I got home early that evening, and the moment I stepped through the door, Greg greeted me with an unusual smile. It wasn’t the casual, tired grin I was used to. No, this one was big—too big. Almost forced. Then, he did something even stranger.
“Hey, babe!” he said cheerfully. “Long day? How about I give you a foot massage?”
I blinked at him. Greg? Offering a foot massage? The man who barely wanted to pass me the remote when I asked for it? Something was off.
“Are you serious?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Of course! You work so hard. You deserve to be pampered,” he insisted, leading me toward the couch.
I was exhausted, my feet aching from a long day of back-to-back meetings, so I let him take off my shoes. His hands, surprisingly warm and gentle, worked on my feet.
“This is… nice,” I admitted, still suspicious.
He let out a loud laugh, too loud. “Can’t a guy spoil his wife without it being suspicious?”
But it was suspicious. Greg wasn’t like this. At least, not anymore. And then, from down the hall, I heard it.
Click.
A soft, barely-there sound. My body stiffened.
“Did you hear that?” I asked, sitting up straight. “Sounded like the bathroom door…”
Greg was quick—too quick. “Oh, it’s just the pipes! You know how this old house is,” he said, waving a hand dismissively.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “Greg,” I said slowly, “what’s going on?”
“Nothing!” he said, his voice slightly higher than usual. “You’re just tired. Relax.”
But I couldn’t relax. Ignoring him, I stood up and started walking toward the bathroom.
“Wait!” he called after me, a hint of panic in his voice. “Where are you going?”
I didn’t answer. My pulse pounded as I moved down the hallway. The air felt thick, charged, as if the walls themselves knew something I didn’t.
I reached the bathroom and flung the door open. A wave of humid air hit me, warm and heavy. The mirror was slightly fogged, like someone had just been in here. But Greg had been with me the whole time—hadn’t he?
Then I saw it.
A tube of lipstick. Crimson red. Sitting on the counter like a silent confession.
I picked it up, turning to face Greg, who had followed me into the hallway. My fingers curled around the lipstick as I held it up.
“Whose is this?”
Greg’s face went pale. “Uh… it’s yours?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t insult me. You know I don’t wear this color.”
Before he could stammer out another excuse, a muffled sound came from the bedroom.
A sneeze.
My heart stopped. My breath caught in my throat. I turned to Greg, who now looked like he might pass out.
“Care to explain that?” I asked, my voice eerily calm.
He swallowed hard. “It’s nothing. Really. I swear—”
But I wasn’t about to listen to his lies. With my heart hammering, I marched to the bedroom.
“Wait, don’t!” Greg begged, his voice desperate.
Ignoring him, I yanked the closet door open.
There, crouched between my dresses, was a woman.
She gasped, her wide eyes filled with panic. She was clutching a pair of high heels to her chest, as if they could somehow shield her from the storm she had just walked into. Her hair was tousled, and she was wearing—
My robe. My silk robe.
Something inside me snapped.
“Who the hell are you?” I demanded, my voice sharp and steady.
She stood up awkwardly, her face turning beet red. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Oh? Because it looks exactly like my husband sneaking around with another woman in my own house.”
Greg stepped forward, his hands raised as if trying to calm a wild animal. “Honey, please. Let me explain.”
I turned on him, my fury bubbling over. “Explain? Explain what, Greg? That you’ve been cheating on me? That you’re dumb enough to bring her here?” I gestured at the woman, who was now fidgeting, avoiding my eyes.
“Listen,” the woman said weakly. “I thought—” She hesitated, then looked at Greg. “I thought you said she wouldn’t be home.”
I sucked in a breath, my stomach twisting at her words. Greg had planned this. He thought he had time. He thought I wouldn’t catch him.
Greg reached for my arm. “Babe, please—”
I yanked away. “Don’t you dare call me that. You think you can sweet-talk your way out of this? You disgust me. Pack your things and go. Now. Both of you.”
The woman looked at Greg, uncertain. “Greg…?”
“Go with him,” I snapped. “I don’t care where you go, but you’re not staying here.”
Greg’s face fell. “Wait, just listen—”
“Leave!” I shouted, my voice echoing through the house.
The woman grabbed her shoes and scurried out. Greg hesitated, opening his mouth like he wanted to argue, but the fire in my eyes must have shut him up.
He followed her out without another word.
For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the empty doorway. Then, I took a deep breath. This was my house. My life. And Greg wasn’t going to taint it any longer.
I grabbed a box from the garage and started packing his things. Every shirt, every pair of shoes, even the stupid coffee mug he loved. Gone. I worked quickly, not letting myself dwell on the memories tied to each item.
Then, I picked up my phone and called my brother.
“Can you come over?” I asked, my voice steady but tired.
“Of course. What’s going on?”
“Greg’s gone,” I said simply.
Thirty minutes later, my brother was at my door. He didn’t ask too many questions, just hugged me and helped carry Greg’s belongings outside.
By the time Greg returned the next night, looking sheepish and hopeful, I was ready.
“Can we talk?” he asked softly.
I pointed to the pile of his things by the door. “No, Greg. We’re done.”
“Please, just let me—”
“Take your things and go.”
He stood there for a moment, then sighed, grabbed his stuff, and walked out.
The next day, I filed for divorce. And for the first time in a long time, I felt free.
The months that followed weren’t easy. There were nights I felt lonely, moments when the anger bubbled up again. But each day, I felt lighter. Happier. Stronger.
One evening, as I curled up in my newly redecorated living room, I looked around and smiled.
I was happy.
Greg’s betrayal had hurt, but it also reminded me of something important.
I deserved better. And now? I was finally giving myself that chance.
