My Husband Left Me With His Dying Mother For A “business Trip,” But I Found Photos Of Him In Miami With Another Woman. He Thinks He’s Inheriting Everything, But My Mother-in-law Left It All To Me. How Do I Break The News?

A Frail Arrival and a Sudden Departure

The taxi pulled up to the curb in front of a modest suburban house that my husband, Michael, and I had strained to buy three years ago. Michael quickly opened the car door, helping a gaunt, frail woman step out. It was my mother-in-law, Elizabeth.

I hadn’t seen her in only six months, and her appearance had deteriorated shockingly. Terminal lung cancer with metastasis had drained the life from a woman who was once as strong as an oak. Now, she was nothing but skin and bones.

Her eyes were sunken into dark sockets that reflected an infinite weariness. I hurried over to take the old suitcase from Michael’s hands. A potent smell of medication and antiseptic hit me, stinging my nose.

Michael looked at me, a certain evasion in his eyes, and his voice was urgent as if someone were chasing him. He told me to help his mother get settled in her room so she could rest. He needed to talk to me about something important right away.

I escorted my mother-in-law to the small downstairs bedroom I had thoroughly cleaned the day before. Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed. Her breathing was a heavy, wheezing gasp, like the bellows of an old forge.

She took my hand; her rough, calloused skin brushed against mine. She said nothing, only looking at me with a strange expression—a mixture of pity and resignation.

The Weight of Responsibility

I returned to the living room. Michael was already there, adjusting his tie, and next to him stood a large, perfectly packed suitcase. My woman’s intuition told me something was wrong.

Michael approached, placing his hands on my shoulders, and in a grave, serious voice, he told me, “Sophia, I just received the board’s decision this afternoon. The company is sending me to Germany for a year to oversee a key project. It is my only chance for a promotion to regional director.”

I froze, looking back and forth between the suitcase and his face. I stammered, “A year? Why so sudden? Mom just got here, sick as she is. You are planning to leave now?”

Michael sighed; his face showed a distress that seemed meticulously rehearsed. He knew it was a sacrifice for me, but he told me to look at his mother. Terminal lung cancer—the treatment costs were a fortune every day.

If he did not accept this assignment, where would they get the money for her medicine, for the radiation therapy? He was going for this house, for his mother, and for our future.

His words fell upon me like a net of moral responsibility, preventing me from voicing any objection. He was right; his mother’s illness was a bottomless pit that swallowed our money, and my salary as an office administrator barely covered our basic expenses.

A Calculated Goodbye

Michael took a debit card from his wallet and placed it in my hand. “The PIN is our wedding anniversary. Every month the company will deposit my salary here. Use it to take care of Mom.”

He said he would try to save everything he could over there to send more. As his wife and her daughter-in-law, this was the moment he needed me most to take charge of everything at home. He asked if I would help him.

I held the lightweight card in my hand, but my heart felt as heavy as a lead slab. I nodded in resignation. Michael gave me a quick hug. The cologne emanating from his shirt wasn’t his usual scent of sweat and hard work; it had a distant, ostentatious touch.

He had to go, or he would miss the red-eye flight. He was leaving everything in my hands. The sound of the suitcase wheels rolling across the tile floor, and then the engine of a cab driving away in the rain, were the last sounds I heard from him.

The house fell into a terrifying silence. I stood paralyzed in the middle of the living room, feeling loneliness envelop me. I went back to my mother-in-law’s room.

Elizabeth was still sitting there, her back propped against the headboard, her clouded eyes fixed on the dark window. She did not ask where her son had gone, nor did she cry or try to stop him. She just let out a sigh, a sound as fragile as a dry leaf being stepped on.

“He is gone, daughter,” she said in a hoarse voice.

I tried to hold back tears and went to cover her with the blanket. “Yes, he went on a business trip to earn money for your treatment. Do not worry, Mom. I am here to take care of you.”

Elizabeth turned to look at me. Her gaze no longer reflected weariness but a compassion so deep it made me shudder. She whispered, “You poor thing, my child. He is gone. Consider him gone for good.”

At that moment, I thought she was referring to Michael’s long trip. I could not have known that in that ambiguous phrase, she was referring to a definitive departure—that of the humanity of her own son, the one she had brought into the world.