My Husband Told Me His Mistress Is More Important Than Our Children. He Didn’t Know I Was Recording The Whole Conversation. How Do I Make Sure He Never Sees Them Again?

I recorded every moment Lance chose Gloria over them, told them to be respectful to her, or sent them to their rooms for defending themselves. My hand shook while I wrote, anger making the pen press so hard into the paper that some words tore through.

I filled 12 pages with dates, times, and exact words Lance said. The worst one went on its own page in capital letters: GLORIA IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE KIDS BECAUSE SHE MAKES ME THE MAN WHO CAN PROVIDE FOR THEM.

I wrote it three times so I wouldn’t forget how he looked at me when he said it. The next morning I woke up at five; I couldn’t sleep anymore.

Lance was still asleep, snoring like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t destroyed our family. I waited until I heard the shower running, then went to his home office.

The file cabinet wasn’t even locked. I pulled out bank statements, credit card bills, and investment accounts.

I found his work calendar that showed no Thursday meetings ever scheduled. My phone camera clicked over and over, hands steadier now that I had a plan.

I photographed everything and sent it all to a new email address I’d made on my phone at four in the morning. This was evidence he couldn’t delete, couldn’t explain away, and couldn’t make me feel crazy about.

The work schedule was the best part, printed from his company portal with the official logo, showing he left at five every Thursday for the past six months. No meetings, just lies.

At six, I called Gwyneth, my best friend since college. She answered on the second ring, her voice thick with sleep.

I asked if the kids and I could stay with her for a few days while I figured things out. She didn’t ask questions or hesitate; she just told me to pack bags and come over right now.

That made me cry, standing in my kitchen at 6:00 in the morning, because someone actually cared about protecting my kids. I packed three bags fast, throwing in clothes and toothbrushes and the kids’ favorite stuffed animals.

I grabbed Mia’s art supplies and Jake’s soccer ball, things that would make them feel safe. Lance came downstairs at 7:30, hair still wet, checking his phone before he even looked at me.

I told him calmly that the kids and I were spending the weekend at Gwyneth’s house because we needed space. He barely glanced up, thumbs moving across his screen.

He said that was fine because he had plans with Gloria anyway. It was like I just told him we were going to the grocery store instead of leaving him.

He walked out the door without asking why we needed space, without asking if the kids were okay, and without looking at me at all.

At Gwyneth’s house, I set the kids up with movies in her living room, cartoons they liked that made them laugh. They seemed happy to be somewhere different, somewhere Gloria wasn’t.

I sat at Gwyneth’s kitchen table with my laptop and searched divorce attorneys for two hours. I compared rates and made notes about which ones specialized in custody cases.

Five lawyers made my list, all women, all with reviews mentioning they were tough in court. One review said Jillian Row had helped a mother prove parental alienation and win primary custody.

I highlighted that name three times. Monday morning, I dropped the kids at school, hugged them extra long, and promised I’d pick them up early.

Then I drove to Jillian’s office downtown, a small building with her name on a brass plate outside. The receptionist led me to a conference room with a big window.

Jillian walked in five minutes later, tall with gray hair and sharp eyes that looked right through me. She sat down and told me to start from the beginning.

I talked for 40 minutes straight, telling her everything while she took notes in neat handwriting. When I finished, she put her pen down, looked me straight in the eye and said,

“We can protect your children.”

Those exact words made me almost cry again. Jillian explained that Lance’s own words about Gloria being more important than his kids would destroy him in custody court.

She said,

“Judges hate parents who put their affairs above their children, especially when there’s proof of the mistress being cruel to the kids.”

She told me we needed to be smart and careful, gathering more evidence while acting like I was trying to work things out. Judges like parents who try to fix their marriages.

She said,

“Even when the marriage is obviously over, we had to play the game right.”

I hired her right there and wrote a check from my personal savings account that Lance didn’t know about. It was money I’d been saving from my part-time job at the library, just a few hundred a month for years.

We made a plan together at that conference table to document everything that happened from now on. I was to get the kids into therapy so a professional could see the damage and write reports for court.

I had to wait for Lance to keep choosing Gloria over the kids, because he would. Jillian said that last part with complete certainty, like she’d seen a hundred men just like Lance.

That afternoon, I picked up the kids from the school at two instead of three and told them we were getting ice cream. We sat at a table outside the ice cream shop, them with chocolate cones and me with nothing because my stomach was too tight.

I explained gently that Mommy and Daddy were having big problems and we might not all live together soon. Mia asked if it was because of Gloria; I said yes.

She looked relieved instead of sad, her whole face relaxing like I’d told her good news. That broke my heart worse than anything Lance had done, seeing my 10-year-old daughter relieved that her family was ending.

Jake asked if he’d still have to see Gloria if we didn’t live with Daddy anymore. His voice was small and scared, ice cream dripping down his hand.

I promised him I would do everything in my power to protect both of them from her. He put his cone down and hugged me so tight I could barely breathe, his small arms around my neck holding on like I might disappear.

I hugged him back and realized my kids had been waiting for me to do something, to protect them, to choose them over keeping the peace. They’d been waiting for months while I tried to make it work, and I’d let them down by waiting so long.

I went online that night after the kids were finally asleep and searched for family therapists who worked with children going through divorce. I needed someone who understood what my kids were dealing with, someone who could help them and also document what was happening for court.

I read through websites for over an hour, looking at credentials and reviews, trying to find the right person. One name kept coming up in positive reviews: Curtis Walker.

He was a therapist who specialized in helping kids process parental affairs and family breakdown. The reviews said he was gentle with children but thorough in his documentation, which was exactly what I needed.

I called his office first thing the next morning before the kids woke up. I explained that I had two children, 10 and seven, who were dealing with their father’s affair and the mistress being cruel to them.

I told the receptionist I needed someone who could help the kids but also provide documentation for custody proceedings. She was quiet for a moment, then said Curtis had openings later that week and would be happy to help.

She scheduled Mia for Wednesday afternoon and Jake for Thursday. I thanked her and hung up, feeling like I’d taken another step toward protecting my kids.