The Day of My Daughter’s Birthday I received pictures of my husband, Cole Adams, cheating. Cole had not come home because of a work dinner. After putting my daughter, Lily, to bed, I sat on the couch, repeatedly scrolling through the photos on my phone. Buzz— A text message popped up. Unknown Number: “Interested in having a conversation?” My fingers trembled as I typed out a reply. “Who are you?” Unknown Number: “We could meet up to talk. It’s about your husband’s affair.” Immediately after, they sent the address of a café. Looking at the location, I forced myself to stay calm. When Cole finally stumbled in, reeking of alcohol, I acted normal, helping him take off his coat and handing him his slippers. He hugged me from behind, grinning like usual. “Did you miss me?” Before, I might have playfully bantered with him, but not tonight. I had to know if my husband was really cheating. While he was in the bathroom, I checked his clothes in the laundry bin, from his shirt to his socks. I left nothing untouched. Then I saw it—lipstick on his zipper. The sight made me sick to my stomach. I pulled out my phone and replied to the text. “I’ll be there at 3 p.m. tomorrow.” Not three minutes later, they responded: “Good.” That night, I clutched my phone, unable to sleep, with only one thought in my mind. Divorce! But I wouldn’t let Cole get away unscathed. I’d make sure he walked away with nothing, and I was going to ruin him, too. To be honest, I never thought Cole would cheat. When he proposed, he had nothing. He only got his position at Skyline Investments because he married me. My family had set him up with everything he had in Chicago. His friends all thought it was impressive that he married me, and even his difficult mother—Mrs. Evelyn Adams—was proud of him for it. At 3 p.m. the next day, I arrived at Madison Coffee House, as agreed. Sitting by the window was the stranger who had texted me. A woman—nothing extraordinary, but she had a certain maturity about her. She introduced herself as Vivian Kingsley, but told me I could just call her Vivian. As soon as I sat down, she pushed a folder toward me. Vivian said, “You’ll need these if you’re filing for divorce.” Though her words sounded helpful, the certainty with which she assumed I’d divorce Cole rubbed me the wrong way. I didn’t open the folder. Instead, I asked, “Why are you helping me?” “No particular reason. I just don’t want him to have it easy,” she said, stirring her coffee casually. “And there’s one more thing—you were the other woman. You came between me and him.” My grip on the coffee spoon tightened, and for a moment, I almost threw the drink at her. The other woman? What a joke! I had never been anyone’s mistress. Cole and I were legally married. How could I be the other woman? “Don’t misunderstand,” Vivian said with a smile. “You were lied to. You didn’t know, but you were the other woman. Cole and I were college sweethearts. Right after graduation, he made up an excuse to break up with me. Later, I found out it was because he met you.” My nails dug into my palm as I thought back to all the sweet things Cole had told me over the years. I wanted to storm into his office and strangle him. Vivian wasn’t wrong to use the word climb. Cole had climbed his way up thanks to my family—our house, his car, even his job. But arguing with her wouldn’t help me. If I wasn’t careful, it might even play into that scumbag’s hands. “So why contact me now?” I asked, taking a deep breath. “Did he get back in touch with you? Or are you trying to win him back?” Vivian lit a cigarette and gave me a cryptic smile. “You can think bigger,” she said. “Maybe he’s secretly seeing both of us—or more. Who knows? Maybe I’m not the only other woman here.” I let out a bitter laugh. She wasn’t wrong. Otherwise, why would she suddenly show up like this? More than anything, I felt a deep sadness. Five years of marriage, and it was all just a joke.
Vivian told me that Cole wasn’t just seeing her—her private investigator had already found evidence of three different women. She wanted us to work together to bring him down. She wasn’t willing to give this sleaze a chance. That afternoon, we exchanged Instagram details, agreeing to keep in touch. Just as I was leaving the café, Cole called. He started by asking what I was doing and then sweet-talked me, completely unaware that I had just met with one of his mistresses. Suppressing the bile rising in my throat, I told him I was out with a friend for coffee. “Okay, no worries. Mom’s coming over tonight. She bought a ticket to visit Lily. You know she can be a bit difficult, so try to be patient with her,” Cole said. I rolled my eyes, not bothering to respond. His mother wasn’t difficult—she was a nightmare. Every time she visited, it was just to ask for money. The fact that I hadn’t thrown her out of the house with a broom was already a favor, and now he wanted me to be patient? Who did he think he was? Before leaving, Vivian promised to send me the contact information for her private investigator. I didn’t refuse, but I didn’t accept either. I didn’t refuse because anyone who could get those photos must have some skills. I didn’t accept because this was all starting to feel like a game of Werewolf, and I didn’t want to be the next one caught by surprise. At 6:30 p.m., I picked Lily up from preschool. When we got home, Mrs. Adams was already sitting on the porch, her face sour as ever. “Always running around, never staying home! What’s the point?” she scolded. “Can’t that little girl walk herself? You still need to pick her up? If you’re so bored, you should go have a son for Cole!” I ignored her, taking Lily inside. Mrs. Adams, of course, got even more upset. She started yelling through the door, “What kind of attitude is that? I’m your mother! Who are you showing that face to?” If I wasn’t planning to confront Cole about the affair soon, I would’ve marched out there and ripped her a new one. But she was quick. As soon as I opened Instagram, Cole’s messages started flooding in. Cole: “Babe, don’t fight with Mom. She’s still your mother-in-law. Apologize, okay?” To hell with that! I almost typed out exactly what I was thinking. This man, who was out there sleeping with God knows how many women, and his mother, who treated me like a walking ATM, thought I was supposed to be grateful? I was so angry that I didn’t even read his syrupy love messages. They only made me sick now. I asked him, “Are you coming home for dinner?” Cole: “I’ve got work tonight. I won’t be back.” Work? That word made my skin crawl. Who knew who he was really working with? I knew he was lying, but I still replied the way I always did. “Be safe. Come home early.” After helping Lily with her homework, I opened the door to find Mrs. Adams standing there, clearly eavesdropping. She nearly fell when I opened the door, and immediately started her usual rant. “What’s with all the secrets? We’re family! You’re not allowed to talk without me listening? You’re probably bad-mouthing me, aren’t you?” I frowned, noticing that she was wearing the brand-new slippers Lily had just bought. “Mom, there’s a pair of slippers for you in the cabinet,” I said, already knowing how this would end. She didn’t care. She never did. “What about it? I’m her grandma. Everything in this house belongs to my son. Why can’t I wear what I want?” I held my tongue and went to the kitchen to start dinner. I wasn’t in the mood to argue, not when I knew what was really going on with Cole. I had barely opened the fridge when she started again. “Do you think my son’s money grows on trees? Why are you buying so much fruit? You can’t even eat it all! What a waste!” My fists clenched, but I calmly replied, “I bought it with my own money.” Mrs. Adams wasn’t about to let it go, though. “Oh, your money isn’t my son’s money? And what’s with the ribs? We don’t need something so fancy. Just make some vegetables!” She reached for the ribs, but I slammed them down on the counter before she could take them. She stared at me, shocked. Without saying a word, I pulled out the biggest knife we had.
I started chopping the ribs, each swing of the knife harder than the last. “You listening to me?” Mrs. Adams shrieked. “I’m calling Cole! What kind of wife are you? You’ve been married for years and haven’t given him a son! You just spend money like it’s nothing!” If murder wasn’t illegal, I would’ve cut her right there. But I smiled instead and said, “You’re right, Mom. I’ll just put the ribs away. Why don’t you go rest in the guest room?” She huffed, clearly pleased with herself, and shuffled off, thinking she’d won. I calmly went back to preparing the ribs, ignoring my phone as it buzzed with messages. I said I wasn’t going to cook them, but I didn’t say I wouldn’t stew them. By dinnertime, Mrs. Adams was fuming. I didn’t care. I served Lily a bowl of rib soup and then checked my phone. Ninety-nine unread messages. All from Cole. Probably begging me to apologize to his mother. I ignored them, grinning as I called out, “Mom, aren’t you going to eat? The rib soup smells delicious!” She glared at me. “Eat? Are you crazy? No man’s home and you’re making this fancy stuff? What’s wrong with you?” She lunged for the pot, but I swatted her hand away with my chopsticks. I had been playing nice long enough, but now she was crossing the line in front of Lily. I couldn’t stand for that. Mrs. Adams screamed. “You hit me?! You’ve lost your mind!” Without a word, I ladled a bowl of soup for myself, picking out the biggest pieces of ribs. Her face turned bright red with rage. “Mom, if you’ve eaten enough, maybe you could go for a walk. Lily and I still have dinner to finish,” I said, smiling sweetly. “I bought those ribs, so how I eat them is my business.” She wasn’t about to back down, though. In her mind, only her son was allowed to enjoy good food in this house. But I didn’t stop her when she reached for the pot this time. The burner was still on, and she yelped as the heat burned her hands. Realizing she couldn’t win, Mrs. Adams shifted to playing the victim, wailing dramatically about what a terrible daughter-in-law she had. Lily was scared, running off to her room without finishing her meal. I ignored the old woman’s theatrics, cleaned up the table, and went to check my messages. Cole’s video call came in just as I opened Instagram. I declined it immediately. Vivian had sent me a few photos. In them, Cole was drinking with his buddies at a bar, sitting next to a girl I didn’t recognize. She was young and pretty. Vivian: “Did he tell you he had a work dinner tonight?” I replied, “Yes.” Vivian typed quickly. Vivian: “Funny. He told me he was at home, complaining about how you and his mom were fighting.” I didn’t acknowledge that, only asked where the photos came from. Vivian: “Private investigator. He’s at Eclipse Lounge with his buddies right now.” “Who’s the girl?” I asked. Vivian: “New intern at his company. Comes from a poor family, but she’s cute and knows how to sweet-talk him. Notice she’s the only woman at the table?”
Thanks to Vivian’s message, I saw the truth in those photos. Cole might not be model-material, but he looked good enough to fool me into falling for him—and apparently a few others, too. Vivian sent a few more rapid-fire messages. I didn’t reply. Instead, I pulled up Cole’s chat. I couldn’t even sigh anymore at his constant stream of messages. He was just a mama’s boy who liked to sleep around. What else was there to say? After thinking for a second, I typed a message to him. “How’s work going, honey? Is it exhausting?” Whether he was on his phone or distracted by his “work,” he replied quickly. Cole: “It’s fine. My boss keeps making me drink. I might not make it home tonight. I’ll probably crash at a coworker’s place.” How convenient—he had already lined up his excuse for not coming home. I stifled my anger and responded the way I always did, “Take care of yourself. Come home soon.” Cole, ever the suck-up, even sent a photo to prove his “innocence.” The photo matched the background and number of people in Vivian’s pictures, minus one key detail: he didn’t include the girl sitting next to him. “Don’t drink too much. Look after your stomach,” I replied. His next message was about his mother, telling me how hard she worked and that I should apologize. I didn’t even bother reading the rest. I knew I would vomit if I continued. At the end of the day, Cole was just a man caught between his mother and his lies. It was almost comical how blind he was to the truth. I scrolled through Instagram, ignoring him, before texting Vivian. “Can we meet tomorrow?” “Sure.” She replied almost instantly. “Same place.” I didn’t think much of it after that. I wasn’t interested in forming a long-term alliance with someone like Vivian. People who could be mistresses weren’t the kind of people I trusted. Morality wasn’t something everyone had. Neither were proper values. Cole didn’t come home until nearly dawn. I could hear his mother filling his ears with complaints about me, practically declaring war from the other side of the door. But I had to give her credit. Mrs. Adams stayed up all night just to make sure she could complain about me to her precious son. “Wifey,” Cole whispered as he slid into bed, his hands wandering under the blanket. “Missed me?” Miss your mom! I barely stopped myself from snapping at him. Before I realized he was cheating, I hadn’t noticed how selfish he was. Now, every little flaw in his behavior was painfully clear to me—especially the way he disturbed my sleep. I pushed him off. “Stop.” But he quickly tried again, laughing as he tugged at my clothes. At that moment, one word popped into my head: duty. But I wasn’t about to subject myself to that. I wasn’t going to let him have his way. I flipped over, stiff as a board. “Your mom’s listening outside.” He froze. Then I asked, “How long is your mom staying this time?” Cole didn’t answer right away, but his shocked expression said everything. Of course, he wondered why I was asking—before, I’d practically worshiped his mother. Now, I was finally standing up to her. Before he could respond, Mrs. Adams banged on the door. “This is my son’s house! I’ll stay as long as I like! Now, hurry up and give me a grandson! My boy can’t be the last in the family line!” I laughed bitterly. “You hear that? Your mom wants a grandson. After all, your family needs an heir, right?” This was the first time I’d thrown barbs at Cole, but it wouldn’t be the last. “Wifey, my mom didn’t mean—” “Sleep,” I interrupted him. The next morning, I used taking Lily to her tutoring class as an excuse to leave the house. Mrs. Adams made her usual jabs, criticizing me for spending so much money on our daughter’s education. Once in the car, I contacted the private investigator Vivian had introduced. I needed proof of Cole’s affairs. My demands were simple: First, I wanted to know how many women Cole had been with, for how long, and I needed photographic evidence—ideally, with recordings. Second, I wanted to know if he had given these women money or gifts of any significant value. With those in hand, I could make sure Cole walked away from our marriage with nothing. The private investigator wasn’t cheap, but I could afford him. However, I wasn’t stupid. I didn’t trust Vivian, and I didn’t trust him. We met at the same café as before, but this time, it was a young man in a trench coat. I wasn’t sure why, but my intuition immediately told me something was off. There was a faint, almost imperceptible smell of perfume on him. His mannerisms didn’t match what I expected from a private investigator. He cheerfully ordered me a coffee, and when he handed it to me, he made sure to brush his fingers against mine. I’ve done plenty of housework over the years and raised a daughter. Even though I spend money on skincare, my hands are far from delicate. But this man’s hands? They were softer than mine—either he was young or he had never worked a day in his life.
“Mrs. Wagner, you look far too young to have a child. You’re beautiful,” he complimented, but I didn’t respond. He then dove into the details of Cole’s affair, going on for a while before I interrupted him. “How do you know Vivian?” He paused for a moment but quickly recovered, flashing a smile. “Mrs. Kingsley? A client referred her to me.” That one sentence was all I needed to know. Every time this so-called private investigator said something, his phone buzzed with a notification. In less than three minutes, it had buzzed seven or eight times. I glanced over at his phone. His chat list was filled with brightly colored avatars—all women. “Business seems good. Are all these women clients hiring you to catch cheating husbands?” I asked, smirking. He quickly pocketed his phone and nodded eagerly. “Yes, Mrs. Wagner. I’ve seen cases like yours before. You should start preparing for divorce. Men like your husband forget all about their wives once there’s a new flame.” I nodded. “I understand. How long will it take for you to gather photos, recordings, and everything else I need?” Caught off guard by my quick change of topic, he stammered, “T-Two weeks?” “Okay. We’ll be in touch.” I stood up to leave. “Not staying for more coffee?” he asked, surprised. “Why would I? Haven’t we said all we need to?” Maybe it was my sudden cold demeanor, but he didn’t say anything else. I glanced back at his clean-shaven face and smiled to myself. How interesting. Vivian had definitely sent me a fake detective.
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