We Played a Game Answering Calls and Texts with Family on Thanksgiving — I Accidentally Exposed My Husband’s Second Family

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. There’s something magical about gathering the people you love the most, laughing over turkey and stuffing and spilt gravy, and sharing stories that never seem to grow old.

This year, my family decided to try something a little different: a phone game we’d seen in a movie.

The rules were simple.

Everyone placed their phones in the center of the table, and whenever one buzzed, the person whose turn it was would answer or read the message aloud. It sounded harmless and hilarious, and you know, just a way to spice up the evening.

My husband, Emmett, and I have been married for 25 years. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair and a charming smile that’s disarmed me since the day we met on our college campus.

I’ve been a little plain compared to him, with my curly brown hair that rarely cooperates and a fondness for sweaters that my kids tease me about.

Emmett, with his tailored shirts and polished shoes, always seemed to be the one who turned heads.

That night, the table was buzzing with energy as we piled our phones into the center and took turns reading texts aloud. When Emmett’s phone buzzed during my turn, I grabbed it with a laugh, expecting something mundane, like a work email or a reminder about a bill.

Instead, the screen displayed a message that made my blood run cold.

Don’t forget, on Thursday, we’re moving Eliza’s things for her performance. Excited for our daughter’s premiere, Em!

I froze.

Daughter?

We didn’t have a daughter named Eliza. There was no performance on Thursday, nor any premieres that I knew of. I stared at the message, my stomach churning.

But everyone was watching, waiting for me to share the text. My palms were sweating, and my pulse was racing. I wanted to scream.

Thinking fast, I scrolled to an older, innocuous text about a phone bill and read it aloud instead.

“Looks like we need to update the plan on this number, babe,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Damn, I was hoping Emmett would get something juicy!” his brother, Jacob, laughed.

The table laughed together for a moment, and the game continued, but I was spiraling inside.

Why would Emmett be so careless? I remembered him fumbling with his phone earlier, mumbling something about needing to call a client.

“I’ll be back in a second, Mary. I just need to sort this out quickly—it’s about a meeting for next week. Plate up for the kids though,” he had said.

At the time, I hadn’t thought twice. Maybe he’d been too distracted to realize how risky this game was.

That night, I barely slept. Every single time I closed my eyes, I saw the words from that text.

Daughter? Performance?

My mind raced with so many questions. Who was Eliza? What was Emmett hiding?

Who was Emmett hiding?

And why?

The next morning, while Emmett was out walking Lila, our dog, before heading off to work, I found the address attached to the follow-up text message. It was all the details about the performance.

Picking up my notebook, I took down the address and the number belonging to a woman named Alice.

Then, I got into my car and punched it in. According to my GPS, the address led to a school theater in a nearby town. I didn’t want to drive there—not yet.

But soon, I’d know the truth. Thursday would come. Soon.

Instead, I went to work.

I felt beyond ridiculous pulling into the parking lot on Thursday evening, but curiosity and suspicion firmly had their claws in me. Inside the theater, the dim lights illuminated a stage where a teenage girl, around 16, was performing a ballet solo.

She had long, dark hair tied back in a neat bun, and her confidence radiated from the stage.

My breath caught when the music stopped, and she bowed. She looked just like Emmett.

In the audience, I spotted him sitting beside a woman holding a bouquet of flowers. They both looked proud, their smiles glowing as they watched their girl perform.

As if I could hear it, my heart cracked open in my chest.

When the performance ended and Emmett stepped away, I forced myself to approach the woman. My legs felt like lead, but my voice was steady when I spoke.

“Hello, I’m Emmett’s wife, Mary,” I said.

Her face went pale immediately, the color drained from her face before I could blink.

“Excuse me, what?” she gasped.

It turns out that this was Alice, and she and Emmett had been married for 20 years.

20 years.

She had no idea about me or our family.

“He told me that work was demanding, Mary. He made it known when we met years ago. I didn’t question it because a job is a job, and it’s important, you know? I also wasn’t working at the time, so Emmett was supporting me. How could I question his job when I didn’t have one?”

I was silent for a moment.

“He said that the holidays were the worst for him. I never thought to question it.”

Neither had I.

Whenever Emmett mentioned work or business meetings, I didn’t ask anything beyond where he was staying and when he’d be back. Then, I would help him pack his clothes and pack enough snacks for his trip.

Look at my life now…

The next day, Alice and I met at a coffee shop. We pieced together Emmett’s double life over matcha lattes neither of us finished.

We learned that he had been moving Alice and their daughter, Eliza, closer to his “primary residence” while claiming work required him to travel frequently.

He’d built two entire lives—one with me and our three children, and another with Alice and Eliza.

Alice was petite with short, caramel-colored hair and kind eyes, but there was an edge of hurt and anger in her gaze that mirrored my own.

I could see her hesitation when we first sat down, as if she wasn’t sure whether to trust me.

“I almost didn’t come, Mary,” she admitted. “I wasn’t sure if you were part of this… scheme. I know it sounds so bad, but nothing feels real anymore.”

I sighed, nodding.

“I understand exactly what you mean,” I said. “But trust me, I’ve been in the dark as much as you… Do you know that last night, when I sat across from him at dinner, he looked so unfamiliar? It was like I hadn’t seen him before.”

She nodded.

“But I think we both deserve answers, and justice.”

She nodded again, and from that moment, Alice and I were allies.

Over the next few weeks, Alice and I stayed in touch, sharing more details and uncovering more lies than we had ever thought possible.

We realized that we weren’t just two victims of Emmett’s deceit—we were the heads of two families connected by his betrayal.

“The most difficult part is coming, Mary,” Alice told me on the phone one day.

“I know—telling the kids is going to be… devastating.”

And sure enough, getting our kids involved was the hardest part. My grown children—Mark, 23, Cami, 21, and Jenelle, 18—were furious and confused.

Jenelle cried for days; suddenly, she wasn’t the last born. Suddenly, she wasn’t the apple of her father’s eye.

Mark paced the living room, constantly cursing Emmett’s name. Cami was the only one who remained nonchalant.

“What do you want me to say, Mom?” she asked when I went into her bedroom to check on her. “The others have always been closer to Dad. I’m just the middle child.”

“I want you to tell me how you feel, darling,” I said.

“I don’t… care. He’s disgusting to do this to you and Alice. What self-respecting man does this to two women? Two families? I don’t care what he does, but he’s not my father anymore.”

Alice’s daughter, Eliza, was blindsided, and her teenage world came crumbling down at her feet. It turned out that she and Emmett were really close. She couldn’t take the heartbreak when she discovered the truth.

Emmett arrived at the restaurant, unaware of what awaited him. When he stepped into the room, his confident stride faltered. His face twisted as his gaze darted between me, Alice, and our children, all standing together.

“Your deceit ends today, Emmett. We all deserve better. You’re pathetic.”

Emmett stammered, his usual charisma failing him for once.

“I can… explain,” he began.

“No, you’re a horrible excuse for a father and husband, and we’re not interested in your excuses,” Mark said.

Emmett sputtered, attempting to spin a tale about “complicated feelings” and wanting to “keep everyone happy,” but the united strength of both families left him speechless.

In the weeks that followed, Alice and I worked together to untangle the mess Emmett left behind. We sought legal counsel to address any and all financial matters, ensuring our families’ futures were secure.

Unsurprisingly, Emmett tried to fight back. He claimed he’d acted out of love and that it was fine to love more than one person. But honestly, going the legal route was the best we could have done. His bank statements, travel logs, and more left him with little ground to stand on.

Ultimately, he slunk away, defeated.

My kids struggled to process the betrayal—Cami too, although she pretended she was fine. I spent many sleepless nights sitting on my window seat, questioning everything I thought I knew.

Therapy helped a bit, as did Alice’s support. Eliza and Jenelle worked through their pain together. Over time, Alice and I built a strong friendship—a silver lining in an otherwise dark cloud.

Our children, despite the strange circumstances, began forming sibling-like bonds. They leaned on each other, finding strength in their shared pain.

Thanksgiving will never be the same.

But we’ve created new traditions, ones rooted in honesty and mutual respect. Emmett’s betrayal shattered our families, but in the aftermath, we found something unexpected: a new family.

What would you have done?

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.