Hey there, I’m Gwen, and I have a story about how I took the ultimate revenge on my cheating husband. It all began when I discovered my husband Ryan’s infidelity, which culminated in a dramatic showdown at his birthday party.
Everything started to unravel when I found red lipstick stains on Ryan’s work clothes and strands of red hair in our bed. My suspicions were confirmed when he brought a red-haired woman to his birthday dinner. I knew I couldn’t let this go without some form of retribution.
“Why do you look so stressed, Gwen?” my friend Jessica asked, noticing my anxiety while we were shopping for ingredients for Ryan’s birthday dinner.
With a sigh, I pulled out a small Ziploc bag from my purse. “I found this while making the bed,” I said, showing her a long strand of bright red hair. “It’s definitely not mine, and it’s certainly not Ryan’s.”
Jessica’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? That’s pretty incriminating. What did Ryan say about it? Could it be the nanny’s?”
“Not a chance,” I replied. “Our nanny Michelle recently got a pixie cut. I haven’t confronted Ryan yet, but I can’t shake this feeling.”
“What else did you find?” Jessica asked, her curiosity piqued.
“I found red lipstick on his shirt collar the other day,” I admitted. “I was too exhausted to think much of it then, but now it’s all adding up.”
Jessica’s face grew serious. “You don’t even wear lipstick, Gwen. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
I nodded slowly. “I think he’s cheating on me. He’s been working late a lot lately, and everything feels off.”
Jessica picked up some red onions and gave me a knowing look. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing for now,” I said. “Ryan’s birthday dinner is tomorrow, and I don’t want to ruin it just in case I’m wrong.”
The next day, I nervously prepared the food platters. As the guests arrived, Ryan’s excitement grew with each doorbell ring. “This is going to be so great, honey!” he exclaimed, making sure everyone had a drink.
I smiled tightly. “Just call me if you need me. I’m going to get the canapés out.”
Then Ryan introduced a woman with red hair. “Honey, this is Stacy,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. She smiled brightly at me.
“Nice to meet you, Stacy,” I said, hiding my anger. “Make yourself at home.”
Throughout the party, I kept a close eye on Ryan and Stacy, while pretending to be the gracious host. Jessica gave me a questioning look from across the room, and I gave her a subtle nod confirming her suspicions.
Later, when Ryan and some guests were outside, I approached Stacy. “So, how do you like working with Ryan?” I asked.
Stacy’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, it’s wonderful! He’s so helpful. I work as his assistant, and I get to spend a lot of time with our boss. I needed a break from the kids, and Jeff hired me for this job.”
I nearly choked on my drink. “You’re Mr. Anderson’s assistant? With his wife?”
“Yes! Isn’t it a small world?” Stacy replied cheerfully.
“Very small,” I said, forcing a smile. “Please, come on in and take a seat; dinner is about to be served.”
The next morning, I installed hidden cameras in our bedroom. That night, I told Ryan I was going to stay at Jessica’s for a couple of days, taking the kids with me. He barely noticed, absorbed in his coffee.
Two days later, I returned home and reviewed the footage. My worst fears were confirmed. I contacted Stacy’s husband and a lawyer.
“Mr. Anderson,” I said over the phone. “It’s Gwen, Ryan’s wife. We need to meet immediately.”
Perplexed, he agreed. We met at a coffee shop, where I showed him the video of Stacy and Ryan together.
“I can’t believe this,” he said, his voice strained. “Thank you for telling me.”
That evening, when Ryan returned home, I handed him the divorce papers. “I know about you and Stacy,” I said coldly. “I have proof.”
Ryan fell to his knees, pleading. “Please don’t tell Mr. Anderson. Please stay with me. I’m sorry.”
“You brought another woman into our bed,” I replied icily. “I deserve better.”
Ryan lost everything in the divorce. He was fired and struggled to find another job. One evening, he called, begging me to take him back.
“I’m done with you,” I said firmly. “I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”
He insisted he deserved another chance, but I simply put the phone down, no longer caring.
Though this story has been dramatized, it’s inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been changed for privacy. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
The publisher and author disclaim any liability for misinterpretation and make no claims about the accuracy of the events. The characters’ thoughts are their own and do not represent the views of the author or publisher.
