Her.
A single dismissive word. His legal wife, pregnant with his child, was just a problem to be handled.
I scrambled to the bathroom and threw up everything in my stomach. Once I had emptied even the lunch I’d had at work, tears streamed down my face and my throat burned.
I washed my face and stared at the haggard woman in the mirror. Puffy eyes, disheveled hair, and a six-month baby bump.
I wept silently, mourning my own naivety and foolish devotion over our three-year marriage. I had given my all, my emotions, my youth, to a hypocrite and a piece of trash.
But strangely, that feeling of despair lasted for exactly 15 minutes. As I looked down at my belly and felt the gentle stirrings of my child, my mind became incredibly calm.
I wiped my face and returned to the office. I didn’t scream or call him or pull anyone’s hair.
That’s what women who want to save their marriage do. For me, the moment the boundaries of respect had been so brutally violated, this marriage was no longer worth saving.
I took out my phone and opened the camera. One by one, I meticulously photographed every conversation and every transaction record.
When I was done, to prevent him from claiming they were doctored images, I recorded a continuous video scrolling from the very beginning of the chat to the end.
Next, I opened an incognito browser tab, logged into my personal email, and sent all the evidence I had just collected to a separate private email address only I knew.
After finishing, I carefully closed the Messenger window, deleted the browser history, and returned the computer screen to the exact state it was in when I first walked in.
I turned off the office light, went to the bedroom, changed into my pajamas, and lay down in bed. I closed my eyes.
Tomorrow, a new performance would begin.
I would play the part of the happiest wife in the world until I could end this tragedy on my own terms.
A month passed since that fateful rainy day. Now seven months pregnant, my body felt heavy and unwieldy.
Daniel continued to play the role of the perfect husband to a T. Every day after work, he’d bring home food said to be good for pregnant women or a bag of fresh fruit.
As soon as he walked in the door, he would tenderly ask about my well-being and the baby.
“Jennifer, I brought you some clam chowder. Eat it while it’s warm. Should I heat it up for you?”
I would smile, take the container from his hand, and try my best to keep my voice steady.
“Thank you, honey. Are things busy at work?”
Daniel would sigh, rubbing his shoulders, and launch into a story about a difficult contract or a demanding client.
His performance was so convincing that if I hadn’t seen those messages with my own eyes, I would have firmly believed my husband was sacrificing himself for our family.
I spooned the chowder into my mouth, looking him straight in the eye and nodding sympathetically. The food was tasteless, but I forced myself to swallow to provide enough nutrients for the baby inside me.
The next morning, taking advantage of some time off, I visited the office of a lawyer, Miss Davis. She specialized in divorce and asset division.
As soon as I entered her office, I placed a neatly printed stack of documents on her desk. Inside were the Messenger screenshots, the video of me opening the secret chat, and a complete bank statement showing the $15,000 flowing from Daniel’s bonus account to Chloe’s.
Miss Davis flipped through the pages, her eyes widening with surprise.
“I’ve been doing this for 15 years,” she said, looking at me. “I’ve seen plenty of wives break down in this office after discovering their husband’s affair. But you are the first to come in so calm and with such systematically collected evidence. What are your terms for the divorce?”
I folded my hands on the desk and answered clearly.
“I want full custody of our child, no exceptions. Regarding assets, our condo is in both our names, so I demand half. I want our joint savings account frozen immediately so he can’t touch it. And for the $15,000 he sent his mistress, since that was marital property, I want to legally compel him to return my half, which is $7,500, to me.”
Miss Davis nodded in agreement. She advised me on the process of filing the lawsuit and how to protect my legal rights during the proceedings.
She particularly stressed that I should not rock the boat and should maintain my daily routine as usual, so as not to tip him off or give him a chance to hide assets.
Leaving the lawyer’s office, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. The legal process was in the hands of an expert.
My job now was to protect my health and prepare to shatter the final illusion of those two who were currently reveling in the dark.
That weekend, Daniel said he had a late meeting with an important client out of town. I knew exactly who that client was.
Lying in bed, I found the phone number for Chloe that I had secretly jotted down from Daniel’s phone and added her as a contact. Then I sent her a friend request on Facebook.
It was accepted almost immediately. She must have been curious why her lover’s wife was looking for her.
I had no intention of making her wait. I sent the first message, polite but direct.
“Hello, Chloe. I’m Daniel’s legal wife, Jennifer. I think it’s time the three of us had an honest conversation.”
Not even five seconds later, the indicator showed she was typing. She replied at a frantic pace, as if she had a script prepared for this very situation.
“Hi, Jennifer. I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Daniel and I are just old college friends. There’s nothing going on, and we haven’t done anything to wrong you.”
I let out a dry laugh in the empty room. Women who steal other people’s husbands always love to wrap themselves in the noble guise of old college friends.
I had no intention of arguing or slinging mud. A smart woman doesn’t waste her time on such meaningless endeavors.
I opened my photo gallery and selected the screenshot of the $2,500 bank transfer from Daniel to Chloe. The sender and receiver’s names were clearly visible.
I pressed send and added a short message.
“That’s a very expensive friendship. Is it normal for friends to support each other with rent and medical bills every month? $15,000 in three months. That’s some deep friendship you two have.”
After that message, my phone screen went completely silent. The read receipt appeared clearly below the photo, but no reply came.
Her silence was the most obvious proof of the humiliation she felt, her true face now exposed. She never would have dreamed that the wife she thought was a fool had tracked every single dollar of their transactions.
I locked my phone and tossed it aside. The first silent confrontation was over in an instant, but its effect was absolute.
I had completely shattered her hypocritical piety. I didn’t care if she ran to Daniel tonight crying and complaining.
The final act of this play had already been written by my hand. All that was left for them to do was to slowly savor the bitter fruit they had sown.
The next morning, I woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed. I checked my phone and saw a new text message from an unknown number.
My Messenger was set to block messages from strangers, so Chloe had resorted to a standard text message to continue her performance. It seemed she couldn’t bear being caught with no excuse.
I opened the message. The long, rambling text was a desperate attempt to paint herself as a pitiful victim.
