For our 15th anniversary, Jack did something he hadn’t in years he planned a surprise getaway. He booked a weekend at a luxurious spa hotel and even brought red roses. For the first time in ages, I felt seen, cherished, hopeful. Maybe things between us were finally starting to change.
The illusion broke when I found a card in our hotel room addressed to “Jack and Eloise.” It thanked them for five years of loyal visits my heart sank. I confirmed with the hotel manager that Eloise wasn’t me she was Jack’s mistress. This romantic escape wasn’t meant for me; I had been a last-minute replacement.
I asked Jack to invite Eloise to dinner, pretending I had something special planned. That evening, in the middle of the elegant restaurant, I made my move. “I’m just his wife,” I told the waiter, “his lover is right over there.” Gasps followed as Jack’s face turned pale and Eloise froze in her seat.
He begged to speak privately, but I was done keeping his secrets hidden. I walked out, head high, as whispers and scattered applause filled the room. He lost a devoted wife that day and gained public shame. And I left with something better than revenge: my dignity and freedom.