“Then why were you at her apartment?”
He fell silent, looking like a scolded child.
“Chloe, I messed up. I messed up bad. Please,
give me another chance. Just one. I
promise…”
He covered his face, his voice choked with
sobs.
I kept packing. Finally, I turned our wedding
photo face down on the table.
“Liam, you said you hated men like your
father, the ones who abandon their families.
What makes you any different?”
“I wanted to end it,” he pleaded, looking up at
L
- me. “I just wanted something…new. I never
meant for anything to happen. I never wanted
a divorce.”
“You wanted to end it? When? After she had
your baby? After she took my place?”
He knelt before me, begging. “Chloe, please,
I’m begging you. Give me another chance.
Just one. I swear it will never happen again!”
I watched him cry, feeling nothing but a
profound sadness.
My voice was firm. “We’re getting a divorce.”
“Chloe, please don’t do this. I can’t live
without you…”
I tossed the divorce papers, already prepared,
at his feet. “Sign them. I get custody of Jason
and the house. We split the assets.”
“Chloe, do you really have to be so cruel?”
My expression remained unchanged. “If you
don’t sign, I have enough evidence from your
phone to get everything I want in court.”
<
He slumped onto the couch, then shakily
signed his name.
I picked up the signed papers. The feeling
wasn’t of triumph, but a strange emptiness.
Liam had cried in front of me as a teenager,
vowing he would never be like his father,
never abandon his wife and child.
At our wedding, he’d said, tears in his eyes,
that he would love me forever.
I never doubted his sincerity then. But
feelings change.
I moved back into my parents‘ old house. It
was small, but filled with memories.
–
The peeling paint, the musty air it smelled
of a freedom I hadn’t felt in years.
After settling in, I went to pick up Jason from
my mother–in–law’s.
“Chloe, why are you taking Jason back now?”
she asked as she helped him get dressed.
“Mom, Liam and I…we’re getting divorced.”
“Why? What happened? Everything was fine!”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Chloe, please don’t
get divorced. Jason’s still so young. He needs
his father!”
“Mom, some things you can’t just force to
work.” I held her hand. “Like you and Dad.
You forced it for years, and where did it get
you?”
She froze, tears still streaming down her face,
a bitter smile twisting her lips. “Yes, a lifetime
of forcing it, and look where we are.”
I looked at her graying hair, my heart heavy.
“Mom, life’s too short to be unhappy. Don’t
sacrifice yourself anymore.”
She burst into tears, clinging to me as if she
were pouring out a lifetime of sorrow.
Tiffany, in an attempt to salvage her image,
posted a tearful video online.
She sobbed to the camera, the picture of
innocence wronged. “Liam and I met at an art
く
exhibit. He told me he and his wife hadn’t
been in love for a long time. That they were
getting divorced. I believed him. I thought I’d
found true love. I thought…”
She dissolved into sobs, playing the victim.
The comments were filled with sympathy and
support.
“Poor Tiffany, she met a scumbag and got
dragged through the mud.”
“Support Tiffany! There’s nothing wrong with
pursuing true love!”
Then Liam posted his own statement online,
confirming their relationship and claiming our
marriage had already fallen apart.
He said he had initiated the divorce, that
Tiffany had nothing to do with it.
Public opinion shifted completely.
Those who had called Tiffany a homewrecker
now sympathized with her, calling her a victim
of Liam’s deception.
く
I, the betrayed wife, became the villain, the
heartless woman who wouldn’t let them be
happy.
The irony was almost laughable.
My contact information was leaked online. My
phone was bombarded with hateful
messages.
My best friend, Claire, saw the news and
called, frantic. “Chloe, are you okay? I’m
about to board a flight. I’ll be there soon!”
“I’m fine. Don’t come back.”
“How can you be fine? Liam is such a jerk!
And that Tiffany, she’s just…”
I cut her off. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
“Handle it? Are you just going to let them get
away with this?”
“Trust me. I have a plan.” A cold glint entered
my eyes.
I opened my laptop and started a new thread
on social media. I laid out the evidence,
く
meticulously organized in chronological order:
the divorce papers, the chat logs, the money
transfers, the hotel receipts.
I added my own posts, documenting our
marriage, my pregnancy, our vacations, our
everyday life – all timestamped.
I tagged Liam and Tiffany.
The caption: “I hope you two find love in hell.”
My post went viral.
Those who had sympathized with Tiffany and
called me names were stunned into silence.
The evidence was irrefutable.
The comments changed from hate to shock,
disbelief, then finally, sympathy and support.
There were still nasty comments and threats,
but I didn’t care.
Tiffany, caught off guard, deleted her
victimhood post and disabled comments.
Liam remained silent.
Tiffany somehow got my number and called.
く
Her voice was shrill, tearful. “Chloe, why are
you doing this to me? You’re ruining my life!”
“Ruining your life? That’s rich. Who ruined
whose family? Who was the one having an
affair?”
“I…I was tricked!”
“Oh, so that makes it okay to be the other
woman?” I interrupted. “Don’t insult my
intelligence, Tiffany. You knew exactly what
you were doing.”
