My mom told me she was in a new relationship, 10 years after losing my dad. She didn’t want to share his name and asked me to trust her. I was happy for her. Until last night. At our family dinner, she walked in holding a man’s hand. When I looked at him, my hands started shaking. It was no one else but my ex…

His name is Adil. And he wasn’t just any ex. He was the ex. The one who cheated on me. The one I cried over for almost a year. The one who ghosted me after promising we’d get married. The one who left a half-packed bag at my apartment and just… vanished.

Now here he was, smiling like he belonged in our house. In my mother’s life.

I must’ve gone pale because my little brother Tavish whispered, “You okay?” I couldn’t answer. I just kept staring at them. My mom, glowing like she was twenty again, and Adil, with that same smooth grin that used to make my stomach flip—for completely different reasons now.

“Everyone,” my mom said, all proud, “this is Adil. He’s been such a light in my life these past few months.”

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I forced a smile. It cracked halfway. I stood up, mumbled something about needing air, and walked right out of the dining room.

I paced around the block for maybe fifteen minutes, heart hammering. Memories came crashing in. The time I caught Adil texting someone saved as “Uncle J,” the Valentine’s Day he said he was “working late,” only to be tagged in some girl’s IG story at a rooftop bar. And the night he just disappeared, left my messages on read for a week, then blocked me.

I thought he moved to Vancouver.

Turns out, he moved three blocks from my mom.

When I came back inside, they were already halfway through dinner. Mom gave me a look—worried, but also confused. I sat down quietly. Adil looked over and said, “Nice to see you again, Aanya.” Like we were old friends. Like he didn’t completely wreck me.

I didn’t say much that night. But after they left, I stayed behind and helped my mom clean up. I waited until the last dish to finally speak.

“Do you know who he is to me?”

She paused, towel in her hand. “I know you dated years ago.”

“Three years. And he cheated. He ghosted. He broke me, Mom.”

She blinked a few times. “He told me you two had a messy ending. But people change, sweetheart.”

“He didn’t just leave me. He lied to me. Over and over. You didn’t think to ask me first?”

She looked down at the dish towel like it could save her. “I didn’t want to ruin something that’s been good for me.”

That stung. Like my pain would’ve been an inconvenience.

The rest of the week was a blur. I tried to keep busy, but my mind kept circling back to it. I told my best friend Sabeen. She wanted to go full detective mode and dig up dirt. But I wasn’t ready for that yet.

Then Saturday came.

Mom invited me to brunch. Just the two of us.

I almost didn’t go, but guilt pulled me in. She was already sitting at our usual table at the café near her condo, sipping chai.

“I want to talk,” she said, before I even sat down.

I braced myself.

She told me Adil had introduced himself as “Ali,” said he was a widower, a systems engineer, recently relocated. She only found out his real name was Adil after six weeks of dating.

“But by then, I really liked him,” she said quietly. “He explained everything. Said he had a complicated past and didn’t want it to get in the way of a new start.”

I stared at her. “You didn’t think the ‘complicated past’ might involve me?”

“I didn’t connect the dots until he told me. And even then, I thought maybe you were over him. It was years ago.”

She reached for my hand. I pulled back.

She blinked again, hurt. But she nodded.

“I get it. I messed up.”

I left that brunch feeling like I was in some weird psychological maze. On one hand, I couldn’t fault my mom for wanting love. She’d been alone for a decade. On the other hand, this wasn’t some random guy. This was a person who knew exactly who we both were and chose to step into our lives like it wouldn’t explode.

That’s when it hit me.

He knew. The whole time.

And he lied to her just like he lied to me.

That night, I texted him.

I asked to meet—alone.

He agreed too quickly.

We met at a coffee shop downtown, one I used to love but now only chose because it was brightly lit and public. I came in, sat down, and didn’t even let him get his fake charm rolling.

“Why her?”

He tilted his head, trying to play confused.

“Don’t do that,” I snapped. “You knew she was my mother. You knew who we were.”

He sighed, finally dropping the act.

“I didn’t plan it,” he said. “I met her at a hardware store. We talked. She was funny and sweet. It just happened.”

“You gave her a fake name, Adil.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I didn’t think she’d be your mom. Not until later. And when I realized it… I didn’t want to walk away from something good.”

I stared at him.

“You always do this,” I said. “You rewrite the story so you don’t look like the villain.”

He shrugged. “People make mistakes.”

“And you keep making the same ones.”

He had no answer.

I left him there.

But I wasn’t done.

I went back to my mom’s that evening and laid it all out. The lies. The ghosting. The name switch. The emotional manipulation. I showed her screenshots I still had. Old texts from when I begged him to just talk to me, and he ignored me.

She cried.

“I feel like an idiot,” she whispered.

“You’re not,” I said. “He’s just good at finding cracks.”

She broke up with him two days later.

But the story didn’t end there.

A few weeks passed. Things were quiet. We tiptoed around it, but slowly, we started laughing again. Cooking together. Watching our old reruns. Healing, I guess.

Then I got a message.

It was from a woman named Neha. She said she found me through an old tagged photo and hoped I wouldn’t mind her reaching out.

She said she’d just broken things off with someone who reminded her a lot of the man in my pictures. His name? “Ali.” Systems engineer. Widower. Same lies, same charm.

My blood turned cold.

She sent photos. It was Adil.

I asked if she’d talk to my mom. She agreed.

Turns out, there were at least three other women.

One in Mississauga. One in Burnaby. One in Edmonton.

All of them had similar stories. Similar timelines.

Adil wasn’t just a player—he was running some kind of serial romance scam. Not for money, but for validation. Control. Whatever his twisted motivation was.

We didn’t go to the police—nothing he did was technically illegal. But we started sharing stories. Notes. Timelines. Screenshots.

Eventually, one of the women posted about him on a private Facebook group warning others about emotionally manipulative men. It went viral.

That’s when it got back to his work.

And this is where the twist comes in.

Turns out, Adil did have a job. But it wasn’t as a systems engineer—it was admin support at a consulting firm.

His manager saw the post.

Apparently, he’d been using company travel for “client visits” that didn’t exist. Probably to fly to meet women. They fired him for time fraud.

Karma.

My mom smiled when she heard. “Took long enough,” she said, sipping her tea.

We both knew we weren’t angry anymore. Just… sad. For all the people he’d tricked. For the time lost. But also a little grateful.

It forced both of us to finally talk about Dad.

We’d avoided it for years, tiptoed around the grief like it might still swallow us whole.

But now, in the wake of this mess, we opened up. About loneliness. About second chances. About how we sometimes let the wrong people in when the silence gets too heavy.

I forgave her.

She forgave herself.

We took a short trip together that fall—just a weekend in Prince Edward County. Wine, beach walks, long talks. We made a pact: no more secrets. Ever.

We even joked about starting a podcast: “Love After Lies.”

We never did it, but the idea made us laugh.

These days, we’re both good. I’m seeing someone new—slowly. Carefully. His name’s Aarav, and he actually listens. My mom’s focusing on herself for now. Gardening, joining a book club, even trying tai chi.

Sometimes, life throws a storm just to clear the air.

And honestly? I’m grateful for the wreckage.

Because it showed me that no matter how complicated things get, love—real love—doesn’t come at the cost of your peace.

If something feels wrong, it usually is.

And if someone makes you question your worth, they’re not worth your time.

Share this if someone you know needs the reminder. 💬🧡