My Mother Killed My Father – But the Truth Was Even Worse

I’m not writing this for sympathy.
I’m writing because some stories need to be told.
Some wounds don’t heal until they’re shared – and maybe someone out there is living through something just as dark.

I was young when it happened – old enough to understand, but too young to process it.
My mother believed my father was cheating on her. She grew obsessed. Suspicious glances turned into searches, accusations, paranoia.
She checked his phone, followed him, questioned every little thing.
But the truth?
He wasn’t cheating.
She was.
She projected her guilt onto him, and it twisted something inside her. The fear of being found out, the shame, the anger… it all built up. Until one night, it broke her.

A fight.
A knife.
A death.

My father never saw it coming.
My mother was arrested.
And I – I was left with nothing but silence.

The hardest part isn’t the violence.
It’s realizing how lies and fear can destroy everything.
My mother couldn’t face the truth about herself, so she destroyed the one person who loved her most.

I still don’t understand everything. Maybe I never will.
But if you’re reading this, and you think your pain gives you the right to hurt others – stop.
Lies don’t just kill trust.
They kill people.
They kill futures.

And sometimes… they kill love in ways you never recover from.