I Set Hidden Cameras & Set Up Brutal Revenge Streaming Online My Wife's Cheating. Sad Audio Story

[Music] For years, I had frequented the same club, a lively spot that held more memories than I could count. It was a place where friends gathered, drinks flowed freely, and the music never failed to energize the crowd. The routine was familiar and comforting, a way to unwind after a week of work and responsibilities. I often found myself surrounded by the same faces, a mix of acquaintances and close friends who made the place feel like a second home. That evening started like any other. Our small group snagged our usual table, eager to enjoy the atmosphere.

The music pulsed in the background as conversations unfolded, interspersed with laughter. The dim lighting and rhythmic beats created a perfect setting for escape, but I couldn't shake the sense that something was different. A pair of strangers seated nearby caught my attention, their behavior standing out in a way I couldn't ignore. As the night wore on, my eyes were drawn to a pair of unfamiliar men stationed at a corner table. One remained seated, quietly nursing his drink, while the other wandered about, striking up brief conversations with various women in the room. His interactions ranged from hesitant

to awkward, and occasionally, he reached into an envelope to reveal its contents—documents or photographs—though their purpose eluded me. Initially mistaking them for persistent marketers, I was puzzled that the staff hadn't intervened. Later, I mentioned it to my group: my wife, Christy, married for two years; our friends, Chris and Liz; and Hines and Kim. We speculated about the men's activities but didn't dwell on it. About 30 minutes later, the more active man approached our table, likely out of options with the other groups. He greeted us warmly and explained that his friend, in town for the weekend,

was looking for female company. The boldness of his approach shocked me, especially since all the women at the table were clearly with partners. Before I could respond, Liz asked for clarification. The man confidently stated that his friend was well endowed and skilled, suggesting one of the women should give it a try. This prompted laughter from the women, but he remained unfazed. Kim, escalating the situation, asked for proof. He then pulled out the envelope, revealing photos supporting his claim. Amused, the women exaggerated their reactions while we men silently observed—entertained but eager for him to leave. The

man, undeterred, made his pitch. "So ladies, what do you think? Any takers? You'll regret it if you don't." Liz and Kim returned the photos, still laughing, but he turned his attention to Christy. Sensing something in her demeanor, he asked directly, "What about you, little lady?" I didn't shake my head, expecting Christy to shut him down. I was stunned when she stood and replied, "I'm going." Before I could react, she walked away with him. Shocked, I followed and grabbed her arm, but a massive bouncer intervened, forcing me to release her. I protested, explaining she was my

wife, but the bouncer said Christy assured him she was leaving willingly, so he wouldn't interfere. Fear as I struggled, Christy whispered to the bouncer, who asked if she was certain. She calmly confirmed and joined the men at the door. I begged her to stop, but she didn't look back. The bouncer held me for a few more minutes at her request, to prevent me from following them. Defeated, I collapsed as the bouncer released me, offering a look of pity before walking away. My friend stood nearby, stunned and silent. The bar, silent during the incident, began buzzing

again as conversations resumed. I remained on the floor, tears streaming down my face. How could she do this? Was I not enough for her? This devastating realization gave me something tangible to reflect on. Chris and Hines helped me to my feet and guided me back to the table where Kim and Liz tried to comfort me. Yet, as I stared at Christy's empty seat, the humiliation of her abandonment stirred something in me. Determined, I left $40 on the table and walked toward the door. "Are you leaving?" Kim asked. "I don't have a reason to stay," I

replied. "I have other things to do." Liz pressed further, "What about waiting for Christy to come back?" I dismissed the idea, suggesting one of them could offer her a place to stay for the night. I felt compelled to leave. As I walked away, I overheard the women asking the guys to intervene, but they refused. "No way, not after what she did," they said. I focused on the door, determined to avoid the pitying stares from everyone in the bar. By the time I got to my car, a wave of emotion hit me again. Dizzy and close

to passing out, I sat in the driver's seat for a few minutes until I felt steady enough to drive home. On the way, I reflected on the bitter irony that Christy's impulsive nature was what had drawn me to her in the first place. Halfway back to the apartment, her number appeared on my caller ID. Hope flickered; maybe she had changed her mind and needed help. I answered without any greeting, getting straight to the point. "Where are you? I'll come get you," I said. I was wrong; she wasn't asking for a ride. "This isn't about you

or how I feel about us," she said. "It's something I needed to do." I pleaded with her to reconsider, but she insisted, "It's just this once. It won't hurt us," she promised. Numbness overtook me. Not only had she walked out on me in front of our friends in a crowded bar, but now she had the audacity to call and ask for my understanding. I couldn't believe how she was treating me. Realizing there was nothing left to fight for, I said, "I understand," though my tone carried a different meaning than she thought. Sounded relieved and thanked

me, assuring me she'd prove her love once it was all over. When the call ended, all my sadness and despair evaporated, replaced by grim resolve. By the time I reached the apartment, I had made up my mind. I unpacked my luggage; Christy and I had kept our separate sets from before we got married, so I laid all three suitcases on the bed. We didn't own much, and I had even less than she did. I was sure everything would fit, and whatever didn't, I wouldn't miss. I packed slowly, deliberately. I didn't intend to disappear quietly; I

wanted her to feel the pain of watching me leave, just as I had felt when she walked out. Two suitcases were packed, and I was halfway through the last one when I heard the front door open and then softly close. Seeing the lights on, Christy must have known I was awake. She called out, and I sarcastically responded, "Hope you had a great time." Her tone suggested she mistook my words for sincerity. She entered the bedroom, and I glanced at her. Her hair and makeup were messy, her clothes wrinkled. She looked content, but her smile quickly

faded when she noticed me packing. "What are you doing?" she asked. "I'm moving out and filing for divorce," I replied. She tried to stop me, reaching for the suitcase, but I firmly removed her hand. Anger surged through me, reminiscent of the bouncer's grip earlier that night. "Don't touch me," I warned. "What I understand is that you were going to have your fun no matter how I felt." I then asked, "Did you sleep with both of them or just Mr. Big?" My sarcasm was pointed. She begged me not to leave, explaining how she'd always been curious

about being with someone that size. She justified it by saying it wouldn't have been fair to back out after everything Desmond did to make this happen, and I wouldn't want him to exploit another married woman. She assured me, "It's over now, and I'll do anything to make it up to you." I expressed my disappointment, reminding her of her promise when we married—to be mine forever. "What does that promise mean now that you've broken it?" I asked. "How do you expect to make this right? Do you understand how inadequate you've made me feel?" Finally, I told

her, "I might consider moving past this if you tell me where they took you—hotel and room number." Christy refused; she avoided the question and continued trying to stop my packing. "I can't tell you that," she said. "Take my apology and let it go." She claimed she was protecting me, saying, "If I tell you, you'll do something dangerous. There were two of them, and they're not worth you getting into trouble." "I countered, that's my decision, not yours." I pressed her again, "Tell me where they are." She apologized again, referencing her promise to protect me after we

married. She claimed she couldn't let me get hurt unless I was the one inflicting it. My response seemed to resonate with her, and eventually, she relented. Christy continued trying to convince me to stay while I finished packing. Though she no longer physically interfered, she repeated that it was just lovemaking and something she felt compelled to do while insisting, "I only love you." I remained resolute in my decision to leave. When she finally spoke, it meant nothing to me. I had reached my limit; I told her bluntly, "It meant something to me. Our lovemaking was incredibly

important. I didn't realize how little it mattered to you. It was something that made you unique—sharing your body only with me—and you gave that away. Worse, you did it in the most humiliating way possible: walking out on me in front of our closest friends." She apologized, admitting she had known it was wrong, and promising it would never happen again. She claimed, "I just went a little crazy, but it's out of my system now." I questioned her words, wondering what else might one day be in her system. I expressed my disbelief and shame over her actions,

recalling how the entire bar watched with pity as she walked away without looking back. She broke into sobs, begging me not to abandon her and repeatedly professing her love for me. I replied firmly, "If this is your version of love, I don't want it." I admitted that even if she had told me where the men were, it wouldn't have changed my decision. I told her I might forgive her someday, but I would never forget what she had done or how it made me feel. After two trips to load my suitcases into the car, I returned

to the apartment one final time. Christy was still lying on the floor; she looked up at me, mumbling, "Please, please don't leave, baby." No matter what had happened or what she had done, I felt like a complete fool. Leaving didn't make me reconsider, but I still felt terrible. I assumed it was because, despite everything, I still loved her. The next morning, I woke up disoriented in a hotel. I hadn't realized how exhausted I was; once the adrenaline wore off, I crashed hard. It was nearly noon when I finally woke up. Thankfully, I'd prepaid for two

nights, but I knew I couldn't afford to stay much longer. My bank account wasn't set up to handle a hotel stay; I needed a plan. Christy and I had three months left on the lease for our apartment, but there wasn't enough money for me to cover a new place. On top of that, we didn't have many assets: two cars with payments, a small joint bank account, and some furniture I didn't particularly care about. The financial logistics were secondary; I hated the idea. Of dragging Chris and him into this mess, but they'd been my best friends

for years long before any of us got married. Chris and Liz had been married for five years, Hines and Kim for four, and Christy and I were the last to join the club. Eventually, I turned my phone back on; Christy had left numerous messages, as had the rest of the group, all urging me not to make any rash decisions. Chris's message stood out; he offered to help in any way they could. I called and got Liz, asking if I could stay in their guest room for a while. Liz agreed but laid out her terms: "You

can stay here, but I won't keep you from Christy. She's been asking everyone if they've heard from you," Liz said. She insisted I treat Christy civilly, acknowledging that she had made a mistake but emphasizing that it wasn't a crime like homicide. I agreed to Liz's terms and spent the next morning moving from the hotel to their house. My boss let me take the morning off, but I had to work late one evening that week to make up for it. I chose to work late that night, hoping it would distract me from the events of the

weekend. When I arrived at Chris and Liz's house around 10 p.m., I was exhausted and looking forward to some rest. Instead, I walked in to find Christy waiting for me. I immediately questioned her presence, reminding her that I didn't want to see her. After I left, she apologized, saying she was hurting without me and wanted to talk to work things out. I reiterated that I wasn't interested in reconciliation, but she pleaded with me not to end things over one mistake. She professed her love and begged for a chance to make things right. I reminded her

she had the opportunity to preserve my dignity by telling me where those men were, but she had refused. I told her I needed space to process my feelings. She begged me not to give up on our future, admitting her mistake and expressing her regret. I emphasized how serious her betrayal was and asked her to leave, insisting I needed time to process everything on my own. Christy left with her head lowered after a brief conversation with Liz in the kitchen. I stayed in the living room as they spoke. As Christy paused at the door, she said

she loved me before walking out. My resolve faltered, and I sank onto the couch. Liz joined me while Chris stood nearby in the hallway. Liz complimented me on how I handled the situation, thanking me for being kind despite how difficult it was. "I don't feel like I handled it well," I admitted. "I don't deserve what happened." Liz agreed. "You're right, you shouldn't have to go through this, but Christy's struggling too. She didn't expect you to leave her over this." I questioned Liz, wondering whether Christy had orchestrated the entire situation, knowing exactly how far she could

push the limits. Liz immediately clarified that Christy didn't plan this in advance, but she did rationalize her actions afterward. "What did Christy tell you?" I pressed. She admitted that the temptation of being with someone wealthy was her motivation, Liz explained. "But she also wanted me to assure you that she hadn't intended for you to be restrained by the bouncer." That explanation only fueled my anger. "Was the lovemaking at least terrible?" I asked, my sarcasm sharp. "Or should I not even bother asking?" Liz hesitated before responding. "Do you want me to sugarcoat it or be honest?"

"I guess that answers my question," I said bitterly. "Never mind," Liz sighed. "But as satisfying as Christy claims it was, she told me it meant nothing compared to what you two have. She doesn't want to lose your relationship over this." I shook my head. "But she did trade me for that, even if she didn't realize it at the time. Choices have consequences; she made hers." "You're right," Liz acknowledged, "but after reflecting on what she did, she thought you two could overcome this. She assumed that if she downplayed it, you'd eventually forgive her." "I hope so

too," I said flatly, "but Chris and Hines were right. I can't see a way forward. Christy made deliberate choices, leaving with him in front of me, having me restrained, and then calling to ask for my approval afterward. She ignored every opportunity to consider how much this was hurting me and chose against me every single time." "I understand why it feels that way," Liz said carefully, "but I don't think she was thinking clearly. It was like a moment of temporary insanity. Haven't you ever made a reckless decision and ignored the consequences?" "Liz," I said, my tone

softening, "I appreciate you standing up for her. I know you two are close, and I wouldn't expect anything less. You're my friend too." Henry, Liz replied, "I know you care about her, but this isn't the same as me staying up all night playing video games instead of writing a history essay. We're adults; she had to know her actions would lead to this." "You're right," Liz admitted, "but my heart tells me you two are good together, and if you forgave her, you'd be happy." "Maybe," I said, "but I'd always be worried about what might happen next.

I'd be scared to step into a club again, wondering if it would happen again. If she can't control her impulses, do I have to accept that, or is it time to prioritize my own well-being?" I stood up. "Excuse me; I'm tired. I need some rest." Christy's story unfolded predictably after that. She made repeated efforts to reconcile, but I resisted. It was hard. I still loved her. Divorce doesn't just mean losing a spouse; it means losing shared dreams, plans, and hopes. talked about kids, grandkids, traveling, and starting a family. All of that was gone; those memories

were the hardest part of letting go. Christe and I had been so aligned on our future, like two halves of a whole, but I couldn't overlook her betrayal. The divorce was finalized 3 months later. Christy asked for one final conversation, and I agreed to listen. After the hearing, we met in private, where she apologized, insisting her actions didn't reflect her love for me. "I'll regret this for the rest of my life," she said. I responded, "I regret meeting you, proposing to you, and marrying you. I regret thinking you were the person I wanted to spend

my life with." I told her, "I'm moving on." Christy accepted my decision but lashed out as I left. "You'll regret this," she snapped. "Maybe one day you'll learn to think before you act." Her words stung, but I stayed silent. I regretted the situation but not my decision. I walked out, and we never spoke or touched again. The relief was liberating. 3 months later, I started going out again. I wasn't looking to meet anyone; I just wanted to stop staying home all the time. I joined Chris, H, Liz, and Kim on their outings. They often introduced

me to friends, hinting at matchmaking, but I wasn't ready for anything serious. I enjoyed the company and let myself have light-hearted fun without attachment. The people I met were kind, but there was no spark. Eventually, the conversations fizzled as the night wore on. I also developed a habit of going out alone, finding peace in my independence. The club where everything had changed became a familiar refuge. I enjoyed being around people without any responsibility for them. One night, I reconnected with Tasha, a bartender at the club and someone I vaguely remembered from high school. She hadn't

been working the night my life changed, but she'd been there long enough to hear the story. "Do you remember that night?" I asked her one evening. We'd barely known each other before, but as I started coming in alone, we formed an unexpected friendship. Over time, she began dropping hints that she wanted something more. About 10 months after Christe left the bar with those men, I encountered them again. They were back at the club, sitting and drinking, scanning the room, likely looking for new targets. I must have been staring in their direction because Tasha noticed and

asked, "Why are you staring at Desmond and Richard?" I was surprised she knew their names. I turned to her. "You know them?" I asked. She nodded. "They're regulars here." "Not personally, but I know who they are." I mentioned I thought they were from out of town and only came here occasionally for business. She corrected me. "They work at a supply warehouse downtown near the freeway," she added. "They lived nearby and had for years," though she wasn't sure of the exact location. She also said they frequently came to the bar to pick up women and were

usually successful. "Richard's looks probably help," she added casually. I was taken aback that the bar was a hot spot for such behavior. "That's surprising," I muttered. Tasha shrugged. I asked if there were a lot of single women at the bar, and she explained, "There are some, mostly in groups, but those guys don't limit themselves to single women; they seem to prefer married ones." I tried to stay calm at this revelation. "That sounds risky," I remarked. Tasha dismissed my concern. "I doubt the husbands ever find out. The guys don't brag, and the wives stay quiet." She

didn't seem bothered, reasoning, "It doesn't hurt anyone. The wives have fun, and the husbands don't know; sometimes it even makes their lovemaking better out of guilt." Her casual attitude frustrated me, and I realized there was no future between us. If she was fine with others acting like this, she likely wouldn't hesitate to do it herself. Tasha kept talking when I didn't respond, mentioning a time the men had tried to pick up a woman while her husband was at the club. "It almost turned violent," she said. "Victor, the bouncer, had to intervene because the wife asked

him to restrain her husband so she could leave with the guys." I froze, slowly turning to her. "I asked Christe." Tasha paused, piecing it together; her expression shifted to shock and regret as she realized the truth. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, unsure of what else to say. I stood, leaving the bar without another word. Outside, I made a quick phone call and settled in to wait. Until that moment, I hadn't realized how much I craved justice, perhaps even revenge, until it became clear this was all a routine for them. While Christe had willingly accepted their

invitation, I doubted she knew these weren't harmless out-of-towners. She likely thought they'd disappear after a casual fling. I spotted their car in the parking lot: a Cadillac with lowered suspension and chrome rims, and figured it was theirs, as they hadn't left the club yet. I had time to act. Nearly an hour later, Desmond and Richard emerged with a woman they’d charmed inside. I was right about the car, leaning against the driver's door. I waited as they approached. Desmond, the more outspoken of the two, looked annoyed. "Get your hands off my car," he said sharply. Ignoring

him, I addressed the woman. "I don't know you, but I don't want to see you hurt, especially if your husband doesn't deserve this." I pointed at her hand. "You're married; I can see the ring." Turning to her, I said firmly, "You should leave. Go home to your husband, the one you vowed to be faithful to." She hesitated, but ultimately stepped back, heading toward the club despite Desmond and Richard's protests. When she was gone, their "Irritation turned to me. 'Why are you interfering?' Richard demanded. I replied, 'Because she belongs to her husband.' Desmond stared at me

for a moment before recognition dawned. 'Wait a second, you're the guy whose wife had the bouncer hold him back while she left with us!' he exclaimed. 'That's right,' I said coldly. Richard smirked. 'So, are you here for revenge?' I didn't respond; their focus on me blinded them to my friends quietly closing in. In a flash, Hines, Chris, and Jed grabbed them, despite their struggles. My friends restrained them, forcing them to their knees with their arms bound behind their backs. Their bravado evaporated. One of them tried to justify their actions. 'We didn't force anyone; the women

come willingly!' I shot back. 'I've dealt with my wife; now it's your turn. You're a menace, and I'll make sure you never do this again.' I gestured to my friends, 'Load them into Jed's truck.' They were securely tied in the back, ensuring they couldn't escape. Their faces betrayed their fear as they realized their fun was over. About an hour later, we arrived at a remote area in the county, accompanied by Jed, whose family owned a nearby farm. We stopped at a dense grove of trees, far from civilization and completely out of sight. The guys dragged

Desmond and Richard out of the truck without much care, and I couldn't help but enjoy the fear in their eyes. They probably never imagined that their casual hookups would lead them to this moment. Like Christe, they were now facing unexpected consequences. In a casual tone that masked my seriousness, I began discussing the best ways to rid society of this carnivorous behavior. I suggested options including castration followed by release, which visibly horrified them. Jed added matter-of-factly, 'That could get complicated if they seek medical attention afterward.' Desmond and Richard stayed silent, their terror palpable. I then mentioned

the alternative: eliminating them to ensure there were no witnesses. While Desmond looked terrified, Richard's expression suggested he'd prefer the end of life over living without his manhood. 'It's ridiculous to tie your self-worth to your private parts,' I remarked. Desmond tried to defend their actions again. 'We were just hooking up; it's not our fault she wanted to cheat.' I cut him off. 'I'm not concerned with her choices anymore; my issue is with you. I hate men like you—men who think they can seduce married women without consequences. Tonight, you'll learn that's not true.' I motioned for my

friends to join me in a private huddle. The plan was simple: intimidate them as much as possible. Deep down, I'm not a violent person, and while I wanted them to suffer, my intention wasn't to cause permanent damage. For about an hour, we left them in suspense, convincing them we were seriously debating whether to maim or eliminate them. When we returned, their defiance was gone; they looked utterly defeated. I informed them, 'My friends convinced me not to eliminate you or castrate you. Instead, you'll get a severe striking,' I added firmly. 'We provide alibis for each other,

but if the police get involved, you'll face the other options. We'll also keep tabs on you. We have your addresses and workplaces from your licenses. If you go after married women again, there will be serious consequences.' Desmond hesitated before asking, 'Is there any way to avoid the striking?' I offered a proposition, which Desmond eagerly accepted in hopes of escaping punishment. Unfortunately for them, the deal didn't save them. With ten of us, we unleashed our frustration on them. We avoided causing fatal injuries, but a few broken bones were unavoidable. We steered clear of breaking ribs, knowing

they could puncture lungs. At the very least, they would carry the memory of this night for a long time. Afterward, we drove them back to town and left them on a curb near the hospital, steering clear of security cameras. The next morning, news outlets reported two men attacked in what was believed to be a failed robbery. The case went cold after the sufferers claimed they didn't recognize their attackers and suggested it was random. Now, a year has passed since that terrible night. Somehow, I've managed to avoid becoming completely distrustful of women, though it hasn't been

easy. I've heard that Christe recently started dating someone. It's still early, but from what I've gathered, things seem to be going well for her. As for Desmond and Richard, they've disappeared. They no longer work at the warehouse, and their apartments are empty. I suspect they've moved on to another city to continue their schemes. Sometimes, I wonder if I should have dealt with them permanently. The thought crosses my mind often, and there are moments I regret letting them go. Eventually, I decided to find a new hangout spot. Tasha had become more assertive, and my polite refusals

weren't enough to deter her. I finally had to be blunt with her. 'Tasha, nothing will happen between us because you don't see anything wrong with a wife cheating on her husband,' I said. She tried to argue, 'I'd never do that myself,' she claimed, but I didn't believe her. 'I'm sorry,' I replied, 'but I'd rather get two dogs than date you.' I haven't started dating again yet, but I know I'll get there eventually. For now, I'm focused on healing and moving on. All right, that was a fun story. Now let's move on to another exciting one.

Stay tuned, and let's dive into story two. Before that fateful evening, my life felt comfortably predictable, if not idyllic. My marriage to Linda had been the cornerstone of my existence for ten years, and I took pride in the stability we had cultivated. Though not without its challenges, our partnership seemed steadfast, fortified by years of shared experiences, mutual sacrifices, and deep-seated affection. Yet beneath the surface, faint echoes of discontent had begun to..." Resonate. I recall sensing an intangible distance, a subtle shift in Linda's demeanor that I couldn't quite place. Her occasional preoccupation, in the way she

avoided direct eye contact and serious conversations, felt like clues to a mystery I didn't know I was living. If only I had been more attuned, I might have seen the storm gathering on the horizon. When I arrived home that Wednesday evening, she was seated in the living room, her face a mask of intensity that instantly unsettled me. She gestured for me to join her, her tone serious as she began speaking. After a moment's hesitation, she declared her unwavering love for me and our life together before delivering a revelation that shattered my sense of reality. "I

want to take a lover," she said. I froze, struggling to reconcile her words with her claim of love and commitment. "Let me get this straight," I said. "You love me and value our marriage, but you're asking to sleep with another man?" "That's a blunt way to put it," she replied. "I've met someone I want to be with physically. Occasionally, I'll be honest about it, and it won't change how I feel about you. If you love me, you'll let me have this freedom." Her calmness stunned me, even as she smiled and posed a question. "What if

the roles were reversed? How would you feel if I wanted the same thing?" I knew she wouldn't react well, but I reluctantly agreed to consider her proposal if it wouldn't damage our relationship. She crossed her arms. "That's nonsense! You'd lose your mind if I brought this up." I scoffed, catching her off guard. "You must be joking. Did you really think I'd agree? Do you expect me to sit at home while you spend time with him?" "Maybe I didn't think it through," she admitted hesitantly. "What do you think?" I pressed. "Okay, maybe I didn't fully consider

your feelings," she said, "but if you say no, would you stop me?" "I don't know," she added. "I didn't think you'd refuse." "Let’s visit this Sunday," she said. "I need time to process everything." I said nothing and went to the bedroom to move my things into the guest room. "What are you doing?" she asked. "I'm not sharing a bed with someone fantasizing about another man," I replied, closing the door behind me. I didn't sleep but began forming a plan. One thing was clear: if she went through with this, our marriage was over. The next morning,

I left for work without speaking to Linda. Later, I took two personal days off and purchased three voice-activated recorders, placing them near the phone in our bedroom and in her car. I also installed a phone recording device on our landline. At the cell phone company, I accessed her phone records since the account was in my name. While she was still at work, I discovered an email account I didn't know about. Its simple password revealed a wealth of information. Though I saw she hadn't been intimate with the man yet, I set it to forward emails to

me secretly. I also bought two GPS trackers—one hidden in her wallet and another in her car. By evening, I was ready to monitor her movements and activities. All that remained was accessing her phone. From her emails, I learned she was communicating with Frank Jones, a colleague. Their plans for the weekend were explicit, leaving little room for compromise. On Friday, I hired a divorce lawyer, instructing him to file for divorce and name Frank as a codefendant for infidelity. Armed with emails, phone logs, and pending audio evidence, he began building the case. That night, Linda returned home

and cooked dinner. I stayed silent, ate at a bar, and returned late. When she tried to talk, I brushed past her and locked myself in the guest room. Only canceling her plans with Frank could salvage our marriage, but I doubted she would. I ignored her all weekend until Sunday afternoon when I said it was time to talk at the kitchen table. I made my stance clear. "I can't accept this," I said. "It's already hurt our marriage." She grew angry. "If you cared about my feelings, you'd understand." "I tried," I replied, "but no good can come

from this. My answer is no." "If you love me, how can you be so selfish?" she snapped. "You're the selfish one," I countered. "Staying married while pursuing someone else is the definition of selfishness." "What if I do it anyway?" she asked. "There will be consequences," I warned. "We vowed exclusivity ten years ago." "I know," she said, "but I need to do this." "Then this conversation is over," I said, leaving. "You need to reconsider your actions." At a nearby Wi-Fi spot, I monitored her email. She was angry but determined to continue. Frank had booked room 125

at the Hilton in Kansas City for Friday and Saturday. I immediately reserved the same room for Thursday night. Their plans were predictable—a romantic dinner, dancing, and closeness. Linda even mentioned buying new lingerie. Frank planned to pick her up at our house at 1 p.m. for the two-hour drive, checking in at 3:00. Shocked he would come to our home, I planned my next steps. I reserved a nearby room for the weekend to monitor everything and purchased fiber optic cameras to install in their room Thursday night, ensuring irrefutable evidence for the divorce case. Throughout this time, I

completely ignored Linda. By Wednesday, I decided to give her one last chance. I asked her to sit down for a serious conversation. Reluctantly, she joined me. I urged her to reconsider, emphasizing how deeply her actions were damaging our marriage. Ignoring my pleas, she confirmed her intent to move forward with Frank. Her choice was clear. Heartbroken, I left the room, slamming the door. My marriage was over, and someone was going. to pay on Thursday morning. I went to work but arranged for the afternoon and Friday off, explaining to my boss that I was finalizing my divorce.

He expressed his support and gave me the time I needed. That afternoon, I drove to Kansas City, checked into their room, and installed the surveillance equipment. I carefully ensured everything was operational to capture their activities; this evidence would seal the case. Returning home, I stopped at a store to buy pepper spray, intending to disrupt their weekend plans. When I arrived, Linda was in the kitchen looking at me expectantly. Without a word, I walked past her and slammed the door to the guest room. Later, she entered, attempting a friendly conversation. I cut her off coldly, telling

her to save her energy for Frank. She left, and I spent the night restless but focused on ensuring I was ready to bring everything to an end. On Friday morning, I left the house without speaking to her. At the lawyer's office, I signed the necessary divorce papers and informed him I would deliver evidence by Monday. I also requested that Linda be served at work that afternoon and that Frank received his papers simultaneously, as I was suing him for alienation of affection. Checking her GPS, I saw she was at a hair salon. Returning home, I searched

her suitcase and found the new lingerie she had mentioned in her emails. Wearing gloves, I sprayed the lingerie and bra cups with pepper spray before putting them back. Next, I went to the bank, closed our joint accounts, and transferred the funds to a new account. I canceled our shared credit cards, ensuring Linda couldn't access them. Feeling satisfied, I returned home to say goodbye to my wife. At 12:30 p.m., I entered the house, but Linda wasn't downstairs. Assuming she was getting ready, I went upstairs and found her in the bedroom, wearing sexy lingerie I had once

gifted her. She moved to cover herself, but I stopped her. "Don't bother; I've seen it before," I said. With her fresh hairstyle, flawless makeup, and revealing outfit, she looked stunning. I couldn't resist commenting, "You look incredible. Too bad you never put in this much effort for me." "It's not like that," she replied. "I just want to make a good impression." "You seem more concerned about impressing him than you've ever been about me," I remarked. "I just wanted to feel handsome," she said. "Well, you succeeded," I replied. "But I loved you with all my heart, and

we made vows to forsake all others. That meant something to me, even if it didn't to you." Stepping closer, I gently removed the rings from her hand. "I gave you this ring on our wedding day; the engagement ring belonged to my mother. I'm keeping them because they don't belong in this farce." She stood silently, shocked. I continued, "I won't be here when he arrives, but he’s not coming into my house. If he does, there will be consequences. I'll be watching." "Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Because you've betrayed me," I said

coldly. "I hope this weekend is worth it." I turned and left, ignoring her cries. Parking down the street, I ensured she could see me if she looked out the window. If Frank stepped inside, I was prepared to risk jail; though the consequences for them would be far worse. Soon, Frank's car pulled up outside. He walked to the door and rang the bell. Linda emerged, suitcase in hand, and immediately wrapped her arms around his neck for a passionate kiss. After he picked up her suitcase, she glanced at me through the window with a smug grin before

sliding into the car beside him. As they drove past, she flashed another smug look, but I responded by flipping her off, wiping the grin from her face. Back inside, I changed all the locks and garage door codes. Grabbing my pre-packed suitcase, I headed to Kansas City, checked into my room, and set up my laptop. From the camera feed, I saw Linda undressed in bed, confirming Frank had already had his way with her—not for long, though. Moments later, he emerged from the bathroom, also unclothed, his unimpressive size on full display. I couldn't help but laugh as

he approached the bed. Ready for another attempt, he smiled and embraced her, though I chuckled again when she reached for his small member. It was clear she wasn't used to such mediocrity. Her frustration grew as he repeatedly failed to satisfy her. I suspected she’d return home dissatisfied, only to face the consequences of her betrayal. Despite his efforts, Linda remained unfulfilled, and I found the whole situation highly entertaining. Feeling vindicated, I left to grab dinner and some drinks, confident that the evidence I was gathering would solidify my case. When I returned, Frank was asleep, and Linda

looked visibly frustrated. The initial pain of losing my wife was fading, replaced by amusement at her poor choice in partners. I went to bed with a contented smile, already envisioning how I’d stir up trouble the next day. The thought of attractive women at the bar reminded me of the freedom I now had to pursue them. With that comforting realization, I drifted off, feeling refreshed and eager for the next phase. The following morning, I woke energized. After a shower and a hearty breakfast, I picked up some snacks for the day and returned to my room to

set my next plan into motion. I contacted a local florist to order a bouquet for Linda, identical to the ones I’d given her on our anniversaries—a poignant reminder of what she was throwing away. Timing the delivery perfectly, I watched as the flowers arrived just as they returned to the room and began getting intimate. A knock interrupted them. The florist delivered the bouquet, and Linda's face revealed a Mix of anger and contemplation, she picked up her phone and dialed. My phone rang. "Hello," I answered. "How are you?" she asked cautiously. "Not great; my wife is out

with another man while I sit here angry," I replied bitterly. "Why do you ask? It's not like you care." "I just got a bouquet, like the ones you used to give me. Are you trying to send a message?" she inquired. "I wouldn't waste flowers on you now," I snapped. "If I did send anything, it'd come with a scathing card. Maybe this will remind you of what you’re sacrificing." Her stunned silence prompted me to hang up. She called back repeatedly, but I didn't answer. Frustrated, she relayed my words to Frank, who reassured her that I'd come

around eventually. But I knew I wouldn't—not until she was out of my life. Frank made another move, and Linda reluctantly indulged him. Seizing the moment, I ordered her favorite pizza for delivery. It arrived just as he was getting started again. He refused to pay, but the delivery person confirmed the room number and Frank's cell phone number, threatening to involve the police. Frank reluctantly paid, and they decided to eat the pizza since it was already there. After eating, they talked for a while before Frank resumed his advances. As things heated up, I ordered her favorite sandwich

for delivery. He had barely begun another attempt when the sandwich arrived. Seeing it, Linda speculated that I had discovered their location. She recounted her suspicions about my hacking into her email, praising my intelligence, though Frank seemed skeptical. Annoyed but undeterred, they decided to leave for a romantic evening. Linda promised to make it up to him later. I couldn't stop laughing as I imagined how the rest of their day would unravel. When they returned, Linda hurried into the shower, emerging with red, irritated skin on her chest and groin—clear signs of the pepper spray. Frank's hopes for

the evening were dashed when he tried to touch her. "Don't touch me!" she snapped. Confused, he asked, "What's wrong? Is this stupid lingerie?" "I think I'm allergic to it," she growled, blaming her discomfort on the lingerie. She remained unaware of my involvement, frustrated and in pain as she refused his advances. That evening, I organized the video footage and prepared DVDs for my lawyer and Frank's wife. Feeling accomplished, I went to bed with a satisfied smile, knowing Paradise was quickly unraveling and I was the one orchestrating it. Sunday morning, I headed home, knowing Linda would face

even more chaos when she returned. Tomorrow, it would all end. Later that day, Frankie dropped her off without even escorting her to the door; he simply let her out. I sat on the couch, engrossed in a football game, ignoring her arrival. She announced she was home, but I didn't respond. She walked between me and the TV, flashing a seductive smile. "I thought you'd be happy to see me," she said. "You're not dead," I replied coldly. "What made you think I'd be happy? Do I look like I've lost my mind in the past few days?" "What's

that supposed to mean?" she asked sharply. "I know what you did," I said bluntly. "But I didn't—" she started defensively. "Don't. I never thought you were stupid, but now I see you didn't love me enough to stop this." "I loved you with all my heart, but that's past tense now," I said, meeting her eyes. "You don't mean that," she protested. "Oh, I do," I replied sharply. "You broke my heart when you chose him. After everything I said, from the moment you left with him, I stopped caring whether you came back." "I can't believe you feel

that way," she said, her voice trembling. "Believe it," I replied. "You made a colossal mistake." Tears welled in her eyes as she asked, "Is there anything I can do?" "You can get on your knees and eat my crap," I said sarcastically. "You know I can't do that," she replied, shocked. "I know. That's why it's clear your promise to do anything to save this marriage is as worthless as your vow to be faithful." She softened her tone. "I was thinking about you the whole way home. I really want to make love to you tonight. I need

you." "You need me?" I shot back. "I don't think so. And as far as making love goes, did you and Frankie use protection every time?" "No! He's married, and I can't have kids," she said. "Do you think you're the only one he's told that to?" I demanded. "You're damaged goods to me now. There's no way I'm touching you until a doctor gives you a clean bill of health." "You could use a rubber," she started. "Right," I interrupted. "Like I'm going to use protection with my wife after you spent the weekend screwing some loser bareback. Screw

you!" I stood abruptly. "You chose Frankie over me," I said angrily. "I'm going out. I can't stand to look at you right now. Tonight, you can sleep in the guest room. The master bedroom is mine. Unlike you, I didn't break any vows." "Can we talk about this?" she pleaded. "Tomorrow after work. There's nothing more to say right now," I replied, ending the conversation. I left the house, went to a nearby bar and grill, and grabbed dinner. Not being much of a drinker, I ate, then went for a long walk to clear my head. When I

returned, Linda was in my bed. "Get out!" I said, glaring at her. "This is our bed." "I have just as much right to it as you," she argued. "You gave up that right when you slept with Frankie. Get out or I'll drag you out and toss you on the street!" I growled. She started crying and left the room slowly. I locked the door behind her, listening. To her sobs as she walked down the hall the next morning, I ignored her completely. We ate breakfast separately, and she left for work at her usual time. Before leaving,

she turned and said she loved me. I met her gaze coldly. "I loved you too," I replied, emphasizing the past tense. Tears filled her eyes as she turned and walked out. When she was gone, I began packing her belongings into garbage bags. As I worked, I called Frankie's wife, also named Linda. I asked if she knew her husband had spent the weekend with my wife. She thought he'd been on a business trip. When I offered her evidence, she eagerly agreed. Later that afternoon, I arrived at her house. When Linda opened the door, I was stunned;

she was death-takingly beautiful. I stammered an apology, explaining I was caught off guard. We quickly got to business, and I explained what had happened. Furious, she agreed to accompany me to my lawyer's office. He took her case and even offered a discount. While Linda completed the paperwork, I asked the lawyer if I should wait to serve Frankie until after Linda signed her papers. He assured me it was fine to proceed as long as she filed first. We went out for lunch while the papers were prepared. Afterward, I dropped her off and headed home to wait

for my wife's return. At 3:00, my phone rang. It was Linda. "What the hell is this?" she demanded angrily. "What do you mean?" I replied innocently. "I just got served with divorce papers, and Frank got hit with a lawsuit!" she exclaimed. "I warned you there'd be consequences," I said calmly. "Apparently, you didn't take me seriously." "I didn't think you'd go through with it!" she protested. "Maybe you should have listened to me instead of Frankie's nonsense. I don't want to discuss this over the phone; we'll talk when you come back to my house," I said before

hanging up. Afterward, I carried the garbage bags filled with Linda's belongings and tossed them into the front yard, preparing for her return. When she pulled into the driveway and saw the mess, she erupted in anger. Calmly, I recorded the confrontation, intending to use it as evidence for a restraining order if needed. Despite her yelling and even spitting, I maintained composure while she vented her frustration. Eventually, I broke the silence. "If you want to talk, calm down so we can have a conversation; otherwise, I'll pack the rest of your things into your car, and you can

leave." Tears streamed down her face as she cried, "I never thought you'd do this to me." "Do this to you?" I snapped. "You foolish woman, you did this to me and to our marriage. I begged you not to destroy us, and you chose to do it anyway. Why wouldn't I file for divorce?" "You said you loved me," she replied softly. "I did; I loved you more than anything, but you destroyed my heart. The real problem is that you didn't love or respect me enough to stop. I can't stay with someone who thinks so little of

me." "But I still care about you," she said, reaching out. "Care about me? If you cared, you wouldn't have spent the weekend with little Frankie," I retorted. "Why do you keep calling him little Frankie?" she asked, confused. "Because I put cameras in your room and recorded everything," I said with a cold laugh. "It's clear why I call him little." I laughed so hard I cried when I saw his size. I even wondered if you could feel him; you weren't climaxing like you do with me. What we had wasn't just sex; it was making love. That's

the difference." She nodded reluctantly. "I agree; what we had was real love." "Well, now you're free to be with whoever you want—maybe a different man every night," I said sarcastically. "I don't want that," she murmured. "I want you." "You should have thought about that before Kansas City," I said coldly. "Let's go inside and talk. I'm sorry for being harsh, but I'm furious right now. One thing's certain: I'll never physically hurt you; little Frankie, on the other hand, isn't safe." We went inside and sat at the kitchen table, a familiar setting for many past conversations. This

time, the finality of it weighed heavily on me. I resolved to stay calm. "You wouldn't really hurt Frank, would you?" Linda asked cautiously. "Why not? He destroyed my marriage; he deserves consequences beyond the lawsuit and his own divorce," I replied firmly. "He's not getting divorced; his wife approved of us," Linda countered, clearly misinformed. "She told you that to manipulate you," I said flatly. "I spoke to her this morning, shared my evidence, and now we share a lawyer. She's filing for divorce." Linda looked shaken. "I don't believe you," she said. "That's why we're divorcing. Your disbelief

and choices made this inevitable," I said. "When you call him, you'll find out he's been kicked out too." "You're really making me leave?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Since the night you told me your plan, I've been thinking in the guest room," I began. "It took less than an hour to decide on divorce." "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she asked, bewildered. "I didn't think you'd stop, and telling you would have just made you angry," I explained. "I saw from your emails that my feelings didn't matter to you." Shame spread across her face as she

looked down. "You confirmed my decision when you left that Friday." "I signed the papers that same day," I added. "I can't believe I was so naive," she said softly. "Is there any chance for forgiveness?" she asked, tears streaming. "I once loved you enough to consider it, but last night was your final chance, and you blew it," I said. "I might forgive you someday, but..." "I'll never trust you again. Without trust, there's no future for us. It's over." Linda broke into uncontrollable sobs, but my resolve was unshaken. I'd spent days contemplating this moment, and my decision

was final: I'm divorcing you, and I'll make sure little Frankie pays for what he's done to my marriage. I declared. Before she could respond, I added, "You can call him and figure out where to stay, but don't bother with credit cards—they're cancelled. Half the money in our checking account is yours, and I've removed my name from it. You can keep your car, but the payments are your responsibility. Take any furniture you need; once you have a place, the house stays with me. If I sell it, I'll share the proceeds. Everything is outlined in the divorce

papers. Contest it, and I'll use all the evidence I have." "No matter the damage, I won't fight it," she said quietly, defeated. "This is all my fault. I just wish I could undo it." "You know the difference between a cheating wife and a light bulb?" I asked dryly. She hesitated. "No." "What? You can unscrew a light bulb," I said with a smirk. She didn't laugh, but I didn't expect her to. I packed her belongings into her car as she cried. Before closing the door, I handed her one last item: her wedding ring, flattened with a

hammer. "It's just scrap gold now," I said. I kissed her forehead and whispered, "Goodbye, my love." Walking back into my house, I didn't watch her drive away. Tears came once I was inside, and I cried for an hour until I was emotionally drained. Then I focused on my future. Option one: drown in booze. Not appealing. Option two: end my life. Not worth giving her that satisfaction. Option three: move forward, knowing I was blameless. The thought of being free from Linda made me smile. Feeling lighter, I called Linda—the other Linda. We made plans for dinner. Whether

it led to friendship or something more, it felt like the first step toward healing. [Music] [Applause] [Music] [Applause] [Music]