“A size Small?” My gaze zeroed in on the bikini tucked inside Derek’s suitcase. I wore a Medium. This was definitely not mine. When he walked out of the bathroom, I asked him, “Company retreat to Bali with your colleagues?” “Yeah, the company organized it,” he said, his smile easy. I smiled too. “Are you sure the company will reimburse you for the $17,000?” His hand froze. “Wh-what $17,000?” “A double ocean-view suite, $1,170 a night, for seven days. Do the math.” Derek’s face instantly drained of color. The towel wrapped around him dropped to the floor. And those two scratch marks on his butt? Definitely not from me. “You… you checked my credit card?” “It’s a joint account, Derek. I checked *my* card.” I leaned against the doorframe, watching him. He bent to pick up the towel, rewrapping it around his waist. “That was… that was just me paying upfront. I’m getting reimbursed tomorrow.” “So, what about the bikini?” “Oh, my assistant must have grabbed the wrong luggage for me.” He avoided my gaze. I didn’t say another word, turning and walking out of the bathroom. I heard him call out from behind me, “Don’t overthink it, Elara. It really was just a company trip.” Overthink? I walked back to the bedroom, closed the door, and grabbed my phone. The credit card statement – I’d just received a pre-authorization notification this afternoon. A five-star hotel in Bali, a honeymoon suite, seven days. A pre-authorization of $8,200. I zoomed in on the booking screenshot. The order showed two names: Skylar and Derek. I’d met Skylar before – that 25-year-old girl from his office. I’d delivered some files to his company once. She’d called him “Mr. Peterson,” smiling sweetly. And yes, she was a size Small. My fingers trembled a little, but I forced myself to stay calm. I couldn’t alert him. He was leaving tomorrow for seven days. I had seven days. The next morning, Derek wheeled his suitcase out the door. “Honey, be careful on your trip.” I stood at the door, waving with a smile. “Mmm, you take good care of Leo at home.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ll be back soon.” “How many people are going on this company trip?” “About ten, I guess. The core members of the department.” “Is Skylar going too?” He paused. “Yeah, she’s my assistant, so she has to.” “Oh,” I nodded. “Well, have fun then.” The elevator doors closed, his smile still plastered on his face. I shut the apartment door, and my smile instantly vanished. Walking back to the bedroom, I pulled out his spare phone. He thought I didn’t know the password, but I’d seen him type it in several times. I opened the photo album, then ‘recently deleted’. Eighty-seven photos. The first was a Bali beach. Skylar, in a bikini, beaming. Around her neck, a diamond necklace. It looked familiar. I walked to my dresser, opening my jewelry box. The necklace Derek gave me last year for my birthday, the one he said cost $5,200? The one I’d treasured and worn constantly? Now, it looked fake. The real one was around Skylar’s neck. I scrolled through all the photos. Holding hands by the beach, feeding each other in restaurants, embracing in the pool, kissing in the hotel. Each photo twisted a knife in my gut. But I didn’t cry. I screenshotted them, saved them, then put the phone back exactly where I found it. I walked into the living room. Leo was playing with his toys. “Mommy, where’s Daddy?” “He’s away on a business trip.” I squatted down, stroking his hair. “Do you miss him?” “No. Daddy’s never home anyway.” My three-year-old had already gotten used to his father’s absence. “Mommy, can we go to Grandma Eleanor’s house today?” “Okay.” I picked him up, grabbed my phone, and sent Chloe a SnapChat message. “Can you help me with something?” “What is it?” “Can you look into someone for me? Skylar, 25, works at Derek’s company.” Chloe instantly replied: “He’s cheating?” “Yeah.” “Evidence?” “I have some, but it’s not enough.” “What do you need me to do?” “Her background, social media, recent movements.” “Consider it done.” I put down my phone and took Leo out. At my parents’ house, Eleanor was cooking. “What brings you here?” “Derek’s away on a business trip, so I brought Leo to stay for a few days.” “Derek’s away again? Didn’t he just go last month?” “Work’s busy.” Eleanor gave me a look but didn’t press it.
I handed Leo over to Arthur, then walked into the bedroom, giving Eleanor a meaningful glance. “Mom, I need to transfer my $27,600 to your account.” “Why?” “Nothing, it’ll just be safer with you.” Eleanor stared at me. “You and Derek…” “I suspect he’s cheating,” I whispered, “but I don’t have concrete proof yet. I need to secure my money first.” Eleanor’s face paled. “That jerk!” “Mom, please don’t make a scene. I need to deal with him slowly.” “You’re going to divorce him?” “Yes. But I need to get the evidence first, otherwise Leo and I will get nothing.” Eleanor squeezed my hand. “My dear, you’ve suffered so much.” “I’m not suffering. I just regret.” Regret what? Regret that five years ago, when he said, “Just be a stay-at-home mom, I’ll take care of you,” I believed him. Regret quitting my job, staying home full-time with our child, losing my financial independence. Regret that after we got married, his “I’ll take care of you” turned into “You’re spending *my* money.” But there was no point dwelling on that now. I had to get back what was mine. That night, I sat on my parents’ balcony, opening Derek’s credit card statement. Bali, 32 transactions. A total of $17,000. Last year, when my dad was in the hospital for stent surgery, I asked Derek for $6,900. He said: “The company’s cash flow is tight right now. I can only give you $690, the rest we’ll discuss at the end of the year.” $690. I *begged* him. He transferred the $690 and then told me, “Your dad has his pension. Don’t always come to me for money.” I remembered that day, standing in the hospital corridor, looking at the $690 on my phone, wanting to smash it. Later, I used all my pre-marital savings to pay for my dad’s surgery. $20,700, money I’d saved for eight years. When Derek found out, all he said was, “You’re so filial.” And that was it. Now, he was spending $17,000 on his mistress in seven days. An average of $2,400 a day. I took a deep breath and continued scrolling through the statement. Chloe sent a message. “Found her. Skylar, born in 1999. Parents run a business out of state. She joined Derek’s company two years ago as an assistant. Monthly salary, about $1,100.” “Recent movements?” “Her social media has most people blocked, but I have my ways.” Chloe sent several screenshots. Skylar’s Ins post, three hours ago: a Bali sunset by the ocean, captioned, “The most beautiful scenery is having you by my side.” In the photo, she wore a long dress, and that necklace sparkled in the setting sun. The comments section had seven or eight likes. One read: “With your boyfriend?” Skylar replied: “Yep, he’s great to me.” *Boyfriend*. I chuckled. “Can you connect me with a lawyer?” “Divorce lawyer?” “Yes, a specialist. Someone who’s handled a lot of divorce cases.” “Okay, I’ll get you a contact tomorrow.” “Also, can you connect me with a private investigator?” “You want…” “I want concrete evidence. The kind that’s admissible in court.” Chloe didn’t say anything. A moment later: “Any budget?” “No, I have $27,600. I’ll use it all.” “Alright, leave it to me.” I put down my phone, looking out at the night. Derek, you probably expect me to cry, to make a scene, to corner you like some whiny mess. But I won’t. I’ll calmly collect the evidence, then I’ll strip you clean in court. Every single penny you spent on Skylar, I’ll make you cough it up, principal and interest.
On the third day, Chloe brought me to meet Ms. Harrison. Ms. Harrison was in her late 40s, had handled hundreds of divorce cases, and had a 92% win rate. “Ms. Elara, I have a basic understanding of your situation.” Ms. Harrison flipped through the documents I’d brought. “What are your demands?” “First, divorce. Second, full custody of my son. Third, division of assets – I want what’s rightfully mine.” “What are the assets?” “Joint marital assets include a house, valued at $385,000, with an $110,000 mortgage remaining, so a net value of $275,000. Savings: $69,000 in his name, $27,600 in mine. Stocks and funds, about $41,000. Total, around $413,000.” Ms. Harrison nodded. “If we can prove he committed adultery and used marital assets to purchase expensive items for a third party, you can request a larger share.” “How much?” “Normally it’s 50/50, but with sufficient evidence, you could get 60-70%, which would be $247,000 to $289,000.” “I want 70%.” “Then you’ll need to provide sufficient evidence.” Ms. Harrison looked at me. “What do you have right now?” I pulled out my phone and showed her the screenshots. “Matching outfits, credit card statements, hotel bookings, phone photos, the third party’s social media posts.” Ms. Harrison reviewed each one. “These are all good, but they’re not enough.” “Not enough?” “In court, the other side could claim the photos are doctored, the statements are for business expenses, and the social media posts are coincidental. You need more direct evidence.” “Like what?” “For example, intimate videos of them, or a recording of him admitting to the affair, or a third-party witness statement.” “Third party?” “For instance, his company’s HR. Someone who can confirm that this wasn’t a company retreat at all, but his personal annual leave.” My eyes lit up. “Right, I can ask HR.” “And the private investigator. If they can get intimate videos of them, that would be irrefutable proof.” “I’ve already contacted one.” Ms. Harrison nodded approvingly. “Ms. Elara, you’re very smart and remarkably calm. Many people in this situation are emotionally shattered and can’t do anything.” “Because I know crying won’t solve anything.” I looked at her. “I want results, not an outlet for my emotions.” “Good, then let’s start preparing.” Ms. Harrison pulled out a document. “This is a template for a divorce agreement. Take a look. Our strategy is to collect evidence first, and once it’s sufficient, then file for divorce.” “He’ll be back in seven days. I have seven days.” “That’s enough,” Ms. Harrison said. “In these seven days, you need to do a few things: First, contact his company’s HR to confirm if the company trip is real or not. Second, have the private investigator go to Bali to get videos. Third, recover his deleted chat logs; there’s bound to be a lot of useful information there.” “How do I recover chat logs?” “I have specialists who can recover deleted data from phones.” “How much?” “$1,400.” “Okay, I’ll pay it.” Ms. Harrison extended her hand. “A pleasure working with you, Ms. Elara.” “A pleasure working with you.” Back at my parents’ house, Leo was already asleep. I sat in the bedroom and called Derek’s company HR. “Hello, Human Resources.” “Hi, I’m Derek Peterson’s wife. I wanted to confirm the dates for the company’s Bali retreat, if you could.” “Bali retreat?” Ms. Evans’ voice sounded confused. “Our company didn’t organize a Bali retreat this year.” My heart hammered. “No?” “No, our annual team-building event is next month, in a different location, not Bali.” “So Derek’s trip to Bali was…” “Oh, Mr. Peterson took annual leave. Seven days, November 15th to 22nd.” *Annual leave.* I closed my eyes. “Okay, thank you.” “You’re welcome.” I hung up, leaning back in the chair. Annual leave. He told me it was a company trip, but it was actually his personal annual leave. Seven days of annual leave, taking his mistress to Bali, spending $17,000, all with our family’s money. I opened my phone and sent a SnapChat to the private investigator. “Can you go to Bali?” “Yes, when?” “Now. As soon as possible.” “What do you need me to film?” “Intimate videos of them. The clearer, the better.” “Understood.” “How much?” “Round-trip airfare and hotel, about $2,800. Service fee $1,400. Total $4,100.” $4,100. My pre-marital savings were $20,700. I’d saved another $6,900 over the past five years, making a total of $27,600. I spent $20,700 on my dad’s medical bills, leaving $6,900, which I transferred to Eleanor for safekeeping. Now, I needed to take out $4,100, leaving only $2,800. But it didn’t matter. As long as I got the evidence to make Derek walk away empty-handed, this $4,100 was worth it. “Okay, I’ll transfer the money.” “Received. I’ll depart tomorrow.” I put down my phone, staring at the ceiling. Derek, we’ve been married for five years. You went from “I’ll take care of you” to “You’re spending *my* money.”
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