My Boss's Husband Was Convinced I Was His Mistress — I Played Along and Lost It When He Showed Me Proof

At the company picnic, the husband's intense gaze made my skin crawl. Suddenly, he approached and whispered, "Meet me behind the house in ten minutes." I went along, stunned to realize he believed we were having an affair. Then he showed me proof: months of messages—from "me."

The aroma of grilled meats and sweet barbecue sauce filled the air as I entered Jill's yard.

It was my first company cookout since starting the position three months earlier, and I had to admit, my boss knew how to host a good party.

The late summer sun cast long shadows over her well-kept lawn, where my still-new coworkers relaxed in folding chairs, paper plates resting on their laps.

"Liz! You made it!" Jill called out from by the grill, spatula in hand.

She wore a bright yellow apron that read "Queen of the Grill" in shiny letters. It suited her perfectly—confident, friendly, with a touch of flair. In my short time at the firm, she had already proven to be the best boss I’d ever had.

I moved through the group, accepting a beer from Tom in accounting—one of the few names I remembered—and dodging Karen from HR, who tried to drag me into a chat about her latest multi-level marketing scheme.

The food looked delicious: burgers sizzling on the grill, potato salad with fresh dill, and what I believed was Sandra’s famous seven-layer dip I’d heard so much about.

"Just in time," Jill said, reaching me. "The second round is almost ready. How are you settling in?"

"Everyone’s been so friendly," I answered, taking a paper plate. "By the way, those quarterly reports you asked for are nearly finished."

Jill chuckled. "No work talk! It’s a party." She carefully flipped a burger. "Oh, and my husband Mark just got home."

I followed her gaze to a tall man walking through the gate.

Someone had mentioned he worked as a financial advisor and usually arrived late, still busy with client meetings.

He looked exactly like what you'd expect for a finance pro: crisp button-down shirt, tidy haircut, a responsible-looking watch.

A photographer from marketing was capturing candid shots of the gathering for the company newsletter. Mark approached Jill, embracing her with a warm hug as the camera clicked.

It was a perfect moment—until his eyes locked onto mine over Jill’s shoulder.

He froze. His smile faded, replaced by an unreadable expression. Recognition? No, it was deeper; he seemed to see me like a lost lover.

The moment dragged on painfully, strange and tense. After that, the mood subtly shifted around us. It was like a cloud crossing the sun.

His eyes kept wandering back to me in the crowd, not just casual glances but long, intense looks that made my skin prick.

It was as if he knew me somehow, impossible since I’d never seen him before today.

I tried to dismiss it, but every time I looked up, there he was, staring with a strange mix of familiarity and longing. It made no sense. I’d only been here three months, and we’d never interacted.

"Need another beer?" Sandra appeared beside me, causing me to startle.

"Yes, please," I responded, probably a bit too eagerly.

I was about to follow her to the cooler when a hand suddenly gripped my elbow.

"Hi, Liz."

I froze. Mark stood close, the scent of his cologne filling my senses. How did he even know my name? I was new here, and we’d never been introduced.

He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "Meet me behind the house in ten minutes."

I should have said no. I should have looked for Jill. But instead, I nodded, curiosity overpowering common sense.

He then disappeared, leaving me standing there with an empty plate and a racing heart. What was that all about?

Nine minutes later, I circled around the house, convincing myself it was probably just some work-related thing. Maybe Jill had set it up, maybe it was about a promotion or...

Mark was already waiting in the shadows, pacing near the back of the house.

When he saw me, his face showed relief but also desperation.

"Thank goodness," he said. "We need to come up with a cover story. I didn't know you work for my wife, but she can’t find out about us."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"That we’re..." His voice lowered to a whisper. "Having an affair."

A laugh escaped before I could stop it. "What now?"

"This isn’t funny, Liz." His brows knitted. "You knowing Jill makes things complicated. I don’t know if I can keep seeing you at these events… but we can figure it out."

He moved closer, and I quickly pushed my hand between us.

"Whoa! I don’t know what you think I am, but I’ve never seen you before."

"Don’t play dumb, Liz. Not right now." He pulled out his phone and scrolled quickly. "Look!"

He held the phone out to me, and my stomach sank.

There were hundreds of messages… from me!

Not me specifically, but someone using my name and photo on a dating app profile. I took the phone, jaw dropping as I scrolled through nine months’ worth of jokes, flirtation, and then—more than flirtation.

"This can’t be true," I murmured. "I’ve never... we’ve never..."

"Liz, please. I know you’re scared, but—"

"No, you don’t get it. This isn’t me. I didn’t write these. You’ve been catfished."

He stared at me, as if I’d gone crazy. I looked at his phone, trying to process what I saw.

Then it clicked. Nearly a year ago, I had made a profile on that app, just as a joke… I’d never actually used it. But someone else had.

With horror, I realized who it was.

“Oh my God.” I quickly grabbed my phone with trembling hands. “You need to get here now. I’m sending you the address.”

My fingers trembled as I texted the location and told her to meet me behind the house. I couldn’t believe this was real—that she could betray me like this—but it was the only explanation I had.

Twenty minutes later, I saw her approach from around the corner. She stopped dead when she saw Mark. Her expression told me everything I needed to know.

"Mom," I said, voice surprisingly steady. "Have you been texting him from my account for the past nine months? The one I created when we joked about double dates last year?"

A heavy silence followed. My mother’s mouth moved but no sound came out. Mark looked like someone had just told him the Earth was flat.

All those times she appeared with her phone, smiling, messaging… she was talking to him, using my profile.

"All those visits—you smiling at your phone—were you chatting with him, using my profile?"

Finally, my mother snapped. "It was just texts! We never met! It’s not real!"

"Not real?" Mark’s voice cracked. "We talked every day. You told me… I thought…"

"He's married! And you stole my identity. How could you?"

"Mark?"

We all turned to see Jill nearby, her face emotionless but eyes flashing with anger.

"Get out," she demanded, her voice icy.

"Jill, I can explain—"

"Everything in that house is mine. Pack your things and leave."

"But I thought… we were—"

"You thought you were having an affair with my employee, who’s actually her mother pretending to be her daughter." Jill’s voice was calm, but her hands trembled. "Pack your bags. Right now."

The next morning, I drafted a short, professional resignation letter. Just two paragraphs. I couldn’t handle the thought of returning or facing the whispers and looks I’d get.

As I pressed send, I saw another message from my mother, her fifteenth since last night. I deleted it immediately.

Some betrayals are too deep to forgive. Some apologies can’t fix what’s broken.

My mother had stolen my identity to deceive men on a dating app. Mark had fallen for a fake. And in the chaos, real lives had been torn apart.

I shut my laptop and looked at my phone one last time before switching it off. Sixteen messages now. Each probably full of explanations or excuses, but none could change anything.

I had only been employed for three months, but I managed to ruin my boss’s marriage before my probation ended. Sometimes, the only option is to leave and try not to look back.