The Bastard Calls Me A Mistress?
Yole Judson
It was the thirtieth anniversary of my alma mater, and I had been invited back to give a speech.
But as I stepped on stage, my husband's illegitimate son rushed toward me, brandishing a knife. His accusations rang through the hall: I was a homewrecker, the woman who had driven his mother to her death.
He went even further, kidnapping my daughter and threatening her safety unless I publicly read a letter of confession.
I was beaten to within an inch of my life, my body battered and bruised. I demanded my husband come forward and confront the truth. Instead, he turned on me.
"I was forced to be with you in the first place!" my husband spat, venom dripping from every word. "You're the real mistress!"
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