I found out my husband was cheating with my sister, divorced him, and went no contact with my toxic family. Years later, things took a turn.

Married to my husband Ryan (32M) for six years, we have a really strong relationship. I would say the usual couple drama through our years, but we have grown from it and have a loving relationship. All was well until about eight months ago, when my sister Star (28F) moved back to our hometown after living in Florida since she was eighteen. Her long‑term boyfriend dumped her and moved to a new city, leaving her destitute. The circumstances behind their breakup are still largely unknown. When my sister returned, she told us that he had been cheating with men. I didn’t really know him that well, but that sounded far‑fetched. I only met the guy three times, as my sister would only come home for Christmas and usually only stay for three to four days. He accompanied her twice during their five years together. The other time I met him was when my husband and I visited them for a day during our vacation three years ago. He just didn’t strike me as the guy who would have a double life and just leave Star with nothing. I tried to reach out to him once but found I was blocked, so I just let it go.

Star moved back in with my parents—Gina (55F) and Jimmy (56M). For the first month she was here, she struggled to find work, so I suggested that maybe Ryan could help her out. He is a higher‑up at his company, and I figured he would have some pull. He did, and she was able to get a position in his department. This is a job in her field.

For some background, my sister and I have never been very close. She is the golden child, at least to our mom, and our dad is spineless when it comes to our mom. It’s not super obvious—just a million little things. For example: we both got cars when we turned sixteen, but I got an eight‑year‑old Dodge Neon and she got a two‑year‑old Mitsubishi Eclipse. Her dance practices, outfits, and competitions cost thousands of dollars over the years—some of those competitions were six or so hours away—and they never batted an eye. Meanwhile, when I would ask for $50 for a volleyball or basketball camp at the local college in our town, they would give it to me, but you would have thought I was asking them to build me my own arena.

What pissed me off the most was when I was seventeen: I was out with my boyfriend, lost track of time, and was fifteen minutes past curfew. They took my car for a whole month for that. Then, when my sister came home two hours late and smelled like pot the next year, she just got a stern talking‑to. I wasn’t exactly sad when she left for college and decided to stay in Florida. Despite all of that, she began spending more and more time at our house, which at first I thought was nice—as maybe she was making the effort to be closer to me.

Then I started to notice that she and Ryan were getting rather familiar with each other. They would talk about seemingly anything at length. They started having their own inside jokes. If I tried to include myself, they would say, “Just a work thing.” When I asked my husband about it, he just said they had a lot in common and were working on several projects together at work.

The first real red flag was that after about a month of this, she would be at our house when I got home from work. Ryan and I have different work schedules; while he has a traditional 8:00–4:30 workday, I work 10:00–7:00. This was pretty often. When I asked about it, I always got, “We had some work stuff to do.”

Two months ago, I noticed something that had me questioning my own sanity. I make the bed every day before I leave for work. I always make it so the open side of the pillowcase is toward the edge of the bed. Star was over that day. When I got home, she ate with us, then went back to my parents’ house. As we got in bed, I noticed two of the pillows had the cases ending toward the middle. I asked my husband if he had been in bed today. He looked a little shook but said, “No. Why do you ask?” I said, “The bed’s not the same as I made it this morning.” He told me I must have been mistaken then, because no one was in the bed. I looked through his phone and laptop without his knowing and found nothing. Then again, they worked together eight hours a day, five days a week, then hung out after work. Why would they need to text? I felt like I was losing my mind.

Two weeks ago, my parents invited us over for dinner. It was going fine until I saw something: Ryan was simply walking by and Star lightly grabbed his arm. He turned to her, and she whispered something, and they touched foreheads together. It was only a second. Ryan jolted up and kept walking. Star then just kind of looked at me, smiled, and went back to what she was doing. I’m not an idiot. I know this is a mountain of red flags. I just don’t want to believe it. I have been in love with my husband since I was twenty‑one years old. I planned a weekend getaway to the city. I was going to ask him about things there. I really hoped it wasn’t what I was thinking.

Update: You are all right, and my world is destroyed. We went on our weekend adventure. It was a nice Friday night—we had drinks, we danced, we were intimate. The next day we had more planned, and I almost didn’t say anything. I really thought he couldn’t be doing that with her and this with me. I was so wrong. We were almost ready to start our Saturday, and I point‑blank asked him if he was having an affair with my sister. He teared up and said yes, he was. My heart crushed. I asked him why. He said he was sorry, he didn’t mean for this to happen: they just clicked, and before he knew it, they were kissing, then more. I asked if he had been sleeping with her in our bed before I got home from work. He just turned his head in shame. I left at that point. I had nothing with me but my purse, and I drove home without him. He got an Uber and arrived a few hours later with my other things. He tried to apologize, but I didn’t acknowledge him. Through my tears, he packed a bag and left for a hotel.

The next day, I told my parents. They already knew. They said they were sorry about what happened and told me Star had left last night and might not be back for a few days. I’m sure she went to stay with Ryan. That all happened three months ago. Our divorce is almost final. Ryan found an apartment to rent right away, and Star moved in with him. I am only contacting him in regard to our divorce. He initially said I could just have the house and the savings. I think this was guilt talking. Then, after a few days, he said that we would have to split the house. I know this was Star in his ear. I had already moved everything out of the savings into a new account, so there was no fight there. Just like that, nine years of my life were gone. He has no idea what he is getting himself into. She is a narcissist and will throw him away eventually.

Star has been exceedingly cruel during all of this. A few days after I found out, she tagged me in a Facebook post. It was a selfie of her and him, with him giving her a kiss on the cheek from behind. The caption read, “Feeling loved.” It was disgusting. I logged out of my account and deleted the app off my phone. She texted me about an hour later, saying, “Sorry sis, didn’t mean to tag you. No hard feelings—I hope we can still be close. You’ll meet your soulmate someday too.” I blocked her. I blocked her on everything I could think of.

My parents haven’t been any better. They pretended to be sympathetic in the beginning. When I told them I was going no contact with Star and Ryan, my mother looked at me and said, “I’m sorry this happened. It shouldn’t have happened this way, but your sister deserves to be happy too. You’ll meet someone, and then we can put this all behind us.” I got really upset and told them what Star had tagged me in and the text she sent me. My mother said, “Well, you shouldn’t be on that stuff anyway.” My father hasn’t said a thing this whole time; he just sits there. I asked him once what he thought, and he just said, “I agree with your mother,” then walked out of the room. I am going full no contact with them as well. The house will sell soon, and I’m moving to a different state. I am not telling any of my family where or when. I haven’t told them that’s my plan. I’m just done with all of them. I wish them all the worst.

Update: Hi, everybody. I know it’s been four years since I last updated everyone, but we had a major situation happen. I will start by giving you an update on myself. I am recently engaged. It took a lot of therapy to get myself back out there. I tried dating right away once I got settled here in Minnesota. I went on one okay first date and then got shown just how much of an insufferable ass he was. I swore off men forever after that. That’s when I went to therapy to process all the trauma from the betrayal by my husband and sister, as well as the abandonment by my parents. It was a hard year of that, but I met James (37M). Yes, he has the same first name as my dad—LOL—but James is wonderful. He’s a chef. He and his fraternal twin brother Jack own a restaurant and bar that’s doing very well. I’m very excited to start a future with James.

Enough about me. Now I would like to tell you about the audacity my family had. Roughly nine months after I left, I had been totally no contact. I did not tell them where I moved to. I only told some friends and a couple of cousins I was close to. One day, I got home to my apartment and found a wedding invitation in the mail. It was for the wedding of Ryan and Star. The invitation included a gross picture of them hugging in a sunflower field. There was also a letter from my parents. It basically read like this: “You need to forgive and put all this behind us. We know things didn’t go the best, but we’re a family and families work through problems.” They also claimed Star wanted me to be a bridesmaid, just like she was for me. What the actual F.

That letter reopened all sorts of old wounds. At the time, my therapist got a lot more business because of it. Today I find it hilarious, but then—not so much. I did not respond at all. The only thing I did was figure out which part of my extended family let my ex‑family know my address and cut them off as well.

That brings us to the most recent drama. Last week, Ryan of all people showed up at my apartment. James and I don’t live together yet, but that will be changing soon. Ryan looked good—too good—like he was trying to look his best. When he showed up, I asked, “What do you want?” He said, “I just want to talk. I’m so sorry for what I did. Star and I are divorcing. I figured out she was unfaithful our whole marriage—surprise, surprise. I don’t expect you to take me back, but we should talk and get some closure for both of our sakes.”

I did a double blink. He had lost his mind. I looked him right in the eye and said, “No. I give you no closure. You made your own bed. Did you really think that golden ho of hers that has had more visitors than the Holiday Inn was suddenly going to put up a ‘No Vacancy’ sign just because you put a ring on it? You’re even dumber than I thought. I forgive nothing. I want nothing from you. I don’t care. I’m better off now, and that will always be the case. You can go to hell.” Then I turned and went back into my apartment, locking the door behind me.

I immediately called my landlady, who is the sweetest old lady in the world. I’ve gotten kind of close to her over these four years, and she knows about my previous marriage. Ryan was still just loitering out in the hallway. A few minutes later, her two nephews that help maintain the apartment grounds were there, letting Ryan know he was not welcome here and was on a banned list. If he returned, the police would be called for trespassing. I was hoping that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t.

I have a fairly easy 9‑to‑5 work schedule now. Because of that, I go to the restaurant almost any night James is managing. I don’t get in the way—just hang out and enjoy the few minutes here and there he can give me. I’ve become good friends with a lot of the staff, which include a lot of James’s and Jack’s family, and it’s really the family environment I always wished I had. I am there the next night when Ryan walks in and just comes and sits at my table. It was a slow Tuesday. James noticed and immediately came over to check on me. He recognized Ryan from photos I had shown him. Ryan stuck his hand out to James. James just looked at it, then asked me, “Want me to kick him out?”

I said, “Not yet. I’ve got a question or two.”

Ryan perked up like he was winning or something. What a tool. I asked him to tell me what happened between him and Star. I’ll admit it was pure morbid curiosity. He told us she was having at least two affairs with married men. Old habits die hard, I guess. “This was two years in. It was a tough time for me,” he said.

Eyes roll. I interrupted, “You are not that dumb, though. Did you protect yourself, or did she get half of all your stuff?”

Ryan replied smugly, “I stuck it out almost another year with her so I could start stowing away savings and sold off some assets. In the end, she got a fraction of what she would have.”

I asked, “And what happened to her then?”

Ryan replied, “She had to move back in with your parents.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

I, satisfied, said, “Yes, thank you. That’s what I wanted to hear. You can go now.”

James: “You heard her. Out of my restaurant, Ryan.”

Ryan: “But no, I want to—”

I cut him off. “No forgiveness. No closure. I just wanted to know my loser sister was back living at home. Get out.”

James stood and pointed at the door. Ryan looked around and saw he was being glared at by the bartender and two members of the wait staff. He stood, tucked tail, and turned toward the door.

James started, “And if you ever come back—”

Ryan quickly interjected, “Yeah, yeah, I know. Cops. Trespassing.”

After he was gone, I got checked on by almost everyone around. It was nice and embarrassing. My future in‑laws—who I adore—called me. They demanded I stay with James the next couple of days just to be safe. It was really sweet. I have never had a family look after me like this. I didn’t hear from Ryan again, and hopefully I never will.

Update: Hi, everybody. I didn’t think it would happen, but I have another update for you all. First—me. I am now a forty‑one‑year‑old mother of two (6M and 2M). James and I are doing really well. I now work as a part‑time office manager for the restaurants and a semi‑A—James’s cousin bought into the business, and we opened a second location three years ago. It’s been a lot more work, but with the three of them staying heavily involved in both locations, we are successful, and it affords each of them some level of personal time. It wasn’t ideal, but I’m pretty sure I got pregnant staying with James when his parents demanded I do so after my last posting. They now joke they always wanted to be grandparents and it was all part of their plan.

Now for the update. After the last time when Ryan tracked me down, I figured it was only a matter of time before my parents or sister showed up. It didn’t happen right away. I eased up some, as I felt I had a full support system, and rejoined social media. I stayed no contact with much of my family, including extended, but I also didn’t have any illusions that they wouldn’t be able to find me if they tried. It wasn’t until after our first was born that I got my first message. It was from my mom. She gave a half‑hearted apology, said something about forgiveness, and inquired about her “grandson.” I was just going to block her, but the implication that my child was her grandchild I found insulting, so I replied: “You do not have any grandchildren. I am not your daughter, and thus my children have no relation to you. If you want grandchildren, then you should encourage Star to get out there and do what she does best.” At that point, I blocked her. She made new accounts and tried contacting me for a while, but I always just declined or deleted any requests or messages.

That brings me to the recent drama. I was getting bombarded with requests, messages, etc., to contact them. I read some, and it was a sob story about missing out on the grandkids’ lives and wanting to make amends. I really didn’t care. I had no intention of ever including them in my life again. Then the more shocking thing occurred: Star started reaching out to me. She wasn’t saying much other than she very much wanted to speak to me. After this went on for about three weeks, I agreed to a Zoom meeting—just me, no kids.

When it started off, they kept asking to see the kids. I was steadfast it wouldn’t happen. They had three grandparents, and that was it—James’s mom, dad, and grandma. I kind of was getting the idea that this was about something else. Star looked kind of terrible, and my parents were looking old and tired. As we started to talk, they began apologizing for everything that occurred—even Star. She said she was wrong to do what she did and that she wishes she could have her sister back. That was a laughable thought. Mom then took over and went into her usual garbage about being a family and looking out for each other. When she was done, I just looked at them and said, “Is that all you got? I’m going to go then.”

They yelled for me to wait, and the facade dropped. The real reason was about to come out. Apparently, Star has been having health issues for the last couple of years. For whatever reason, her kidneys are failing, and she needs a transplant. That’s why they so persistently tried to get in touch with me. A family member is the most likely to be a viable match. I asked them directly, “This is why you call me? You want me to save her? After what she did—my husband wasn’t enough, now she needs a body part from me too?”

My mother snapped, “Stop being like this. All of that was a long time ago.” She began choking up and crying as she continued, “I get it—you hate us. But she is going to die if she doesn’t get a transplant soon. Is that what you want? I know you think she wronged you in the worst way, but please, just this once—can we set that aside?”

I got quiet. I wanted to see if they said more. Eventually Dad actually started to talk. “Look, we’re sorry for all that happened, but we got some pretty big problems. Between her medical bills and not being able to work, your mom and I are getting older and have our own problems. We got a lot of issues. We need you to come back to Missouri and see if you are a match. But we also could use some help, or we might lose the house.”

“So you need my kidney and my money,” I said.

“Don’t put it like that,” he replied.

Star chimed in. “Please just come home. I need my big sister. I don’t want to die. Can you just come and see if you’re a match? If you’re not, we will never contact you again.”

I told them I needed to think about it, do some research, and that I would tell them tomorrow. I ended the call and went to speak to my husband. He told me he supported me 100% whichever way I went, then asked if we should all travel as a family or if just he should come. I said no to both. I was going to go, and I was going on my own.

Sure, here’s the continuation with punctuation added, keeping the original content intact. I let my former family know I would get lab results here in Minnesota, and if I was a match, I’d come there and we could talk about everything else then. About a week later, I got results, and it appeared Star and I were a perfect match. I agreed to come back home to St. Charles.

By the time I arrived, Star had begun to have some issues and needed to be admitted to the hospital. This got everyone off my back about meeting for dinner, as I had no intention of doing anything social with these people—especially since anytime they seemed to have a free minute, my parents were inquiring if I had thought about helping them get caught up on their financial struggles. They managed to stabilize Star. I went to meet with these doctors that would do the transplant. They began going over everything with me, and I said I’d like to have this conversation with everyone. We all went to Star’s room. My parents were already there.

The doctor began explaining the situation: Star had maybe six months more without a transplant. They went over the process with us all and made a huge deal about how perfect of a match I was—that the likelihood of finding a more viable donor was minuscule, and that the sooner we scheduled the surgery, the better.

I then walked over to Star and took her hand. I gazed into her big brown eyes and told her, “Did you hear that? I am a perfect match. Essentially I’m the only person who can save you—and I’m not going to. You are the most vile, narcissistic piece of gutter trash I have ever known. I only came here so you would know the one person who could keep you alive is the one person you have wronged the most—and now you’re paying for that with your life. You’re going to die. You should make peace with that.”

Star burst into tears, and my parents turned to accost me. The doctor and nurse were standing there in total shock. I looked at my parents and said, “Don’t even talk to me. And don’t you dare ever ask me for anything ever again. The only money I would ever spend on you would be for your funeral, under the stipulation that you be cremated and the ashes released to me—at which point I will promptly deposit your remains in the dirtiest john I can find.”

Finished, I walked out of the room and never looked back. I’m back home now—my real home—surrounded by my real family, and couldn’t be happier.