I could have confronted Gregory immediately, but something held me back. Perhaps it was intuition, or perhaps it was the growing distance between us over the past year. Instead, I began quietly investigating.
What I discovered was worse than I imagined. Gregory had been systematically moving funds to a separate account for over a year. He had also been taking Cassandra to expensive restaurants, purchasing jewelry, and looking at beachfront property—all while telling me we needed to tighten our belts for retirement.
Then came the text messages I discovered when Gregory left his phone unlocked. Messages about their new life together. Messages about how he was finally breaking free.
Messages about their plans for the day after Amelia’s graduation—the day he had chosen to make his grand exit from our marriage. What Gregory had forgotten, or perhaps never fully grasped, was that I had been a financial professional for thirty years. I understood money trails.
I knew how to trace assets. And most importantly, I remembered the prenuptial agreement we had signed twenty-eight years ago, when I had more family money than he did. The agreement he had insisted upon—ironically, to protect his future earnings—contained a fidelity clause that would prove to be his undoing.
While Gregory plotted his escape with Cassandra, I was building my case. I consulted with attorneys. I documented every hidden transfer.
I gathered evidence of their affair. I prepared divorce papers. I timed everything perfectly, knowing Gregory would want to wait until after Amelia’s graduation to avoid ruining her big day.
What he didn’t expect was that I would serve the divorce papers the morning of the graduation, before his planned announcement, but with the papers still safely hidden in court records, not yet accessible to him. What Gregory didn’t know was that I was always three steps ahead. I didn’t return to the restaurant.
Instead, I drove to our home—a spacious colonial in Augusta’s historic district that we had purchased fifteen years ago—the house that Gregory had already promised to Cassandra, according to text messages that he didn’t realize I had seen. I parked in the driveway and calmly entered what had been our shared space for over a decade. Everything looked the same—the family photos on the walls, the antique grandfather clock that had been my father’s, the worn leather couch where Gregory and I had once dreamed of our future together.
Yet everything had changed. I went upstairs to the master bedroom and opened the closet. Gregory’s clothing was already packed in suitcases, hidden in the back, ready for his planned departure tomorrow.
I smiled at his predictability. He had always been meticulous about clothing but careless about the important things. My phone buzzed incessantly with messages from friends at the restaurant, from Amelia, even from Gregory’s sister Diana, who had flown in for the graduation.
I responded only to my daughter. I’m okay. This isn’t your burden to carry.
Enjoy your graduation day. We’ll talk tonight. I love you.
I had protected Amelia from the truth for months, not wanting to overshadow her final semester with family drama. She would be angry that I hadn’t told her, but I knew she would understand eventually. Amelia had inherited my practicality along with her father’s charisma.
A powerful combination that had helped her graduate with honors. Three hours later, I heard Gregory’s car in the driveway. The front door slammed open.
Bianca! he shouted, his voice echoing through the house. Where are you? I was sitting in the living room, calmly reviewing documents on my laptop. I closed it as he stormed in, his face flushed with anger, the envelope clutched in his hand.
What is the meaning of this? he demanded, waving the papers. You served me with divorce papers? Today of all days? I thought it aligned nicely with your plans, I replied calmly. You wanted to start your new life.
I’m simply helping facilitate the transition. You had no right to- I had every right- I interrupted, my voice steady. Just as you had every right to choose Cassandra.
We all make choices, Gregory. The prenup expired years ago, he said. His voice suddenly smug.
Any lawyer will tell you that. I allowed myself a small smile. Actually, it didn’t.
Section 12 specifically states that the fidelity clause remains in effect for the duration of the marriage. Your lawyer should have explained that to you. Oh wait, you didn’t consult one, did you? The color drained from his face as reality sank in.
The prenup he had insisted upon to protect his potential wealth would now cost him everything. The house, the vacation property in Savannah, his portion of our retirement accounts. His grand gesture at the restaurant had just become the most expensive announcement of his life.
You can’t do this to me, Gregory said, collapsing onto the couch. We built this life together. And you chose to end it, I replied, though not in the way you planned.