I was working a night shift, exhausted but grateful—until I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw my husband in the back seat… with another woman. I said nothing, already planning his downfall.
I thought I was lucky to have Jason. When we met, I had a great job, a Brooklyn apartment, and a five-year-old son, Jamie. Jason was handsome, charming—and homeless.
Despite warnings, I let him move in. He embraced Jamie, and I thought he was special. I even helped him find a job. Soon came new suits, a new car, and a proposal.
“Quit your job,” he said. “I’ll take care of us.”
I believed him. But once I stopped earning, things changed. Jamie became a “problem,” and Jason’s money? Always delayed. So I started driving nights while he was “on business.”
One night, I picked up a couple—Jason and his mistress. He didn’t recognize me. I listened as he promised her a fake engagement in exchange for her parents’ house—right on our anniversary. He even joked about waiting for my mom to die to get my inheritance.
I said nothing. But I remembered everything.
That Saturday, I dressed up, took Jamie, and crashed Ashley’s family barbecue. Introduced myself as Jason’s wife. Her parents were stunned. Jason turned pale. And when Jamie called him Daddy, chaos erupted.
I calmly gave Jason his ring back. “I gave you everything,” I said. “You just lost it all.”
Three months later, during the divorce, Ashley’s parents testified—for me. I won everything. Jason walked away with nothing.
Now, my mom lives with us in a small, sunny home by the coast. Peace, I’ve learned, is the real luxury. And I’d choose it over every lie Jason ever told.