The Perfect Wife’s Revenge
I gave up everything—my dreams, my career, my voice—just to keep my husband’s secrets spotless. But when I chased after him, desperate to catch him cheating, I discovered something shocking: I wasn’t the only one watching him.
The List That Ruled My Life
My husband, Kevin, liked things perfect. And not just any kind of perfect—his kind of perfect. The kind only I knew how to deliver.
I even made myself a checklist, just to keep track of all his demands:
HUBBY’S LIST
🧅 NO onions in any sauce—ever
🥩 Steak—medium rare, thick cut only
🌹 Roses in the garden—must bloom year-round
👕 Shirts ironed perfectly, collars stiff
🛏️ Bedsheets—snow-white, hotel crisp
🧽 Kitchen spotless—no crumbs anywhere
🫖 Tea set polished every Sunday
🌿 Herbs by the window—fresh, never dried
One mistake—a single wrinkle, a missing ingredient—and his mood would darken. So I recorded everything. Little reminders, whispered into my phone like prayers.
At first, the recordings were just for him. But slowly, they became for me.
The First Recording That Was Mine
[Monday, 6:12 a.m.] Voice Recording 487:
“First run in five years. Feels like I’m running away from myself. Maybe I am.”
Fifteen minutes before that, I’d been standing at the ironing board since 5 a.m., pressing yet another pillowcase.
Four years of marriage had turned my little library—where I once wrote inspiring articles—into a storage room for spare linens.
I quit my job at the newspaper because Kevin convinced me to.
“With hands like yours? You’re needed here more than anywhere else.”
And so, I stayed. Trapped in a house that wasn’t a home—just a prison of perfection.
The Day I Snapped
[Monday, 7:15 a.m.] Voice Recording 488:
“Kevin left for work. Kissed my cheek. No eye contact. Ordered grilled veggies, steak, and a lemon tart for dinner. Must buy groceries. Note to self: get new fresh lilies.”
But instead of heading to the grocery store… I ran.
No makeup. No plan. Just my old sneakers and the cold morning air.
I thought I’d jog around the block, then return to my duties. But fate had other plans.
At the corner, where our quiet street met the main road, I froze.
Kevin’s car. Parked. Empty.
Why?
He always drove straight to work.
I hid behind a tree like a fool, heart pounding.
Then I saw him—no briefcase, no laptop—just Kevin slipping into the metro.
[Monday, 7:38 a.m.] Voice Recording 489:
“Kevin took the Tube. He always said he drives to the office. Why lie? Where is he really going?”
The Truth Unfolds
Hours later, standing in my spotless kitchen, I realized:
This wasn’t my home.
I was just the maid.
The ghost who folded towels while my husband carried secrets in his pocket.
The Sting Operation
The next morning, I disguised myself—baseball cap, sunglasses, hoodie.
Kevin’s car was in the same spot.
I crouched behind a stinking trash bin, watching as he smiled at his phone.
[Tuesday, 6:57 a.m.] Voice Recording 492:
“He’s waiting. Smiles at his phone. Who makes him smile like that?”
Five minutes later, he headed for the Tube.
I followed.
Two cars behind. Close enough to see. Not close enough to be seen.
Then, I saw her.
Young. Bright. Laughing.
[Tuesday, 7:18 a.m.] Voice Recording 493:
“There she is. He has a type: young, soft, bright. Nothing like the woman ironing his sheets at home.”
They got off the train five stops later.
And that’s when I noticed him.
A tall man in a tan jacket. Watching. Not Kevin—her.
When she turned, he turned.
When she laughed, his jaw clenched.
[Tuesday, 7:32 a.m.] Voice Recording 494:
“The stranger’s watching her. WHO is he?”
The Unexpected Ally
They went into a cheap café. I pretended to scroll my phone outside.
The tall man sat nearby, holding a newspaper—upside down.
Our eyes met.
I mouthed: “Wife.”
He mouthed back: “Father.”
[Tuesday, 7:42 a.m.] Voice Recording 495:
“Her father. Here to see who’s wasting her future. I’m here to see who’s wasting mine.”
We hid behind a marble column, whispering.
“She’s twenty-two. He’s…?”
“Forty.”
Mark—her father—rubbed his neck. “Nice to meet you, Rachel. I guess.”
Then he noticed my recorder.
“Why are you even recording this?”
“For the divorce. I want his lies on tape.”
Mark nodded. “Good. Judges love proof.”
Then he glanced back at his daughter, giggling in Kevin’s lap.
“Her mother thinks I’m controlling. Let her see who our daughter really skips class for.”
We scribbled a plan on a napkin:
✅ Keep recording—every lie is ammo for court.
📸 Take pictures—real faces, real moments.
☕ Catch every promise they’ll regret.
Then, I hit record again as Kevin whispered:
“I’ll leave her for you. Soon. You’re all I want.”
She giggled. “Come over tomorrow night—Mom’s on a business trip. You’ll love her big fancy house just for us. On my birthday.”
The Revenge
The next evening, we waited in the dark.
Mark, Laura (his ex-wife), and me.
Keys rattled. Laughter. Whispered promises.
Then—lights on.
Laura’s voice cut through the room like a knife.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart. Hope you’re proud.”
Kevin’s arm dropped like he’d been burned.
Laura turned to her daughter. “No college money. No rent. No car. Go live with your ‘grown-up boyfriend’ if you love him so much.”
Then I stepped forward.
“I have every lie on tape, Kevin. The prenup says adultery means you get nothing. And that $10,000 penalty? You’ll pay it in monthly checks.”
His face turned white.
The Aftermath
Mark offered me coffee afterward.
Just cheap, strong coffee in a paper cup.
But for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like a ghost.
[Wednesday, 7:59 p.m.] Voice Recording 500:
“Guess revenge does taste better than lemon tart. Note to self: when you need a partner in crime, pick someone who hates lies as much as you do.”
To be continued…