When I discovered my wife’s affair, I saw opportunity, not heartbreak. I didn’t realize that my plan to profit from her infidelity would lead me down a morally ambiguous route and force me to face the true cost of freedom.
I knew Claire cheated. Late-night texts, sudden work travels, and covert calls made it obvious. I didn’t challenge her. I didn’t even like her after learning the truth. I had no sentiments after so long of marriage.
I was afraid divorce would ruin me financially. I survived on her high wage. She paid for our housing, groceries, and insurance. I gritted my teeth and pretended everything was alright.
When washing laundry, I found a crumpled credit card receipt from an expensive restaurant in her jeans pocket. Name on it? Alex M—.
“Ohhhh,” I said to the empty washing room. Things suddenly made sense. I knew him. He was her father’s buddy, whom I’d seen at his birthday celebrations.
I remembered Alex from those parties. Gentle, rich guy who constantly looked at Claire like she hung the moon. I believed he was friendly then. Now? I knew better now.
I sat on the chilly tile floor with the receipt and giggled. Not a pleasant laugh. More like psychiatric ward laughter.
“Tom?” Upper-floor Claire’s voice rang down. “Everything okay?”
I re-crumpled and put the receipt in my pocket. Yes, fine. Stubbed my toe.”
I couldn’t sleep that night. Alex and Claire, our surprise cash infusion, and my birthday automobile kept coming to mind. It all made clear now.
The next morning, I searched Claire’s old phone after she left for “work”. She always carelessly used her passcode. 4673. Anniversary. Odd, right?
My stomach turned when I found it. Kisses and hearts in old Alex messages. He was great, she told her pals. But there was more. Something unexpected.
“I still love Tom,” she wrote her buddy. But we needed cash. Alex serves a purpose. Is that awful?”
Her pal replied quickly, “Girl, do what you must. But beware. This might backfire.”
I snorted. If only she knew.
Scrolling down, I saw Claire-Alex messages. It was obvious: Alex was in love and Claire was steering him.
“I wish you’d leave him,” Alex wrote. “We could be so happy together.”
Claire’s response was vague. Alex, it’s complicated. Just enjoy what we have.”
My mind raced as I hung up. Something insane and brilliant was coming. Why not capitalize on this?
I saved Alex’s number to my phone. I decided to wait and plan my move.
***
A week later, I called. I felt my heart race as I heard the ring.
“Hello?” Alex spoke authoritatively.
Inhaled deeply. “Alex? This is Claire’s husband Tom.”
The other end was deafeningly silent. I could practically hear his brain gears spinning.
Finally, he spoke. “Tom. How can I help?”
Cutting to the chase. You and Claire are known to me. Our bills are paid by you. I’ll leave, divorce, and give you her. Need something from you.”
“And what’s that?” His voice was reserved.
Fifty grand. Start anew.”
Another extended pause. I heard him breathe.
He finally asked, “Why would I give you money?”
Just a quick, bitter laugh. “If I leave and shatter her heart, she’ll be yours. I need a new start. Consider it an investment in your happiness.”
You’d do that? Walk away?” His tone was astonished.
“My man Alex, I left this marriage long ago. I want to escape without going broke.”
He was so quiet I assumed he’d hung up. So, “I’ll think about it.”
Saying, “Don’t think too long,” “Offer expires in 48 hours.”
I hung up before he replied. My hands shook as I put the phone down. I did it. All I could do was wait.
My life’s longest two days followed. I jumped whenever my phone buzzed, expecting Alex. It was always someone else. A spam call. Mom texted me. Never Alex.
Claire spotted an issue. Over supper, she said, “You okay, honey?” “You seem distracted.”
Forced a smile. “Work things. No worries.”
She squeezed my hand across the table. My skin crawled after the reassuring gesture. I left, pretending to refill my water glass.
***
When 48 hours neared, I panicked. Imagine Alex calling my bluff. If he told Claire… What if…
The phone buzzed. Unknown number.
“Hello?” I whispered my response.
“Finished,” Alex said. “Check your account.”
I grabbed my laptop and tried to log into my bank account with shaky hands. There was $50,000. Just like that.
“Thank you,” I croaked. “Just… take care of her, okay?” Almost imploring, I added.
I couldn’t tell him the truth. That Claire used him like she did me. Instead, I said “Goodbye, Alex,” and hung up.
I stared at the computer screen for a while. $50,000. My liberation ticket. My chance to start over.
I heard Claire’s car enter the driveway. It was time.
I was sitting on the couch with a divorce packet on the coffee table when she entered.
“Tom?” She spoke uncertainly. “What’s going on?”
I gazed at her for the first time in months. Indeed, she was lovely. But I felt nothing.
“It’s over, Claire,” I responded calmly. “I know about Alex.”
Her face blanched. “Tom, I can explain…”
I raised my hand. Don’t bother. No explanations. Want divorce.”
She got up, walked a few steps, then slumped into the recliner across from me, her legs giving up. “What about money? An apartment? Our life?”
First time in years, I grinned honestly. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright.”
I felt lighter than in years as I left that flat with a duffel bag. Claire cried behind me, pleading to stay and chat. I stopped talking.
I slept in a cheap motel that night, staring at the water-stained ceiling on a lumpy bed. My phone buzzed. Claire. Alex. Claire again. I disregarded them all.
In the morning, I’d hunt for a new home. A new job. A new life. I lay there, feeling the weight of the past few years gently fall off my chest.
My phone buzzed again as I fell asleep. I checked it against my better judgment.
Claire wrote, “Sorry. I loved you.”
I pondered the message before replying, “Yes. Sometimes love isn’t enough.” After sending, I turned off my phone. For the first time in years, I was excited for tomorrow.
What would you’ve done? You liked this story? Here’s another about a husband who demanded his wife pay back all the money she “cost” him during their relationship.
Inspired by true events and people, this work is fictionalized for creativity. To preserve privacy and enrich the story, names, characters, and facts were changed. Any resemblance to real people, events, or places is unintentional.
The author and publisher neither guarantee event authenticity nor character characterization and are not liable for misinterpretation. While this work is presented “as is,” the characters’ viewpoints do not reflect those of the author or publisher.
