As I was cleaning the room over the weekend, I swept under the bed and found a wrapper. Any adult would know what it was. Mia and I had been trying for a baby for over two months without using any protection, so there’s no way that thing was mine. I looked at the wrapper closely—it was clearly used recently. A terrible thought exploded in my mind: Was Mia cheating on me? I found a cigarette butt in the trash can in our bathroom, and I don’t smoke. My wife, Mia, hates the smell of cigarettes—so who smoked it? We hadn’t had any guests over recently. Holding the cigarette butt, I asked Mia who had been here. She stammered, saying it might have been left by the guy who came to fix the water heater. Our water heater had been broken for a while, and it was indeed fixed recently, so I didn’t think much of it at the time. But then, over the weekend, while cleaning, I found a wrapper under the bed. Any adult would know what it was. Mia and I had been trying to have a baby for two months without protection. So, this contraceptive wrapper wasn’t mine. I looked at it again—it was obviously used recently. That horrible thought resurfaced: Was Mia cheating on me? I didn’t confront her right away. With work keeping me so busy, I hadn’t spent much time with her lately, and things between us had become tense. I wanted to believe this was all just a misunderstanding. The next day, I took a day off from work and sent Mia out to hang with her friends on purpose. I called the home appliance repair company, claiming our water heater was broken again, and requested the same guy who had come last time. About fifteen minutes later, he arrived—a tall, clean-cut young man. He smiled confidently as he came in. I led him to the bathroom and, as a test, I pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered him one. To my surprise, he immediately pushed it away, saying, “Sorry, man, I don’t smoke.” I was stunned, but more than that, I was suspicious. The cigarette butt in the trash hadn’t come from him. Mia had lied to me. He checked the water heater and told me nothing was wrong. I mumbled some excuse and sent him on his way. He was polite, but as he was leaving, he said something that completely threw me off: “Hope you’re feeling better, man. Your wife’s been worried about you.” Feeling better? What was he talking about? I pulled him back inside and asked more questions. He told me that when he was here a few days ago, he heard a man coughing in the bedroom. Mia had said it was me—she told him I had a fever and was resting. My mind reeled in shock. That night, I wasn’t even home. I had been working late and didn’t get back until after midnight. So, whoever that man was, it wasn’t me. I asked if he had seen the man’s face. He shook his head. I handed him $500 and told him to keep this between us. I rushed to the nearest Best Buy and bought a hidden camera, planning to gather evidence. I looked all over the bedroom for a good spot, and finally, I noticed the gap between some suitcases on top of the wardrobe—a perfect place to hide the camera. As I stood on a chair, ready to install the camera, I spotted something strange in the gap. I reached in and pulled out a hidden camera—one much more sophisticated than mine. Who had put this here? And when? Someone had been spying on me and Mia. A flood of questions raced through my mind. I didn’t want to alert anyone, so I carefully put the camera back. At that moment, my phone rang. It was Mia. She purred into the phone, “Hey honey, are you home? Are you heading back to work this afternoon?” Why was she asking? Could it be that she was planning to bring her lover to our house? I calmly answered, “No, I just left for work. You’ll have to grab lunch by yourself.” She sighed and hung up. I decided to stay hidden at home and catch them red-handed. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, just in case. Around noon, I heard Mia’s laughter outside the door. I peered through the peephole. Mia was all dressed up—heavy makeup, a revealing outfit—and she was clinging to a man I recognized all too well: Randy Johnson, my coworker. Randy was the type of guy who flirted with half the women in the office. Everyone knew about his affairs. He and I were cordial, but nothing more. But how did he end up with Mia? They were standing so close, his arm around her waist, looking more intimate than I could handle. Inside, I was boiling with rage, gripping the knife so tightly my palms were sweaty. My whole body trembled as I fought the urge to run out and tear them apart. But I held myself back. Instead, I pulled out my phone to take pictures as evidence. Just as I clicked the camera, the shutter sound went off loudly. They might not have heard it, but I panicked and dropped the knife on the tiled floor, which made a sharp, echoing noise. Immediately, they stopped talking. I ran to the kitchen and pretended to be busy. A minute later, Mia slowly opened the door and, hearing me in the kitchen, came to check on me. Seeing me chopping vegetables, she asked cautiously, “Honey, I thought you went to work?” I smiled and said, “I heard you sounded a bit down on the phone, so I figured I’d make you lunch before heading back to work.” But inside, I was thinking: You lying cheat, did I ruin your little plan? Mia wrapped her arms around me from behind, whispering about how lucky she was to have me, saying she was the happiest woman in the world. I swallowed my disgust and played along.
The entire afternoon, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I would deal with those two. I knew I needed solid evidence of their affair. I checked the photos I had taken through the peephole, but they were too blurry to identify anyone. That night, Mia went to take her usual bath. Oddly enough, this time, she didn’t bring her phone with her. The screen was blinking with notifications, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there might be some incriminating messages. While she was in the shower, I picked up her phone. Her password was her birthday, so I easily unlocked it. I opened WhatsApp and saw a few unread messages from Randy. I hesitated. If I read them, would Mia know? But I couldn’t stop myself. I clicked them open. What I found left me stunned. They had started seeing each other two months ago—right after that company dinner, when Mia had attended as my plus-one. I couldn’t believe it. They had only met once before hooking up, and for the thrill of it, they had done it right here in my home. And they had timed it around when I got off work. It was a complete betrayal of everything I believed. But what shocked me more was that they had a plan. Before Mia and I got married, we had signed a fidelity agreement stating that if either of us cheated, the guilty party would leave the marriage with nothing. All our assets, the house, the cars—they were all paid for by me. Mia was planning to take everything. And it was her idea. Randy had agreed to help her pull it off. They even had a lengthy video call discussing it. What was Randy going to do for her? Were they plotting something even bigger? I had kept myself faithful to this marriage, barely interacting with the cleaning lady, let alone having an affair. How did Randy plan to frame me? I scrolled further through their chat and discovered that the hidden camera in the bedroom had been planted by Mia, following Randy’s instructions. I checked Mia’s spending history and found that they regularly booked rooms at the same Hilton Hotel. When Mia got out of the shower, I put her phone back and carefully observed her reaction when she picked it up. She seemed unaware that I had gone through it. Over the next few days, I continued to go to work as usual. Every time I saw Randy was missing from the office, I pretended to be sick and took the day off, spending my time staking out the hotel, taking pictures to gather more evidence. What I discovered was shocking. Randy wasn’t just cheating with Mia—he brought a different woman to the hotel each time. The guy was a total scumbag. After about a week, I had enough evidence, but I wasn’t ready to confront Mia or file for divorce yet. I had a plan to make Randy suffer first.
One morning, I arrived at work, and Randy was already there, smiling and greeting me like nothing had happened. He looked so innocent, it was disgusting. He had been sleeping with our overweight boss, Mrs. Smith—everyone knew it. She had made advances toward me in the past, but I had rejected her, which had led to her giving me a hard time at work. Lately, Randy’s workload had mysteriously lightened, even though he often showed up late, left early, or skipped days entirely. And yet, he was still being considered for Employee of the Month. It had to be because of his relationship with Mrs. Smith. I couldn’t believe he was willing to go that far for success. Mrs. Smith’s husband was notoriously strict with her. He would stop by the office unannounced to keep an eye on her, and Randy and Mrs. Smith would sneak off to the stairwell for their rendezvous. One day, I managed to snap some photos of them together. I also had pictures of Randy from the hotel with her. Once I had everything ready, I anonymously sent all the photos to Mr. Smith—showing them hugging, kissing, the whole disgusting affair. The very next day, Mr. Smith stormed into the office with several big guys in tow. Randy, sensing danger, tried to run, but he didn’t get far. The men grabbed him and beat him so badly he was spitting blood. A few coworkers threatened to call the police, so they finally stopped. Mrs. Smith, terrified, hid in her office but was soon dragged out by her furious husband. After the chaos, I helped Randy up, pretending to be concerned. Seeing him bruised and barely able to stand was deeply satisfying. That evening, back at home, Mia casually asked, “I heard Randy got beaten up at work. How is he?” I held back a laugh. It was clear she had heard from Randy himself. “Yeah,” I said, “apparently he was hooking up with our boss, and her husband found out. He came in and beat him up.” As I told her this, I watched her closely. Her expression didn’t change much, which made me wonder—did she know about Randy’s other affairs? If she did and still stayed with him, well, that just proved the old saying true: “Birds of a feather flock together.” After dinner, I got up to do the dishes, but Mia stopped me, saying I had been working too hard lately and that she’d take care of them. I found it odd. She hadn’t offered to do this in a while. As I sat back down, I noticed her phone lighting up with a notification. I clicked on it—it was a message from Randy. Their previous chat history was gone. Had she deleted it because she knew I had checked? But the message made my blood run cold: “I got my test results. I have HIV.”
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