Page 90 of The Rehoboth Retreat
Another breath.
“I didn’t cheat. I didn’t lie. I’m not a homewrecker or whatever colorful terms are being thrown around. What Iam… is human, just like all of you. I was trying to find joy again. I was trying to let go. And yes, that included laughter and maybe something more—with someone unexpected.”
A faint smile—honest, not performative.
“You don’t have to like it. But I hope you can respect that I’m being honest with you now. And I hope, if anything, this reminds you that even the most polished lives have messy chapters. And we all deserve the chance to begin again.”
I ended the video there. No sign-off. Nolike, comment, and subscriberequest. I didn’t even trim the edges. I just saved it, took another breath, and posted it directly across all platforms—Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, and even TikTok, though I rarely used it outside of promotional posts.
Within minutes, the notifications started to cascade down my screen like glittering confetti. Dings and buzzes from every app. It was overwhelming at first. I had to close my eyes and set the phone down.
But when I opened it again fifteen minutes later, I was met with something I didn’t expect—kindness. Empathy. Support.
The first comment I saw nearly brought me to tears:
@thegaygardener:Miles, you owe us nothing. You handled this with grace. We love you even more now.
Then another:
@ModernBungalowMom:I’ve followed you for years. Not for the aesthetic (okay, also for the aesthetic), but because you’re real. You’re still that guy. No scandal can change that.
And then:
@QueerEye4TheCloset:You came out of this classier than a glass of Veuve with a rosemary sprig. I STAN.
@reho_local_302:Saw you and Hudson at The Top of the Pines yesterday! You looked happy. Screw the tabloids.
@ChardonnayAndChecklists:Thank you for this. I needed to hear that it’s okay to be messy sometimes. I’ve followed you since your pantry label days. Always team Miles.
@softgaysupperclub:You’re not a cheater. You’re a survivor. And it shows.
Thousands poured in. Literallythousands.
Likes. Shares. Reposts. People were screen-recording the video and posting their own reactions with teary eyes, telling me how much it meant to see someone be honest and vulnerable without apologizing for living their life.
I blinked, mouth slightly open. My heart pounded—but not from panic. It was something else. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Relief.
Joy.
A strange, electric lightness.
I flopped backward onto my bed, arms splayed wide like I’d just taken flight and landed in a field of throw pillows. My phone buzzed beside me again, and I didn’t even bother looking this time. I could guess what it said.
For once… the internet wasn’t eating me alive.
It was lifting me up.
I sat there in stunned silence, grinning stupidly at the ceiling. All the fear, the anxiety, the spiraling from earlier… it started to dissolve. Not completely. But enough.
I stood up and walked to the mirror, straightening the collar of my shirt and brushing a hand through my hair. I still looked tired, but a little less haunted. A little moreme.
I could hear the faint clink of ice cubes from downstairs—Cecilia and Hudson, probably on their second cocktail. God help me, that pairing might actually outlast the weekend.
I exhaled slowly, looked down at my hands, then at my reflection.
“Let the retreat continue,” I said softly.
