When I strolled into the furniture store, I didn’t expect to discover a secret my spouse had kept from me for months. But when I eventually recovered from my shock, I made him pay in the worst possible way!
I was a senior at work, therefore I had access to petty funds and could make decisions for the company. So, after discussing it with my manager, my colleague Jenna offered to drive me to a budget furniture business on the outskirts of town.
I believed a quick replacement chair would remedy the situation and bring me out of my rut. When we arrived at the store, we went past rows of pricey recliners, dining tables, and display sofas, giggling at the ludicrous prices!
A voice coming from one of the aisles.
Low, smooth, slightly amused. Familiar in the worst possible way!
“I can’t wait until we finish this place,” the voice said. “Once it’s done, I can finally leave her. Our cozy love nest, for only the two of us, will finally be ready.”
I stopped cold behind a tall rack of brushed nickel lamps. My stomach flipped!
“She still thinks I’m sick,” he continued, in that same soothing tone I’d heard so many nights when he claimed the chemotherapy made his throat raw. “I told her the treatment’s too exhausting to work. That’s why I’ve been home. She gives me money every month for my ‘recovery.'”
My kneecaps buckled! I grasped the shelf for support and looked through the gap between the light boxes.
It was Matt. My Matt! My hubby of six years! And there next to him, clutching a swatch book and laughing like a kid at prom over paint samples, was a woman half my age with long honey-blonde hair and platform sandals!
She tossed her head back and leaned against him as if they were the characters in a romantic comedy.
They were discussing “their cozy little family nest.”
I did not even cry. My body became ice-cold as the truth exploded in my chest! While I was working extra shifts to cover his so-called therapies, making meals, cleaning, and worrying, he was starting a new life and refurbishing their house with her!? On my dime!
Matt stated that he was staying at his mother’s home because the journey to the hospital was shorter. He claimed he was too weak to stay at home and could “rest” better at his mother’s. I even paid his doctor personally, but now I believe the “doctor” was only a prepaid burner phone that he used to send bogus updates!
And those letters on fancy letterhead? Forged. I later found out he used templates from some online disability forums and printed them on stationery from an old office job!
But in that moment, I didn’t scream. I didn’t storm up to him or throw a lamp like in the movies. I didn’t confront him because public humiliation would be too easy.
I just stood there. Then I turned and walked away.
Smiling, I told my colleague I wasn’t feeling well and had to go home. She offered to get a good chair for me and said she’d fill our manager in.
I went home and started thinking about my next move.
That night, Matt decided to come home, a rare occurrence since his “illness.” Being the supportive and giving kind, I’d relented to all his requests, thinking it was best not to fight him in his fragile condition. I thought I was doing right by him, but he believed I was a fool.
I smiled. I kissed his cheek and said, “You look better today.”
He nodded. “Yeah. The new meds are helping.”
He had no idea I already knew everything.
I fake-laughed when I told him the funny story about my accident with a chair at work. But I didn’t mention I had been to a furniture store, nor did I ask him about his whereabouts.
Oh no! Throwing a tantrum was a punishment TOO easy for him!
I started my rev:enge!
That night, while he snored, I went through his laptop. Password? Still, our dog’s name, Daisy123. I found the floor plans for a two-bedroom house near Pine Ridge and receipts addressed to a woman named Lexie. One file was labeled “Our Nest Budget,” which included my bank transfers under “health fund.”
Getting in was easier than I expected. Matt always kept a spare key in his glovebox in case of an emergency. I knew the code to his car and our garage.
The plan came to me in waves. It needed to be clean. Poetic. Devastating.
So I created gorgeous housewarming invites.
The front reads:
Matt and Rachel invite you to a surprise reveal of their new house, which they built as a labor of love throughout Matt’s rehabilitation. Come and celebrate our miracle.
Then the most intriguing part began.
I sent them to everyone!
His boss. His coworkers. His church pals. His mother dubbed him a “brave boy” for tolerating so much. I even invited the church ladies who had brought us lasagna throughout his chemotherapy.
On the morning of the “party,” after scouting the location several times, I drove to the house with a cart full of supplies. A cleaning crew had just wrapping up. I tipped the lead guy $200 to let me in for a “early surprise setup.” He didn’t ask any questions.
I knew my husband would be there because he stated that he was staying with his mother that week, implying his mistress.
The walls were filled with framed cozy snapshots of Matt and Lexie! Kissing on the beach! Painting a hallway! A photo strip from a carnival, Lexie wearing Matt’s hoodie!
I didn’t take anything down.
Instead, I hung a “Welcome Home” banner across the front window.
I added finger foods and little name cards labeling each tray:
“Lexie’s Raspberry Bars,” “Matt’s Mini Quiches,” and “From Matt and Lexie’s Loving Kitchen.”
By four o’clock in the afternoon, guests began to arrive.
First came Matt’s supervisor, a severe man named Harold, who looked at me as if I were a miracle worker. “We’re all so proud of him,” he added. “To renovate a house while going through chemo, what a story!”
Then came our neighbors, parents, and church friends. Even Matt’s cousin from Nashville drove in.
I stood at the end of the walkway, greeting each person.
“So glad you could make it, Matt will be thrilled!”
By five, the house was packed. People were sipping wine, nibbling canapés, and discussing the beautiful images on the walls. Everyone was perplexed but pleased by the news because they assumed Matt was dying.
The front door opened at exactly five fifteen.
Matt strolled in, holding a paper grocery bag in one arm and Lexie trailed behind him with a bag of lemons and soda water.
Lexie gasped!
Matt dropped the bag. Oranges rolled across the hardwood floor.
The room fell silent.
I stepped forward, heels echoing on the tile. I leaned in close to Matt’s ear and whispered, “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell them. Your walls did.”
His eyes were wide with sh0ck!
Then I turned to the guests. “Welcome, everyone. Please, enjoy!”
The quiet broke into whispering.
When people saw Lexie, they began to study the photos even more closely. Love notes were posted on the refrigerator. A water bill featuring Lexie’s name alongside Matt’s.
Harold turned to face Matt.
“So this is where our sick leave money went?!”
Matt opened his mouth but was unable to produce any words.
His mother dropped into a neighboring chair, her face pallid!
Lexie moved away slowly, heels clicking, before bolting out the rear door!
I stayed for twenty minutes, politely conversing with our surprised guests. Telling them what I know about the house and Lexie. I then drove home.
Matt showed up in my driveway the next morning. Bags are packed. Face is hollow.
“Rachel,” he begged quietly. “Please. I apologize. She’s gone. I do not have anyone. “I did not intend for this to happen—”
I handed him the envelope.
There are divorce papers inside. Reimbursement demand for all expenses incurred during his “treatment.” Including the catered lasagna!
“You wanted a new home,” I remarked, my voice steady. “Now you can live in it, alone.”
He dropped on his knees directly on our lawn! I turned and stepped inside, locking the door.
Two weeks later, I was sitting in my lawyer’s office, setting up a new account.
I named it the “New Beginnings Fund.”
I deposited half of the money he paid back. I spent the rest of it on a vacation overseas.
In the end, he faked his illness while I cured mine. I quit loving a liar.
