My name is Lisa, and I thought I had a perfect life—until everything unraveled.
Tom and I had been married for four years. On the surface, things looked great: good jobs, a nice house, and a dog named Max. But cracks were forming.
One morning, after a petty argument over blueberries, Tom left coldly for work. Tired of the tension, I called my best friend May and we headed to the pool to unwind.
That’s when I saw him—Tom, relaxing with a young blonde, her hand on his. I was ready to confront him when a young man stormed over and pinned Tom to the sunbed, yelling, “You’re messing around with my girlfriend?” Tom panicked, tried to bribe him, and begged for mercy. I filmed the whole thing.
Later, when Tom tried to explain, I cut him off. “We’re done. I’m divorcing you.” His guilt turned into blame—accusing m of pushing him away. That was it. I sent the video to his boss—who turned out to be the blonde’s father. Tom was fired the next day.
I filed for divorce. For the first time in years, I felt free—ready to rebuild my life on my own terms.