! College is so far away. When are you coming back?”