Husband Found Out About The Affair In His Wife's Past And Took Surprise Revenge On Her.

Life has a funny way of unraveling the best-laid plans, which is why I don't even bother with them anymore. There was a time, back before my divorce, when I was all about planning. At work, I'd anticipate every possible scenario, always prepared with a backup for when things didn't go as expected. Then today, I got a call: my ex-wife, Betsy, was in the hospital, and my daughter insisted that I come. I hadn't seen Betsy in over a year and wasn't eager to change that, but when my daughter Lisa asks me for something, it's tough to

refuse. So, I got in the car and made the nearly hour-long drive through the snarl of traffic to Allentown General Hospital, where Lisa had taken her mother. Parking, I hoped this visit would be quick. At the information desk, I learned Betsy had been admitted two days earlier. A nurse guided me to her room, mentioning that Betsy was still asleep. "What's wrong with her?" I asked. "Your wife—" I cut in, grinning. "Ex-wife. Very ex-wife." She chuckled, but then her expression turned serious. "Dad, please tell me you're not flirting with the nurse while Mom's in the hospital,"

Lisa said from behind me. "Of course not, Lisa," I replied with a smirk. "If I were, I'd at least have asked her name." The nurse gave a soft laugh. "Bonnie," she said. "Oh, that suits you," I commented, catching Lisa's eye as she rolled her eyes and nudged me toward the room, breaking the moment. Inside, the room was grim, with four beds that only added to the sterile, depressing atmosphere. "Wow, this place could use a decorator," I muttered to Lisa. "She's here because she doesn't have health insurance. Bad, Evan. I tried to add her to our

plan, but he couldn't swing it, and the only other person who could—" she trailed off, her meaning hanging in the air. "Lisa, honey, I’d do almost anything for you, but you have to understand: your mom and I are divorced. I followed the judge's orders to the letter and did what was necessary, but I don't owe her more than that." Lisa's voice softened as she looked down at her mother lying there. "She never wanted a divorce, you know. She still loves you, Dad. Even now." I scoffed, my tone harsh. "Wanting something doesn't make it right. Your

mom and I are over because of choices she made." "I know what happened, Dad. I was there. But sometimes it feels like you two still belong together. She loves you so much. Look at her—she's withering away!" "Some folks don't age gracefully," I replied coldly. "Maybe she just needs to take better care of herself." "She needs love and support! That's why she's wasting away!" Lisa shot back, hurt flashing in her eyes. "Is that so much to ask for?" I sighed, frustrated. "Lisa, I loved her once—enough to put my pride aside and try to fix things, even

after everything that happened. But I couldn't keep doing it forever. Some men can handle that, but I'm not one of them." Lisa shook her head. "Maybe some women love more than one person, and sometimes it works." "But not for you, right?" she paused, looking down. "I just don't get it. You're not the type to walk away from something." "Some things are better left behind, Lisa. When the marriage was over, I split everything except the house. Her lawyer combed through all of our finances—" "Then why—" she said, her tone suddenly suspicious. "Are you driving a customized

Mustang? Evan thinks it cost fifty grand, and meanwhile, Mom's struggling just to get by." "Maybe I've got better credit," I answered tersely, shrugging. "Look, I'll sit with her while she's out so you can get a break. You could probably use one." Lisa sighed, relenting a bit. "Thanks, Dad. She might not even wake up. They've had her on medication, and they're still unsure if she took too much by accident or on purpose. She's been slipping, Dad—drinking more, not eating properly—exhausted and dehydrated. Good chance she'll stay asleep then," I said, trying to lighten things a bit. Lisa

didn't seem amused. "Dad, if she does wake up, please just be kind for my sake, all right?" "Lisa, I agreed quietly." She leaned down, kissed my cheek, and left. I settled into the chair beside Betsy's bed and pulled out my iPad, intending to read, but my mind wandered. Two years had passed since this all began, but somehow it still felt raw. Thinking back, I remembered the way I'd do anything for Lisa when she was young. She used to concoct these strange mixes of candy, and I pretended to love every single one, smiling and telling her

how great they were. One evening, Lisa invited us over for dinner. It was nice, though she still hadn't mastered cooking. The roast was tough and dry, but Evan kept my drink topped off, probably sensing I'd needed to get through the meal. Thankfully, I don't drink much, or I'd have been stumbling out of there. Still, I enjoyed the time with my family. I spent some of it with Lisa's little boy, Martin, who was named after me. He was adorable, and in my eyes, he could do no wrong. The highlight of the evening, though, was when Lisa

and Evan announced she was pregnant again. "Evan, what are you doing to my daughter?" I joked, earning a chuckle from the table. We moved on to the usual discussions about baby names. Lisa mentioned they liked the name Emma if it was a girl, after Evan's mom. I suggested the name Thomas for a boy, after Evan's dad, and he seemed to like that idea. But then Betsy chimed in, taking things in a different direction. "You've already got a grandkid named after you," she said, her tone sharper. than necessary. Maybe it's time to let someone else decide."

I grinned. "Oh yeah, let me guess: Betsy for a girl, Benjamin for a boy." "Well, actually I was thinking about Michael," she said. "We could call him Mike." The mood shifted. Lisa looked at me, her expression unreadable. "I'm not sure about that," she said. "I think I like Dad's suggestion better, don't you, Evan?" Evan was still caught up in the moment, picturing his dad's reaction to a grandson named after him. He just nodded. Betsy reached for my hand, but I pulled back instinctively. Lisa hadn't noticed my reaction. "So, Dad," she asked, her tone icy, "what

do you think?" I kept my voice as steady as I could. "I think naming him that would be as big a mistake as what your mother just suggested." You know those moments you see in movies where everyone's having a good time, and suddenly someone says something so off that the whole room goes silent? That's exactly what happened. It felt like an eternity, though it was probably just a few seconds. Then Evan broke the silence, looking down at his watch. "Well, I really should get to bed early; meeting tomorrow. Thanks for the evening." I stood up,

patting him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Evan. Love you." Lisa and I headed for the door, hoping to make a quick exit, but Lisa's voice stopped me. "Dad, what is wrong with you?" she demanded, her frustration spilling over. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I shrugged. "Come over here and hug your old man." "I've got to get out of here. I can't even breathe." Her face twisted into a smirk. "I wasn't talking about you. I was talking about Mom. And here I thought you weren't drinking. Just what has Evan been filling your glass with?" "It's Pepsi, sweetheart," I

said, though honestly, a drink might not be the worst idea right now. Betsy stepped forward, her hand reaching for me again. This time, I moved away so sharply that everyone noticed. "We'll talk about this when we get home," she said, trying to keep her voice calm. "There's nothing to talk about," I snapped. "I'm going back to my place. I don’t know what you’re doing or where you’re going, but it’s not with me." Lisa's face fell. "Wait a minute, Dad. You're mad because Mom didn't like the name you suggested?" Betsy's eyes widened; she must have known

I was on to her. "No, Lisa," I said softly. "I'm not mad. I'm just finally seeing things clearly." I looked around the room, taking in everyone's shocked faces, except Betsy's; she knew exactly what I was talking about. Sometimes the people you love hurt you, and you let it slide. You think if you can get past this one little thing, things will be better. But then something happens that tells you all the pain and compromise were pointless. "Dad, you're not making any sense," Lisa said, confusion clouding her face. I took a deep breath. "Lisa, your mother

wants to name my grandson after the man she's been in love with for 15 years—the guy she had an affair with. She just found out he died recently, and now she wants to honor his memory in my family." The room went deadly silent as everyone turned to Betsy, who had collapsed onto the floor, quietly sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Martin," she whispered. "It ended years ago. I've tried to be a good wife to you." "Then why did it end, Betsy?" I asked, my voice cold. "Because I felt guilty," she answered, voice trembling. "I knew it was

wrong, so I ended it." "You didn't understand a thing, did you? I should have ended things when I first found out, Martin. It wasn’t an affair; it was just once. A year. We didn’t even always sleep together. And afterward, you and I? Things were better between us." "It's been over for a long time." "You’re wrong, Betsy. It's worse than you think," I replied, anger filling my words. "Maybe you'll finally tell someone the truth after the divorce is final, but I'm done with your lies." She looked at me in shock. "What are you talking about? I

ended it, not you." I replied, my voice firm, "I went to Allentown five years ago and found him. Beat the hell out of him. He ended up in the hospital before you even got off the plane. I took his phone and went through every text you sent him. I warned him that if he ever came near you again, I'd destroy him." Betsy's face paled. "Martin, I—I'm sorry. It was a mistake. I was wrong." I shook my head, emotion churning in my chest. "I was wrong too. I thought I could fix this mess for Lisa's sake.

I thought if I loved you enough, we'd get past it. But tonight, when you said his name, you ended things for good." Without another word, I turned and walked out. I climbed into my Mustang, revved the engine, and took off into the night. The roar of the engine and the thrill of speeding through the darkness under the moonlight deadened the ache in my chest. I turned off my phone, needing nothing but the road ahead to clear my head. Honestly, I wasn't as rattled by the night's events as I probably seemed. I'd known about Betsy's affair

for over five years, and ever since I'd been preparing for our eventual divorce in every way possible. Betsy was probably more blindsided by that night than I was. First, she had no idea that I was aware of her affair, and second, she only learned that night exactly why the affair had ended. It had all started when Betsy flew out to Allentown for a work conference, the same one she attended every year. She checked into her usual hotel and went... To the conference, a one-day event, she always claimed lasted too long. After the day seminar ended,

she met up with Michael for dinner at a quiet restaurant. They spent hours together laughing, talking, and catching up. She even mentioned me once or twice, probably out of habit, maybe even as a way to quiet any remaining guilt. When the restaurant finally closed, they shared a lingering, intimate kiss before Betsy returned to her room. Meanwhile, Michael made his way out to the parking lot where his car was parked, planning to head home, only he didn't get far because I was already waiting there, perched on the hood of his car like I belonged there. "Hey,

that's my car,” he said, surprised and maybe a little unnerved. I shrugged, standing up and stepping toward him. "Sorry, but it's wrong for someone to mess with things that don't belong to them, don't you think, Mike?" He looked confused, like he was trying to figure out what I meant. "I couldn't agree more," he replied, chuckling nervously, probably still hoping this was some kind of joke. "Good, so we're on the same page." I paused, letting him sweat a little. "Let’s not worry about hubcaps, Mike; let's talk about Iva, your wife. She's probably at home right now

on Juniper Court wondering where you are." Mike went pale. I watched him try to keep his cool, but I could see the panic in his eyes. "I... I think I should call the police," he muttered, his voice shaky as he reached for his phone. I pulled out my own phone and held it out to him. "Go right ahead, but it'll be my word against yours, and I can assure you I've got nothing to lose here. You, on the other hand... I wonder how your loyal, faithful wife would feel if she found out you'd been sneaking

around with another woman. It'd be a shame, wouldn't it?" His face was drained of color. I leaned in closer, my voice a low growl. "I don't share, Mike." He stammered, glancing around like he was looking for an escape. "Look, I know Betsy, but we haven't—" I cut him off. "Let's not play games. I watched you tonight. I know tonight was just dinner, but what about last year and the year before that? How far back does this go?" He swallowed, his face twisting in fear and shame. "15, maybe 20 years," he mumbled, his words barely audible

through his quivering lips. "Good," I said, my voice hard and unforgiving. "Then you should understand me clearly: it's over, and if you so much as say her name again, I will not only end your marriage, I'll end you. Do we understand each other?" Mike nodded quickly, his whole body trembling. I turned to leave, throwing one final warning over my shoulder. "Next time we talk, Mike, it won't be this friendly." And with that, I left him there, his world shaken to its core. I went back home to find Betsy acting just like she always did after

her conference trip: overly affectionate, as if trying to make up for lost time. Usually she'd come back, and we'd go on some little vacation together to reconnect. But that year, I was suddenly too busy for any getaways. No matter how much I tried to push it all to the back of my mind, though, the memory lingered, and every time it surfaced I felt that anger, that need for vengeance bubbling up inside me. It wasn't long before I started taking my anger out on Michael in other ways. Through a few well-placed business connections, I arranged for

him to lose his job. I didn't need him to know I was behind it; the satisfaction of knowing I'd had a hand in his downfall was enough. It was almost thrilling in a way, a warm, glowing satisfaction like the kind I'd once felt when I'd done something nice for Betsy. But this time it was a twisted satisfaction, one that came from knowing I was making his life a living hell. For the next five years, I kept chipping away at Michael's life, bit by bit, even as I set up my own safety net for the divorce

I knew was inevitable. As for Betsy, why hadn't I just confronted her and filed for divorce when I first found out? Despite everything, I still loved her, at least on some level. In my heart, I wanted to believe she'd change, that she deserved a second chance. But my head—the same part of me that excelled at planning every contingency at work—told me to be ready for anything. So I told Betsy there was a freeze on raises at work, even though I had just received a hefty raise and a promotion that almost doubled my salary. I funneled

most of the extra income into accounts she knew nothing about. Then, two years later, I got another promotion and another raise, and again, I kept it all hidden. The whole point was simple: if we divorced, Betsy would have no idea what I was actually earning. She'd think I was still making 40 grand a year, which would be the basis for any settlement. My boss had gone through his own nasty divorce and was more than willing to help. Officially, I was listed as a mid-level manager, so no one outside the company questioned why everyone else deferred

to me. In reality, 75% of my salary was paid to a vendor company run by some fishing buddies. They let me use their names, and I took them fishing now and then. In return, the money went straight into an offshore account, leaving no trace. A couple of times, I dipped into the funds to help Lisa and Evan when they got married; I made a hefty down payment on their house so they wouldn't be saddled with a... Huge mortgage. I didn't buy it outright, but I made sure their monthly payments were next to nothing. Another time,

I used the money to buy them a second car, something they needed since they worked in opposite parts of town. Even with these gifts, I made it look like I'd pulled from my retirement or taken out loans so that if it came to a divorce, Betsy wouldn't have much to claim. Meanwhile, I kept finding ways to make Mike's life miserable. He worked in manufacturing, inspecting castings, and my company had ties to similar businesses all over the country. I had a friend in Allentown who kept tabs on his career, so whenever he landed a new job,

I'd take a call. If we already had a business account with his employer, someone would arrange lunch with the managers, and soon enough, Mike would be out of a job. If we didn't have an account, we'd get one, and the same thing would happen. I kept a detailed spreadsheet tracking every setback he faced, though not all of them were my doing. Eventually, his reputation became so tarnished that he couldn't even get an interview. By the end, he was stuck doing landscaping and day labor just to get by. Of course, all of this took a toll

on Mike's personal life. His wife had to go back to work to support the family, though I never targeted her; I had no quarrel with her or their kids, so I made sure they were taken care of. I even helped get Mike's daughter into law school, setting up a scholarship just for her. She never knew where the money came from, but it was enough to get her through school with a few bonuses along the way. Meanwhile, Mike was crushed by his failures. He wanted to be a provider, a self-sufficient man, but life had other plans.

He began drinking, though he never took it out on his wife or daughter. By the end, he was a shadow of the man he'd once been. I couldn't ignore the changes in myself either. I wasn't the same easygoing, soft-spoken guy I'd been before discovering Betsy's betrayal. I'd always been open and honest, but that shock shifted something fundamental in me. Yet, when I looked in the mirror, I still saw myself: Martin Ellis, family man, a decent guy. Shouldn't villains have some sort of telltale sign, like a black hat or a sneer? Sometimes I even wondered if

I should trade in my Mustang for a black one to fit the part. But even as I questioned these things, I couldn't stop. My shattered heart wasn't interested in healing; it wanted vengeance, and it wasn't going to rest until I'd gotten it. I watched Betsy closely. I found myself incapable of trusting her anymore, and I realized just how hollow it felt not to have faith in the woman I'd once pledged to love and cherish. Her affair with Mike had destroyed more than just our marriage; it had shattered my ability to trust anyone, and that loss

ran deep. So for five long years, as I worked to grind Mike down, I also kept a careful eye on Betsy and prepared meticulously for the divorce I knew was coming. Unlike other men who only had days or weeks to shield their assets, I'd had years to prepare. Originally, I'd planned to wait even longer. Betsy, though fading a bit, was still decent looking. When we divorced, I'd intended to wait until she was fully on the downswing, but Mike hadn't lasted as long as I thought he would, and five years had been enough time for me

to hide away as much money as I could. The house wasn't an issue; it had been in my family for generations, and we were allowed to live there because my parents no longer needed such a big place. So when divorce proceedings started, my lawyer made it clear that my parents owned the property outright and had simply allowed us to live there rent-free. After Betsy returned from the conference that year, she texted Mike telling him how much she'd enjoyed their dinner and the kiss they'd shared. She added that while she missed the times they'd been intimate,

she was relieved it hadn't happened this year. She said she always felt guilty about being unfaithful to me and was certain Mike felt the same about his wife. She went on to say that their romance, now a purely emotional affair, was actually better because they could carry it on without guilt. According to her, maybe they were simply getting older and physical affection wasn't necessary; just being together was enough. She said, "That way we can be together forever." She signed off with, "Until next year, my love." I read that text while waiting for my luggage at

the airport. For a split second, I felt a surge of fury. I wanted to strangle her. Part of me still loved Betsy, but that text transformed my feelings, twisting them into something darker. When she got home, I was in the den watching a football game. She came in, wrapped her arms around me, and leaned in for a kiss. I pulled back, telling her I was fighting off a cold and didn't want to pass it on. "Just make sure you're better by the weekend," she said with a grin. "What's happening this weekend?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"Come on," she said, looking at me with that familiar smile. "We're going on our little getaway, remember? We always go right after my boring conference—three nights, four days, just the two of us, away from everything." "Oh, well maybe you could make it a mother-daughter trip this year. Take Lisa along," I suggested. "I can't really get away from work," she tried to mask her disappointment. "But it's just two workdays," she protested. "Think about it—a long..." "Weekend together in the Solomon Islands? We might not even leave the hotel room. I bought some interesting things to wear for

you. I couldn't help but wonder how many of those things Mike would have seen if they'd been together sooner. Honey, there's a freeze on raises at work, and they're cutting costs wherever possible," I explained. "I've got to make sure I'm not seen as an expendable expense." She sighed. "Fine, I get it," she said a bit reluctantly. "I'll give Lisa a call, but you'd better join me in the bedroom." Ten minutes after I had hung up, I heard her upstairs talking to Lisa on the phone. Then, as if she couldn't help herself, she sent Mike another

text asking if he'd gotten her earlier message. My stomach churned with disgust. I couldn't stomach going to bed with her, so I lay on the couch and pretended to be asleep when she came looking. Over the next few weeks, I had to come to terms with everything, and that adjustment was far from easy. I became a much better actor than I'd ever imagined. We still had intimacy as often as we had before, though I couldn't say if Betsy enjoyed it as much. I didn't care; I didn't bother with trying to please her anymore. I just

didn't give a damn if she found satisfaction or not. She was just another woman in my life, not the one I'd once loved. Our time in bed became raw and devoid of affection, yet oddly more adventurous. Betsy had always been pretty reserved, but that guilt-filled period after each conference made her more accommodating. I treated it as a chance to experience everything she'd never wanted to do before. She could object or tell me she wasn't that kind of woman, but I was already there when conference time came around the following year. I kept a close watch,

looking for any sign that she might still be in touch with Mike. I checked her phone records and found no incoming calls from Allentown, though she'd sent several texts to his number. Her frustration grew as her messages went unanswered. She even reached out to a few friends who knew him, only to find that he'd hit a serious rough patch. She learned for the first time about the beating and robbery he'd suffered after last year's conference and that he'd lost his job. No one knew where he was working now or even if he was still in

the same field. She tried texting him again, hoping he'd agree to meet her for dinner, but she got no response. Finally, she got one of her friends to check in on him. The friend came back with a harsh message: Mike didn't remember Betsy and saw no point in reconnecting, especially since he no longer worked in their industry and wouldn't be attending the conference. Betsy was heartbroken. She told me she didn't feel up to attending the conference that year. "You've gone every year; you might as well tough it out again," I told her, feigning nonchalance. "Why

should this year be any different?" She looked at me, clearly deflated, but agreed to go. I timed my flight so that I landed just two hours after hers and kept a close eye on her the entire day. I almost let my cover slip a few times, but Betsy didn't even stay tonight; she was on a return flight by evening. While she was heading to the airport, I called her, pretending to miss her terribly, telling her I'd be out of town that night but that it didn't matter since she'd be at the conference. She told me

she couldn't stand to be apart and was flying home early. Part of me expected she'd try to find someone new to latch on to, but she didn't. She just attended the lectures, wandered through the expo, and when it was over, flew straight home. The following year, she tried to convince me to attend the conference with her so she could prove how boring it was. I wasn't interested. After that, she stopped going altogether. For the past two years, Betsy had been totally faithful to me, or at least she tried to be. From time to time, I'd

check in, either watching her myself or hiring a private investigator to keep tabs on her for a few days. She hadn't done a single thing to make me suspicious. If I hadn't known any better, I might have thought she was the perfect wife, and in many ways she had tried to be. But once trust is gone, there's no going back. There we'd be, sitting on the back deck, relaxing on her big swing, and I'd feel her head on my shoulder. She'd hold my hand, her eyes distant, and I'd wonder if she was thinking of Mike—thinking

of how, in her mind, their love would last until one of them finally died. One lazy Sunday morning, Betsy woke me up in a way that would have once had me over the moon, but now it just left me wondering. In moments like that, when she showed sudden bursts of passion, I couldn't shake the thought that maybe she was imagining herself with Mike. It was that gnawing doubt that prevented me from ever giving her my heart again, no matter how hard she tried to rekindle things. For the past five years, I'd lived with a constant

sense of suspicion, always questioning her motives. Betsy had become, in many ways, a maid with benefits—and an expensive one at that. In the last two years before the divorce, I began to look at her differently. It felt like I was a farmer inspecting his crops, checking the signs that her beauty was beginning to fade. A few more lines on her face I'd notice or the way her body had softened. "We're getting there," I’d think quietly. "satisfied just a bit longer, Betsy," I'd say, handing her a slice of cake. "Why not treat yourself? Have another piece."

She'd hesitate, sometimes glancing at herself in the mirror. "I don't want to get any bigger." "Doesn't matter to me," I'd say, keeping my voice light. She'd smile, thinking it meant I'd love her regardless of any weight gain, but I meant something entirely different. It didn't matter to me because I knew we wouldn't be together much longer. She could eat whatever she wanted or look however she pleased; it wouldn't affect me in the least. Our life looked good from the outside. We still had friends we spent time with, and we often visited Lisa and Evan. Everything

seemed peaceful, even happy. For years, I almost believed that Betsy had put her affair out of her mind, or maybe that she thought she'd actually gotten away with it. I suppose after five years with no consequences, she'd let herself believe it didn't matter anymore. But just a couple of days before that fateful dinner, one of my friends, a private investigator in Allentown, sent me an update on Mike. He'd been let go from his latest job and was scraping by, working in fast food. His drinking had gotten so bad that the manager wouldn't even let him

work inside. Instead, he was tasked with landscaping around the restaurant. On some days, he had to shovel snow or mow the grass; on others, he wore a ridiculous clown costume to stand by the road and spin a sign, hoping to lure in passing drivers for burgers and fries. He'd hit rock bottom—an almost laughable sight for a man nearing fifty, a college graduate reduced to a minimum-wage worker dressed like a clown. All of his coworkers, save for the manager, were teenagers. One day, a young kid at the restaurant gave Mike an especially hard time. The boy's

mother had shown up to argue about his grades, trying to make him quit, and the kid made his point by looking at Mike. "What's the point, Mom?" he said, glancing over at Mike. "Even if I graduate and you and Dad pay for college, like that poor guy's parents probably did, how do you know I won't end up right back here, dressed like a clown? I mean, I'm better off than he is, and I'm only seventeen. At least I work inside and make more than minimum wage. If I go to college, I might end up making

even less." Mike's pride had already been shattered, but hearing that kid tear apart his life was the final blow. His once confident face turned to stone. Whether it was on purpose or just a careless mistake, I don't know, but not long after, he flung his sign up into the air, and it crashed down on a woman standing nearby, knocking the bag of food out of her hands. The woman started screaming at him, and something in Mike snapped. He went berserk, kicking her spilled hamburger down the street like a hockey puck, calling her every name under

the sun. When the police arrived, they found him in a state of rage, yelling and cursing as if he'd lost every ounce of dignity he'd once had. He was fired on the spot. With his last paycheck, Mike bought himself a bottle of liquor and a rope. He went home that night, and before he took his first sip, he set about using his college degree one last time. Mike had studied manufacturing technology, so he took his time crafting the most flawless noose he could, looping it perfectly before climbing onto a chair with it around his neck.

Then he drank deeply, thinking over the moments that had shaped his life. He remembered his early career, full of promise, and traced the arc of his decline. He thought of his daughter and how he'd lost her respect, of his wife who'd once been his partner in everything but now barely spoke to him. They slept in separate rooms, a silent acknowledgment of their broken marriage. It wasn't his job loss that had ruined his marriage; it was his inability to handle each failure, to adapt as his life changed. They'd been drifting apart for years, and deep down,

Mike knew he'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop. In those final moments, Mike died thinking his downfall was just a string of bad luck. He never knew it was me behind it all, slowly pulling the strings that unraveled his life. I'd always planned on telling him one day, just before finishing my vengeance, but I never got the chance. Mike's last coherent thoughts blamed Betsy, tracing his bad luck back to the day he first met her. In his mind, he'd been an innocent friend, but her husband had somehow discovered them and beaten him within

an inch of his life. From then on, his life had spiraled—a constant slide downhill—and he'd never recovered. His last thought was a curse aimed at Betsy. "Damn witch," he muttered, his mind fogging as the alcohol overtook him. "When I wake up, I'll find a way to make her pay." Mike's wife was the one who found him, swinging lifeless from the ceiling. She didn't even have enough emotion left to cry. In a way, she was relieved; he'd been suffering for years, and at least now he was finally beyond his pain. One of Betsy's old colleagues, who

knew Mike, emailed her to share the news. She learned every detail about his last years, his struggles, and how he died. I'd already heard the news from my investigator, so I knew to expect something from her. I watched her closely, trying to gauge her reaction. Was she devastated because she'd lost someone she loved, or just shaken by the reminder of life's fragility? That night, she clung to me with a... fervor I hadn't seen in years. She held on to me as though I might slip away, clinging to me with tears in her eyes. When I

asked her what was wrong, I half expected her to admit she'd lost an old friend, but instead she surprised me. "I just... I love you so much," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm so grateful to have you. I don't know what I'd do if anything ever took you away from me." Her words got to me, I'll admit. I let my guard down just for that one night. We made love like we used to, with a tenderness I hadn't felt in years. I held her close, kissing her slowly, letting her know that I loved her too—stupidly

believing for a moment that I might be healing, that maybe I could trust her again. It felt as though a scab had finally formed over my wounded heart. The next night we were at dinner with Lisa and Evan, and I couldn't stop holding her hand. We shared looks across the table, and Lisa teased us, asking how we were still so in love after so many years together. I thought for a moment that maybe she was right. Then Betsy had to go and open her mouth. She started on how Lisa and Evan should name my grandson

after Mike, pushing that name with an intensity that made my blood boil. In an instant, everything crumbled. I felt all those years of quiet, patient vengeance against Mike resurface—all that anger and bitterness I thought I'd buried. I knew then why everything I'd done to Mike had never felt like enough. It wasn't as though I hadn't punished him enough; I realized in that moment that my resentment went deeper. I could destroy Mike's life a hundred times over, but it would never fix what Betsy had broken in me. What I'd done to Mike over the years had

been relentless, as if I'd emptied a full clip into him, reloaded, and then fired again. I'd kept going again and again, even when he was down. But the truth was, Mike alone hadn't caused my pain. He was, in a way, just a side character in the story of my misery. He hadn't been the one who promised to love, honor, and cherish me for life—that had been Betsy. Mike was practically a stranger until I confronted him, and now in town, I left him broken. My revenge on him had been overkill, but more than anything, it had

been cowardly. It was like I had been a regular high school kid and, instead of standing up to the football player who shoved me, I'd turned and beaten up one of the nerds on the chess team. My anger had been directed at Mike, but Betsy deserved far more of it. In the days after that disastrous dinner, Betsy called repeatedly, desperate to come home and talk. Each time, I cut her off, barely saying a word. I let her know that I'd packed up all her clothes and personal belongings and that she could come by on Saturday

to pick up whatever furniture or appliances she thought she deserved. I suggested she bring Lisa and Evan along so one of them could call me to verify that the items she took were acceptable. I planned to be gone all day and would return only when she called to say she was finished. But that Saturday evening, when I pulled into the driveway, she was still there. Lisa was there too, and they both insisted on talking, sitting me down as though I was the one in trouble. "Martin, I love you," Betsy said, her eyes pleading. "I love

you with everything I have, and I would never do anything to hurt you intentionally. I'm so sorry. I'm sorrier than you can imagine." "Oh, I believe you're sorry," I replied, my tone cold. "You may be about the sorest excuse for a wife I've ever seen." "Can't we at least talk this through?" she pleaded. "We've been together for nearly 30 years. Are we really going to throw all that away over something that happened years ago and has been over for a long time? Why didn't you confront me when you first found out? I can't imagine the

pain you've been carrying all this time. I'm starting to understand why there's been this wall between us for so long." "This is it, isn't it?" I sighed, nodding slowly. She continued, her voice shaking. "That night, it was so incredible. It felt like we'd reconnected. I'm guessing you must have heard about Mike's death and thought we were finally free of all this, that we could move on until I opened my mouth and ruined it." I nodded again, the bitterness in me barely contained. "Martin, please let me explain," she begged. "I need to get this out. I

know what I did was wrong, but it ended years ago. And yes, I know it was you who ended it. I have some questions, but please just let me explain first." I looked at her, feeling the anger simmering beneath the surface. "You've got this one chance, Betsy," I said. "I don't owe you that, but I'm giving it to you for one reason only: I want this divorce over with as quickly as possible. If I let you talk now, you won't be able to go to the courts claiming I never gave you a chance to explain.

So go ahead, but there are a couple of things I need to know. When did this start with Mike, and why?" She took a deep breath, her voice barely a whisper. "Martin, it's 2010 now. We got married in 1980, so I suppose it started in 1982." "28 years!" I shouted, unable to contain myself. "This... this has been going on for 28 years." She looked down, not meeting my gaze. My eyes. Maybe Mike looked at it differently, she mumbled. He probably only counted from when we first... you know. I turned to Lisa, who looked as stunned

as I felt. "Is there any chance—any at all—that..." I couldn’t finish the sentence, but Betsy knew what I meant. "There’s no chance," she said quickly. "The conference is always in July. Lisa was born in January. She’s your daughter, Mar. There’s no question." "But you hoped, didn’t you?" I spat. "Don’t pretend the thought never crossed your mind." Lisa looked over at her mother, her face a mixture of hurt and confusion. "Lisa, angel," I said, turning back to my daughter. "I love you more than life itself. For these past five years, you’ve been the only person I

could truly trust. You have most of my heart. But I need to ask: would you be okay with doing a DNA test? It doesn’t matter to me now. I’ll never treat you or my grandkids any differently. I just need to know." "Martin," I told you, Betsy began, but I cut her off. "Why should I believe a word you say?" I asked, my voice calm but cutting. "From day one, you’ve lied to me. Our marriage is done, which means you lied to me the whole time. You don’t get to make me doubt my instincts now." "No,

Martin, it wasn’t like that," she insisted. "I’ve always loved you. You just don’t understand." "Then start explaining!" I snapped. "This is your last chance to make me understand. After this, every word will go through lawyers." She looked at me, eyes wide. "You can’t be serious! I only cheated once, and that was years ago. It’s not worth throwing away 30 years for something that ended ages ago. For the past five years, I haven’t seen or heard from Mike. You’re punishing me for something that’s long since finished." "Is that so?" I replied. "Well, I know you haven’t

seen him in five years, but you did try, didn’t you? Four years ago, the year after the last conference you both attended, you tried to reach out. You sent texts hoping he’d meet you for dinner. You even asked mutual friends if he was attending. They told you he didn’t remember you. But the truth is he was just scared. He knew that if he replied, I’d either kill him this time or ruin his marriage. You can see why I doubt it was truly over." Her face fell. "But now you know it's over," she said, almost smiling.

"You know that? How do I know that?" I shot back. "The last message you sent him said your love would last until one of you died. It’s barely been five years since then, and yes, he’s dead now. But maybe you weren’t lying after all. You still loved him enough to ask Lisa to name my grandson after him, even if it cost you our marriage." "No, Martin, you’re wrong," she said, her voice desperate. "We’d only been married two years when I went to that first conference. I missed you terribly. It was the first time I’d been

away from you. I kept ducking out of lectures to call you, but you were always working. Mike was there, and he reminded me of you in so many ways. Talking to him felt easy, like I could finally share everything I was feeling. The next year we grew closer. We even went to dinner and stayed until the restaurant closed. But Martin, you have to understand—so much of it was because he reminded me of you. I hadn’t been away from you much, and sometimes I just needed another perspective." "And when did it turn into something more?" I

asked, voice tight. "It was the fourth year," she replied, voice trembling. "We both had too much to drink, and we... we ended up in bed. It was never planned, and it wasn’t supposed to happen. It was a mistake." "So a mistake lasted for over two decades?" I scoffed, anger bubbling up. She looked away, ashamed. "After that, it just became a part of the conference for us," she said quietly. "We’d meet up each year. Sometimes it was physical; sometimes it wasn’t. Mostly it was just the comfort of talking to someone who understood me." "Someone who understood

you?" I repeated, incredulous. "You had a husband for that, Betsy! A husband who spent years supporting you, loving you, and trusting you!" "I... I know," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "And I’ve hated myself for it. Every year, I swore I’d end it, but then the next conference would come, and there he was. It just... it just happened! I never wanted to stop talking to him." "But you have to understand— a lot of it was because he was so much like you." She paused, glancing at me, desperate to explain. "We hadn’t been together for

that long, and sometimes I needed to run things by someone to see how you’d react to them. It wasn’t until the fourth year that we slept together, and even then, it was an accident. We’d both gotten really drunk, and we just ended up in bed. We woke up the next morning, and we were both just consumed with guilt." "Betsy," she continued, her voice trembling, "we couldn’t even look at each other. Neither of us said goodbye. The next year, the fifth year, we mostly avoided each other. Truthfully, I missed him—missed my friend—but I was pregnant with

Lisa then, so unless babies take over a year to come a term, he couldn’t possibly be her father. We didn’t have dinner, didn’t talk, nothing that year." She paused, then went on quietly. "The year after that, he came over to me and he apologized. He told me he’d been so sorry for what happened between us two years before that. He blamed himself..." Even said it was stupid for us to avoid each other just because of a mistake, so we had dinner. And if I'm being honest, for those two years that I'd been avoiding him, I'd

also been fantasizing about what sleeping with him had been like. My heart twisted, but I kept silent, listening. She took a shaky breath. "We'd both been drunk that first time, and I wanted to remember what it had really felt like. So at that point, it had been six years since it happened, and we'd only been together once that night, though it was just dinner. Nothing happened." She seemed almost pleading now, hoping I'd understand. "The following year, nothing happened again, but there was this strange tension. It felt like we were only going to these conferences to

see each other. By year eight, the tension was too much. I gave in, and we had sex." Her voice dropped, and she seemed to cringe as she spoke. "I think that's the one I feel the most guilt about, Martin. I've been avoiding him for years, all while wondering what it might really be like with him. I built it up in my head, but when it actually happened, it was awful. No, it was worse than awful; it was boring." I raised an eyebrow, not sure where she was going with this, but she looked at me almost

apologetically. "Look, I know that size isn't everything, but Mike wasn't exactly your equal in that department. And worse, he'd been with his wife for so long that he only knew what she liked, which was nothing close to what I liked. It was then that I realized I had made a huge mistake." She went on, speaking faster as though eager to get it all out. "The next year, I avoided him again. I mean, I didn't just avoid sleeping with him; I didn't even want to speak to him. I even hid from him for most of the

conference. At the end, though, I went over and acted like I'd been looking for him all along. I asked him a bunch of questions about his wife and then just left." I could barely believe what I was hearing, but I let her continue, not wanting to interrupt. "The year after that, it had been a full ten years since we first met," she said, her voice softening. "He was waiting for me at the airport, telling me how special it felt to be celebrating ten years of friendship like it was some kind of anniversary. I didn't want

to hurt him, so I gave him a mercy sleep that year." "A mercy sleep?" I repeated, feeling my stomach twist with anger and disbelief. "Sleeping with him was worth risking your marriage, Martin. You have to understand," she pleaded, her voice shaking. "He really was a lot like you. I didn't want to hurt his feelings. Besides, it only happens once a year. There was nothing wild or strange about it. It was like old people's sex. And look at what you and I have—it doesn't compare. Mike wasn't into trying new things; it was plain, almost obligatory." She

paused, giving me an almost embarrassed look. "I've never done anything intimate like that with him. I mean, not the way I have with you. He's only ever been, well, you know—" She stopped, and I couldn't hold back any longer. "Betsy, you really don't understand this, do you?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "You and I only started getting experimental after I found out about you. I let you do things for me, but I never did them for you. I wasn't about to put my mouth anywhere that Mike's been, and honestly, every time I

slept with you, it wasn't love. I was just sleeping with you like I would with a stranger; you were just there, and you were available." Her face fell, and she seemed to wilt in front of me. "So for the next few years, I survived it," she continued, her voice barely a whisper. "I'd go to the conference, and I knew he'd be there. I dreaded it, but I looked forward to it too, even though I knew I'd end up having sex with him at the end. After a few years, I started making up excuses. One year,

I told him I was on my period. Next, I put up with it. Then I claimed I had a yeast infection. Another year, I said I was on my period again. For about three years, I didn't have to sleep with him, but then we'd do it, and I'd find another excuse to avoid it for a few more years." She looked up at me, almost pleading. "The year that you beat him up, it had been four, maybe five years since we'd last been together. We hadn't had sex in years. He always talked about it like he

loved it, but for me, it was like pulling teeth. He was my friend, and I didn't want to hurt him. He liked hearing how much I cared about him, and we told each other we loved each other, but I never really felt it. I just didn't want to hurt his feelings." "So you chose to hurt me instead," I snapped, the bitterness in my voice evident. "Martin, how are you hurt?" she asked, sounding genuinely baffled. "It went on for over twenty years. When you found out, we'd been intimate thousands of times, and I loved every one

of those times with you. In all those years, I may have been with Mike eight times at most, and I hated every moment of it. If it had been a matter of me choosing Mike over you, I'd understand your anger, but that never happened. If I'd given you secondhand treatment or done something that would embarrass you, I'd understand, but..." "That never happened. I love you too much for that. It was a once-a-year thing, far from home, where no one knew us. And even the year you confronted him, it was already ending on its own." She

took a shaky breath, glancing down. "Since you know about my texts, you probably know we'd been talking about how much better things felt without the guilt. That's what I meant, Martin. I was trying to let him down easily. I thought the relationship would drift apart naturally." She reached for my hand, but I pulled it back, feeling the sting of her words. "Martin, please, you have to believe me," she whispered. "I love you, only you. Whatever happened with Mike was a stupid mistake I made years ago, and I didn't know how to end it without hurting

him. We have so much more history, love, and a life together. Please don’t throw it all away." I leaned back, studying her as I tried to process everything she'd said. I felt the anger still bubbling inside, but I could also see the pain and desperation in her eyes. This was the woman I'd loved for decades, the mother of my child, my partner in life, but her betrayal had cut so deep, and it was a wound that wouldn't heal easily. "I understand, Betsy," I said slowly. "I understand that you made a mistake and that you regret

it, but the fact remains you betrayed me. You betrayed us. Every time you met him, every time you said you loved him, you took something away from our marriage. You broke my trust, my faith in you, in us. And while I can see that you're sorry, maybe even understand why you did what you did, I don't think I can ever get past it." Tears streamed down her face as she listened, her voice breaking. "Martin, please," she whispered. "I'll do anything to make this right. Anything. Just give us another chance. We can go to counseling; we

can work through this. Please don’t end our marriage over something that's been over for so long." I shook my head, trying to hold back my own emotions. "It's not just the affair, Betsy. It's the lies, the deception. For 28 years, you've kept this from me. For 28 years, you've let me believe our marriage was something it wasn't. You took away my ability to make an informed decision about my life, about whether or not I wanted to stay with someone who could do that to me. You robbed me of that choice." She broke down sobbing, and

Lisa reached out, holding her mother. "Goddamn it, Dad," Lisa said, her voice soft but pleading. "Mom made mistakes, but she's trying to make it right. Can't you at least try to work through this for me, for the grandkids?" I looked at my daughter, and the pain in her eyes mirrored my own. "Lisa," I said softly, "I love you. I love you more than anything, but this—this isn't something I can just forgive and forget. It's been eating away at me for years, and I can't keep pretending that everything is okay when it's not." Betsy opened her

mouth to speak, but I raised my hand. "Enough, Betsy. I don't want to hear anymore. You've had your chance to explain, and I've listened. Now it's time for me to move on. I'm filing for divorce. You can take whatever you want from the house, but I need you out by the end of the week." "Dad, please," Lisa begged, her voice breaking. "Don't do this." I looked at her, my own voice catching. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," I said, "but this is something I have to do for myself. I can't keep living with this betrayal." Betsy sank into

a chair, her body shaking as sobs racked her. Lisa knelt beside her, trying to offer comfort, but I couldn't stay any longer. I stood up, took one last look around the room, and walked out of the house. As I drove away, years of betrayal and pain seemed to press down on me like a weight I'd carried too long. I thought about all those years we'd spent together, the life we'd built, the memories we'd shared. It hurt to think that so much of it had been tainted by her lies, but I knew staying would only deepen

the wound. I needed to find a way to heal, to finally move forward with my life. In the days that followed, I put my affairs in order. I filed for divorce and made arrangements for Betsy to move out of the house. Lisa tried to reach out to me a few times, but I couldn't bring myself to discuss it further. The decision was made; I needed to focus on my future, on finding a life where I could breathe freely again. The day Betsy moved out was a mix of relief and sadness. She took only what she

needed, leaving behind many of the things we'd accumulated over the years. As she reached the door to leave for the last time, she turned to look at me, her eyes full of sorrow. "Martin," she whispered, barely audible, "I'm so sorry." "I know, Betsy," I said, my voice steady, "but sorry isn't enough. Goodbye." And with that, she left, and I was alone in a house that had once been filled with warmth, laughter, and love. I knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but I also knew I had to find a way to rebuild, to somehow discover

peace and happiness again. Over the next few months, I focused on myself. I poured my energy into my work, spent time with friends, and even started dating again. It wasn't easy, and there were plenty of difficult days, but slowly I began to heal. I came to realize that while Betsy's betrayal had devastated me..." Me, it didn't define me. I was stronger than that, and I could still find happiness. Lisa eventually came to terms with the divorce; she still loved her mother, but she understood why I couldn't stay. Our relationship grew closer as we supported each

other through those difficult months. In time, I found peace in knowing that I'd made the right choice for myself. I'd reclaimed my life and my happiness. The scars from Betsy's betrayal would always be there, but they no longer held power over me. I was free to move forward and build a new future filled with hope and possibility. Five years have passed since that day I finally walked away from Betsy. In those years, I've rebuilt my life, though the echoes of pain and betrayal still linger, more haunting than before. The most unexpected and heartbreaking blow came

during a heated argument over the divorce settlement. Betsy, in a moment of desperation, let slip that Lisa wasn't my biological daughter; she was Mike's child. The revelation cut deeper than I could have imagined. I'd loved and raised Lisa as my own. A paternity test confirmed what Betsy had said, and the knowledge shattered me. That one truth made the betrayal feel fresh and raw again, as if the ground beneath me had shifted. Despite everything, Lisa stood by her mother, struggling to understand why I was so determined to move on. It was like a knife in my

heart when she chose to support Betsy after all that had happened. In the end, I decided to remove Lisa from my will. It wasn't a choice I made lightly, but I felt it was the only way to regain control of my life and legacy. Betsy and I split our assets evenly; she took half of our savings and a few personal items while I kept the house. But it no longer felt like home—not with so many memories stained by betrayal. I eventually sold it and moved into a modern apartment in the city. The transition was tough,

but I found solace in my work and slowly began to date again. It was at a business conference that I met Nancy, one who became the light I hadn't known I needed. She was smart, kind, and genuinely interested in me. She had a successful career as a marketing executive, and her life was refreshingly uncomplicated. She'd been married before, but her husband had passed away in a tragic accident. Despite her loss, she was optimistic, full of life, and from the start, she had a way of making me feel alive again. Her presence felt like a balm,

gradually healing wounds that I thought would never mend. While I was finding happiness again, Betsy's life took a darker turn after the divorce. She moved into a modest apartment and tried to find a job, but her depression and guilt consumed her. She began drinking heavily, and her health quickly deteriorated. The weight of her actions and the loss of her family proved too much. She attempted to rebuild her relationship with Lisa, but even her own daughter couldn't fully understand the depth of her actions. The strain between them grew, and Betsy became more isolated, sinking deeper into

her despair. Eventually, Betsy lost her job and ended up on welfare. The vibrant woman I'd once loved faded into a shadow of herself, broken by guilt and loneliness. She tried to drown her pain in alcohol, but it only pushed her further down. Mutual friends told me she'd been hospitalized several times, both for alcohol poisoning and severe depression. It was hard to hear, but I couldn't bring myself to reach out. The woman who'd once been my wife had caused too much pain, and I needed to protect the happiness I was finally beginning to find. Lisa, despite

her efforts, couldn't save her mother from herself. She had her own family now, and the burden of her mother's decline weighed heavily on her. Though the rift between Lisa and me remained, I found peace in knowing I'd done what was best for me. One year later, Nancy and I got married. It was a small, intimate ceremony with only close friends and family. The day was filled with love and hope for the future, and I finally felt a sense of wholeness I hadn't known in years. Her presence has been a constant source of strength and joy.

Together, we've built a life free from the shadows of the past. Looking back, I can see now that those years of pain and betrayal were a necessary part of my journey. I've learned that forgiveness isn't always about the other person; it's about freeing yourself from the chains of the past. While I may never fully forgive Betsy or forget what she did, I've found a way to move forward and embrace the happiness I deserve. Betsy's downward spiral stands as a tragic reminder of the consequences of betrayal and the importance of honesty in any relationship. As for

Lisa, I hold on to hope that one day we might rebuild what we had, but for now, I'm focused on the life I have with Nancy, grateful for the second chance at happiness that life has granted me.