A Wife’s Bitter Betrayal

Since giving birth, my wife Sandy Wore had this glow—she looked more stunning than ever.

That night, when I got home from work, she was stretched out on the couch in a white romper that clung to her curves. She wasn't even trying, but the sight of her hit me hard.

I sat next to her, careful, slow. But she knew what I was thinking before I said a word. Her eyes flicked to mine, catching the heat there, and she sighed.

"Not tonight, honey. I'm too tired." There was a hint of impatience in her tone as she yawned.

It'd been like this for months. When she was pregnant, she said we couldn't risk hurting the baby. I waited, figuring things would go back to normal after the birth. They didn't. Now it was postpartum issues, or she was too tired, or whatever new excuse she came up with.

The constant rejection stung, and yeah, I started wondering if she just didn't feel anything for me anymore.

She didn't breastfeed the baby either. Claimed she couldn't produce milk, but I noticed her chest looked fuller—rounder—than ever. How was that possible? I offered to help, to check, but she waved me off, saying it made her uncomfortable.

So, like always, I went back to my room, feeling shut out. We'd been in separate bedrooms for almost a year now—since she got pregnant. A year of nothing. No hugs, no kisses, no connection. I told myself to hang in there, to stay loyal, no matter how much it sucked.

But that night, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, it felt harder than ever. Sleep didn't come until past midnight.

Then I heard it—soft noises coming from her room.

What was she doing at this hour?

Curious, I got up and crept to her door. Through the narrow crack, I saw her on the bed, curled on her side. The soft glow from her lamp traced her silhouette, and I froze, heart pounding.

A phone sat on a stand by the bed. The phone I bought her.

Was she livestreaming?

No, she was talking to someone. A man.

I caught bits of his voice through the phone. Video chatting.

From where I stood, I could only see her profile. No clue who the guy was.

My chest tightened. So this was it. This was why she didn't want me. She had someone else.

I watched as she bit her lip, her eyes half-lidded.

Anger bubbled up, hot and sharp. I wanted to burst in, demand answers, force her to admit everything. But I didn't.

If I confronted her now, it'd just blow up into a screaming match. Then what? Divorce? I wasn't ready for that. Not yet. I didn't even know who this guy was or how long they'd been involved.

I forced myself to calm down. Storming in now wouldn't do me any good.

Instead, I made a decision: I'd find out exactly who this guy was.

She betrayed me, and they wouldn't get away with it. Not her. Not him.

I'd make sure they lost everything.