He called this place home but he had another home now, didn’t he? With Heather and Amanda. With his real family. I typed back.
Don’t. I need time to think. Another buzz.
I love you, Teresa. Please don’t give up on us. I almost laughed.
He loved me so much that he’d been living a double life for years. He loved me so much that he’d let me believe I was his whole world while he built another one behind my back. I turned off my phone and walked upstairs to our bedroom.
Everything looked the same. Our wedding photo on the nightstand. Samuel’s clothes in the closet.
The book he’d been reading on his side of the bed. But it all felt like props in a play I’d been unknowingly performing in. I opened his nightstand drawer looking for… What? Evidence.
Proof. I found his passport, some old receipts, a small velvet box I’d never seen before. My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with a tiny charm. A little girl’s bracelet. Amanda’s bracelet.
The receipt was still in the box. Purchased three months ago from an expensive jewelry store downtown. The same week Samuel had told me he was working late on a big project.
I sank onto the bed, clutching the bracelet. He’d been buying gifts for his daughter while I’d been planning our anniversary party. While I’d been dreaming of the children we’d have together someday.
The tears came then, hot angry tears that felt like they might never stop. I cried for the marriage I’d thought I had. For the friend I’d thought I could trust.
For the naive woman who’d believed in happily ever after. But underneath the grief, something else was growing. Something cold and calculating and absolutely furious.
They had played me for a fool. For years they had looked me in the eye and lied. They had let me babysit their child, bring them groceries, offer emotional support to Heather as a struggling single mother.
The humiliation burned worse than the betrayal. How many people knew? How many of our friends had been in on the secret? Had they all been laughing at me behind my back? I thought about every time Samuel had cancelled plans at the last minute. Every work emergency that had kept him out late.
Every weekend he’d claimed he needed to help Heather with something around her apartment. He hadn’t been helping her fix a leaky faucet. He’d been playing house with his secret family.
My phone buzzed again. This time it was Heather. Teresa, I’m so sorry.
I never meant for you to find out this way. Can we please talk? I stared at her message, remembering all the times she’d cried on my shoulder about being alone. All the times she’d thanked me for being such a good friend, for always being there for her and Amanda.
She was sorry she got caught. I typed back, there’s nothing to talk about. You made your choice three years ago.
Her response came immediately, it’s not what you think. It’s complicated. Complicated.
As if there was some explanation that could make this okay. As if there was some version of this story where they weren’t the villains and I wasn’t the victim. But I was done being the victim.
I walked to my home office and opened my laptop. If they wanted to play games, I could play games too. But I was going to play to win.
Samuel was a successful architect with a reputation to protect. Heather worked as a marketing coordinator for a family-friendly non-profit organization. They both had carefully constructed lives that depended on people seeing them as good, moral, trustworthy people.
What would happen if those carefully constructed lives came crashing down? I started making lists. Samuel’s clients, his business partners, his professional associations. Heather’s co-workers, her boss, the board members of her non-profit.
Our mutual friends, our families, our social circles. Everyone who needed to know the truth about who they really were. But I had to be smart about this.
Calculate it. If I was going to destroy them, I needed to do it right. I needed evidence, documentation, proof that couldn’t be denied or explained away.
I opened a new document on my computer and titled it Project Payback. Then I started planning their downfall. I didn’t sleep that night.
Instead, I sat at my kitchen table with a cup of coffee that had gone cold hours ago, making plans. The first thing I needed was proof. Real, undeniable evidence of their affair and Amanda’s parentage.
Without that, it would just be my word against theirs, and they could spin it as a misunderstanding or a jealous wife’s delusion. At six in the morning, I called my lawyer, Mildred Bennett. She’d handled our house purchase and our wills.
A sharp, no-nonsense woman in her fifties who didn’t suffer fools. Teresa, it’s awfully early. Is everything all right? I need to see you today.
It’s urgent. Of course. Can you be here at nine? Mildred’s office was downtown.
All dark wood and leather chairs that smelled like success. She took one look at my face and poured me a cup of strong coffee. Tell me everything, she said simply.
I laid out the whole story. The anniversary party, Amanda’s words, the years of lies. Mildred listened without interruption, taking notes in her precise handwriting.
I want a divorce, I finished. And I want to make sure Samuel doesn’t get a penny more than he’s legally entitled to. Mildred leaned back in her chair.
First things first, we need to establish paternity. Without that, this is just speculation. How do we do that? DNA test.
But we’ll need a sample from Amanda. And that’s going to be tricky if Heather doesn’t cooperate. I thought about that.
What if I could get something with Amanda’s DNA on it? A cup she drank from, a toy she played with. Possible, but the chain of custody would be questionable. It’s better if we can do this officially.
Mildred tapped her pen against her notepad. There’s another issue. If Samuel is Amanda’s father, he’s been avoiding child support for three years.
That’s a legal matter that could have serious consequences for him. A spark of satisfaction warmed my chest. What kind of consequences? Wage garnishment, asset seizure, possible jail time depending on the amount owed.
And if he’s been deliberately hiding his paternity to avoid support obligations, that’s fraud. Good, I said and meant it. Mildred raised an eyebrow.
Teresa, I understand you’re angry. But we need to be strategic here. If you come across as vindictive, it could hurt you in the divorce proceedings.
I’m not vindictive, I replied calmly. I’m thorough. After leaving Mildred’s office, I drove to Samuel’s architectural firm.
I’d been there dozens of times over the years. Company parties bringing him lunch, picking him up for dinner dates. The receptionist Monica knew me well.
Mrs. Giovanni, how lovely to see you. Samuel’s in a meeting, but I can… Actually, I’m here to see you, I said with my brightest smile. I’m planning a surprise party for Samuel’s birthday next month, and I need to check his schedule to make sure I pick the right date.
Monica beamed. Oh, how wonderful. He’s so lucky to have you.
If only she knew. Could you print out his calendar for the past few months? I want to make sure I avoid any important client meetings or deadlines. Of course.
Monica pulled up Samuel’s schedule on her computer. Should I go back to January? Actually, could you go back further? Maybe to last year? I want to see the pattern of his busy seasons. As Monica printed out months of Samuel’s carefully documented schedule, I felt like a detective gathering evidence.
Every late meeting, every weekend site visit, every business trip would now be scrutinized. Here you go, Monica said, handing me a thick stack of papers. I hope the party is wonderful.
Oh, it will be, I assured her. It will be absolutely unforgettable. Next, I drove to Heather’s apartment complex.
I’d been there countless times, but now I was looking at it with different eyes. It was a nice place. Too nice for someone on a non-profit salary with no child support.
I parked across the street and waited. At 1130, Heather emerged with Amanda heading toward her car. I followed at a distance as they drove to a pediatrician’s office.
While they were inside, I called the office from my cell phone. Hi, this is Amanda’s aunt, I said in a slightly different voice. I’m updating our family medical records.
Could you confirm Amanda’s father’s name for our insurance purposes? I’m sorry, but I can’t give out patient information over the phone, the receptionist replied. Of course, I understand. Could you just confirm if the father’s name on file starts with an S? I just want to make sure we have the right paperwork.