When I first saw the emails, I didn’t think much of them. My fiancé, Daniel, had told me he had distant relatives in France who occasionally reached out, despite him not speaking a word of French. He would roll his eyes and chuckle, saying, “They probably just want money or something. I don’t even read them.”
That was enough for me—until curiosity got the best of me.
One evening, while we were watching a movie, another email notification popped up on his phone. I caught a glimpse of the sender’s name: Élodie. That didn’t sound like an elderly relative. When I asked him about it, he shrugged. “Some cousin or something. I don’t really know them.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Daniel, but something about his dismissive tone felt off. So, the next time he left his laptop open, I did something I never thought I would—I peeked.
The inbox was filled with French messages from Élodie, and even though I didn’t understand the language, I noticed something strange. The emails weren’t long letters from distant relatives; they were short, intimate messages. Some even had heart emojis. My stomach twisted. Who was this woman?
I needed answers. That’s when I thought of my best friend, Sophie, who spoke fluent French. Without telling her the full story, I sent her screenshots of a few emails. “Can you translate these for me?” I asked, feigning curiosity.
Her response came minutes later.
“Uh… Are you sure you want to know?”
I felt a chill down my spine. “Tell me.”
Sophie hesitated before sending the translations. My heart pounded as I read:
Mon amour, quand vas-tu enfin me dire la vérité sur elle ?
(My love, when will you finally tell her the truth about me?)
Je ne peux plus être ton secret.
(I can’t be your secret anymore.)
Dis-lui ou je le ferai.
(Tell her, or I will.)
I felt like the floor had vanished beneath me. My fiancé, the man I was supposed to marry in six months, had been lying to me. Élodie wasn’t a distant relative—she was his mistress. And she was getting impatient.
A surge of emotions rushed through me—rage, betrayal, heartbreak. I took a deep breath and texted Sophie. “I need to confront him.”
That night, when Daniel came home, I was waiting for him, his laptop open to Élodie’s emails. The moment he saw them, his face drained of color.
“You lied to me,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Who is she?”
He stammered, searching for an excuse, but there was none. I had the proof in front of me.
And just like that, our engagement—our future—was over.
I wasn’t the fool he thought I was. And thanks to my French-speaking friend, I found out the truth before it was too late.
