When my husband told me he had a work party to attend, I didn’t think twice about it. Ten years of marriage had taught me to trust him—or so I thought. But then came a phone call that stopped me cold… and within 24 hours, I was kicking him out of our home.
You’d think after a decade with someone, you’d know them inside and out. You’d believe nothing could shock you. Well, last week I found out that even after ten years, betrayal can still hit you like a punch in the gut… and karma can hit back even harder.
It all began on a Thursday night. Brian walked in from work humming a tune, his mood unusually light. He even had a spring in his step.
“Big news!” he announced, tossing his briefcase on the floor. “The company’s throwing a work party tomorrow night. A team bonding thing. Strictly employees.”
He kissed my forehead like everything was normal.
“It’s going to be boring, so don’t bother coming,” he added. “Just numbers talk and small talk.”
I raised an eyebrow. Brian wasn’t the “party” type—his idea of a wild night was falling asleep in front of a golf game—but I shrugged.
“Fine by me,” I said, already mentally planning my Friday.
The next morning, he was sweeter than usual. Too sweet. While I was cooking breakfast, he wrapped his arms around my waist and murmured, “You know you’re amazing, right?”
I laughed. “What’s this? Trying to earn brownie points?”
“Maybe,” he grinned. Then he handed me his favorite white shirt—the one with the loose button he always complained about. “Can you iron this for me? And, oh, could you make that lasagna I love? The one with extra cheese?”
I smirked. “Anything else, Your Highness?”
“Actually, yes,” he said with a wink. “Could you clean the bathrooms? I like the place spotless. Just in case… guests, you know?”
I rolled my eyes, laughing it off. Brian was picky sometimes, but I figured he was harmless. If only I’d known.
That day, I threw myself into housework—vacuuming, laundry, scrubbing sinks. The lasagna baked in the oven, filling the house with the smell of melted cheese. Everything felt normal.
Until my phone rang.
The number was unfamiliar, and for a second I thought of ignoring it. But I answered.
“Hello?”
At first, I heard nothing but music and muffled laughter. Then came Brian’s voice—clear, sharp, and dripping with sarcasm.
“My wife? She’s probably cooking and scrubbing toilets,” he said. “She’s so predictable. Meanwhile, I’m here with you, my love.”
A woman giggled in the background. My stomach dropped.
The line went dead. Seconds later, a text came through—just an address. No explanation.
I stared at it, my heart pounding. I wanted to believe there was an innocent reason. But deep down, I knew better.
I grabbed my coat, switched off the lasagna, and snatched my car keys. If Brian thought I’d just sit at home playing the fool, he was about to learn otherwise.
The GPS led me across town to a sleek, luxury Airbnb—shiny windows, perfect landscaping, expensive cars in the driveway. Inside, people were laughing, drinking, having a grand time.
I marched up to the door, only to be stopped by a doorman.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
I forced a smile. “Yes, I’m just dropping something off for my husband,” I said, holding up a bucket with a toilet brush and cleaner.
He looked confused but stepped aside.
Heads turned as I walked in, hair messy from cleaning, holding that bucket like a trophy.
And then… there he was.
Brian stood in the center of the room, arm around a young woman in a tight red dress. He looked happier than I’d seen him in years, laughing and sipping champagne.
When he saw me, his face drained of color.
“Emily?” he stammered, stepping back from the woman. “What… what are you doing here?”
I smiled sweetly. “Hi, sweetheart. You left something at home.”
From my bucket, I pulled out the rubber gloves, toilet brush, and cleaner.
“Since you like talking about my cleaning skills, I thought you might need these to clean up the mess you’ve made of our marriage.”
Gasps filled the room. The woman in red stepped away from him.
“You know,” I told the crowd, “Brian loves to play the perfect husband. But apparently, he prefers playing house with anyone who strokes his ego.”
“Emily, let’s go outside and talk,” Brian begged quietly.
“Oh no,” I said. “You didn’t care about privacy when you were mocking me. Why start now?”
I looked around the room. “Enjoy the party, everyone. Just remember—if he cheats with you, he’ll cheat on you.”
I dropped the bucket at his feet and walked out. My phone buzzed again before I even started the car.
“You deserve to know the truth,” the text read. “I’m sorry it had to be this way.”
I called the number. A woman answered.
“My name’s Valerie,” she said after a pause. “I used to work with Brian.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“Because someone had to,” she replied, her voice tight with anger. “I’ve watched him lie and cheat for months. Brag about how easy it is to fool you. I couldn’t stomach it anymore.”
She explained how she’d left the company a month ago but still knew about the so-called party. She’d gotten another female colleague to attend, call me, and let me hear Brian in his own words. Then she sent me the address.
“My husband was the same way,” she said. “I left him years ago. I promised I’d never let another woman stay in the dark if I could help it.”
I should have been furious she dug through records to find me, but all I felt was gratitude.
“Thank you,” I whispered. Then I drove home, not even bothering to meet her in person.
The next morning, I woke up clear-headed. Brian’s clothes were packed in bags by the door. I’d even put a keyhole cover on so his key wouldn’t work.
I didn’t know or care where he’d slept. His phone buzzed with one final text from me: “Enjoy.”
And for the first time in years, I smiled—not out of revenge, but because I finally had my life back. Divorce was next, and I planned to take him for everything he was worth.