She Planned a Trip for Her Son, Then His Father Booked the Same Weekend Behind Her Back — Part 2 of 3

I sat in my car outside Leo's apartment, the engine running, my phone glowing in my hand.

I'd called the lake house resort pretending to be Leo's assistant. A simple question—"Just confirming the reservation details"—and the woman on the other end had happily rattled off everything.

Name on the reservation: Leo Grant. Number of guests: six. Six, not two.

I'd asked if there was a special occasion, and she'd laughed. "Oh, it's for his girlfriend's birthday! He planned a whole surprise weekend with her and her kids."

My blood ran cold. Leo had a girlfriend. He was taking her and her two kids to the same lake house where I'd wanted to take Jake. And he'd booked it on my weekend, making me the bad guy when I'd objected.

I hadn't even known he was seeing anyone. We'd been divorced for three years, but we'd agreed to keep things stable for Jake. No introductions until it was serious. I guess three years was long enough for him to forget that promise.

But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that he was using Jake as a cover. The resort had his son's name on the reservation too—"Jake Grant, age 8"—but the room configuration was a king bed plus two doubles. No room for a little boy.

I drove to his apartment that night, my hands shaking on the wheel. I knocked, and when he opened the door, his face went pale.

"Maya. What are you doing here?"

"Who's the woman, Leo?" I asked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

He tried to block me. "This isn't the time."

"It's the perfect time," I said, pushing past him. The living room was clean—too clean. There was a suitcase by the stairs, and on the kitchen counter, a birthday card with a woman's name I didn't recognize.

"You're taking Jake to the lake house for your girlfriend's birthday," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "You're using our son as a cover for your romantic getaway."

Leo opened his mouth, but a sound from the hallway stopped him. A voice I hadn't heard in years—soft, familiar, impossible.

"Leo? Who's at the door?"

And then she walked out. My sister, Claire.

Claire, who'd moved to the other coast after the divorce. Claire, who'd sided with him in the custody battle, said I was "too emotional" to raise Jake alone. Claire, who I hadn't spoken to in two years.

She froze when she saw me. "Maya."

"You're the girlfriend?" I whispered, the world tilting around me.

Neither of them answered. The silence was louder than any confession.

"You've been together this whole time?" I asked, my voice cracking. "You were the reason he fought for weekends?"

Claire stepped forward, her face a mask of pity. "It's not what you think. We were going to tell you."

"Tell me?" I laughed—a broken, bitter sound. "You've been lying to me for years. And now you're using my son to celebrate your affair."

"It's not like that," Leo said, reaching for my arm.

I yanked away. "Where's Jake?"

"He's with my mom," Claire said. "He doesn't know anything."

"Good," I said, backing toward the door. "Because he's never going to find out. You're not taking him anywhere."

I walked out, but I heard Claire's voice behind me: "Maya, wait—"

I didn't wait. I got in my car and drove, my vision blurred with tears. But even as the anger burned through me, a cold realization settled in my chest. This wasn't just about a weekend. This was about my sister, my ex-husband, and the secret they'd been keeping from me.

And I was just getting started.