I Dreamed the Perfect Blind Date Was Lying To Me Chapter 11

I started preparing, not to marry him, but to dismantle the web he had so carefully built.

Step one: I told Mrs. Walsh the truth, not about the dream, but about the lie.

Thursday night, I met Mrs. Walsh at a tea shop near her house.

She thought I was finally coming around, so she showed up smiling, even wearing lipstick.

I sat down, took a sip of tea, and looked at her.

“Mrs. Walsh, I need to confirm something.”

“Go ahead.”

“Derek Hamilton has a son. His name is Leo. He’s in third grade. He lives with Derek’s mother in his hometown. Did you know about this?”

The tea shop was quiet.

Mrs. Walsh’s face froze. The smile was still there, but the light in her eyes went out.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

I slid the printout of the talent show article across the table. “Winners list. Listed parent: Derek Hamilton.”

Mrs. Walsh looked down at it for a long time, then looked up, her face pale.

“I… I didn’t know.” She spoke slowly. “He told me no kids. Clean divorce. That’s why I felt comfortable introducing you. Emily… I truly didn’t know.”

I looked into her eyes and saw she wasn’t lying.

Mrs. Walsh was proud. She wouldn’t knowingly hide something like this. It would destroy her credibility with both families.

She had been lied to, too.

“Mrs. Walsh, I don’t blame you. But I need you to explain this to my parents. This isn’t about whether we’re compatible. It’s about him lying.”

Mrs. Walsh’s hand trembled. She picked up her teacup, set it down, then picked it up again.

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll set this straight.”

“No. Don’t talk to him. Just talk to my parents.”

She looked at me. “You’re not going to confront him?”

“I don’t need to.” I stood up. “Confrontation is for people who have something to prove. I just need the people who matter to know the truth.”

That night, Mrs. Walsh went to my parents’ house and showed them the printout.

I wasn’t there, but my mom called me later. Her voice was different, no excitement, no urging, just silence.

After a long silence, she said one sentence. “Emily, I’m sorry.”

My nose stung. “Mom, it’s not your fault.”

“It is my fault. You said it wasn’t right, and I wouldn’t listen. I pushed you.”

“You didn’t push. You were worried.”

“Worry isn’t an excuse,” her voice cracked. “I almost pushed you into a fire.”

“Mom, it wasn’t a fire. It was a man’s trap. That’s different.”

Another silence, then I heard her say quietly, “Your dad and I agreed. No more blind dates. Ever.”

This time, I believed her.

Step two: I needed to make sure Derek wouldn’t bother me again, not just give him the cold shoulder, but make him back off on his own.

I sent him a message from my regular number, direct.

“Hello, Mr. Hamilton. I met with your ex-wife. Leo is a sweet kid. Take care.”

I put my phone down and went to pour a glass of water.

When I came back, the screen was lit.

He had replied: [You…] Then nothing.

I imagined his expression when he read that message, that perpetually calm, perfectly composed mask. Cracked.

Over the next five minutes, he called three times in a row. I didn’t answer any.

On the fourth call, I picked up.

His voice had changed, no warmth, no steadiness, just barely suppressed urgency and anger.