My husband Jerry and I have an 8-year-old daughter, Ruth. Every Christmas, Ruth writes a letter to Santa and leaves it in the freezer for him to “find.” It’s a family tradition.
This year was no different—until I read her letter. That night, after Ruth fell asleep, I opened it and my heart stopped.
She had drawn a picture of heart-shaped earrings and written: “Dear Santa, please bring me the same heart-shaped earrings Dad gave to my nanny! Thank you!”
I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me. Was Jerry cheating on me with Gloria, our nanny? My mind raced, piecing together their subtle interactions—Jerry’s smiles, his insistence that Gloria stay late.
I had to know the truth. The next morning, I set up a nanny cam. Everything seemed normal until I saw Jerry come home at midday, hours earlier than expected. My stomach dropped.
I raced home and burst through the door, trembling. “What are you two doing here together?” I demanded, my voice shaking. 
