The Cheating Wife, From Devoted Husband To A Master Of Revenge, Reddit Story

The Cheating Wife, From Devoted Husband To A Master Of Revenge, Reddit Story

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
Hullo, thank you for being here. Welcome to cheating all
the time. I am lady truth. Let's get into another
crazy cheat. Her late night meeting smelled of secrets and lies,
a lipstick smudge on her collar, a text she swore
was from a client. I wasn't stupid. Trust doesn't shatter,

(00:22):
It cracks slowly, piece by piece, until all that's left
is rage. The man she called just a colleague held
her tighter than I ever did, and me I was
done playing the fool. I didn't just uncover her affair.
I dismantled their world. By the time she boarded that plane,
she thought she was free. She had no idea my

(00:44):
revenge was already in motion before we begin. Let me
know where you're tuning in from down in the comments.
And if you enjoy this story, don't forget to subscribe
and turn on notifications so you never miss our next tale.
I used to think my life was as normal as
it got. May be even happily ordinary. My name is
Ryan Adams, and I've spent most of my twenties and

(01:07):
early thirties working for my dad, Robert Adams, at his
tire company. It's not the world's most exciting gig, but
it's stable.

Speaker 2 (01:15):
It keeps a.

Speaker 1 (01:16):
Roof over my head, and it's given me plenty of
time to plan for the future. My wife, Sophie, is
a rewalter in town. She's sharp, confident, and usually good
at reading people. We've been married going on seven.

Speaker 2 (01:30):
Years, at least.

Speaker 1 (01:31):
That's how I'd open the conversation. A few and I
met at the local diner. I live in a middle
class neighborhood, a place called Lakeside Hills, though there's no
actual lake around, just a fancy name for a bunch
of suburban homes with trimmed hedges and wide driveways. Ours
is a single story ranch with two bedrooms, an attached garage,

(01:52):
and an overly cheery yellow front door that Sophie picked
out herself. She said a bright door meant a welcoming home.
For a while, I believe that. Now I'm not so sure.
It all started when Sophie began staying out late more
often than usual. At first it was once a week,
then twice. She claims she was meeting colleagues or unwinding

(02:13):
with girlfriends at happy hour. You know how competitive real
estate is, she'd say, brushing aside my questions. In the beginning,
I accepted her explanations without hesitation. Sophie's job can be relentless,
phone calls at weird hours, open houses on weekends, dealing
with clients who have unrealistic expectations.

Speaker 2 (02:34):
I get it.

Speaker 1 (02:35):
But something about the way she said I'm with friends
felt off, like it was missing a beat. I tried
to shrug it off, thinking maybe she just needed space
to blow off steam. I'll be the first to admit
I'm not the exciting one in this marriage. I'm an
accountant at attire company. After all. Numbers and spreadsheets are

(02:55):
my comfort zone. Show me a ledger and I'm at peace. Meanwhile,
Sophie always needed variety, meeting new people, hitting new listings.
She'd come home from showings with starry eyes, describing dreamy
kitchens with quartz countertops or backyards that felt like miniature oases.
Her passion was part of what made me fall for

(03:16):
her in the first place. Still, over the past few months,
she's been different, distant. It's in the little things we
used to talk about our days over dinner. Now she'd
slip through the door, toss her purse on the couch,
and check her phone. I have to send a quick email,
she'd say, walking off to our bedroom for what felt

(03:36):
like forever. When she'd return, her head was elsewhere, like
she couldn't wait to get away from me and back
to her phone. Maybe I was just being oversensitive. One
Wednesday night, I was plopped on our living room couch,
half watching some reality show while fiddling with the remote.
Sophie rushed in at almost midnight, hair messy, cheeks slightly flushed.

(03:59):
She reeked of cigarette smoke. She doesn't smoke. We had
a strict non smoking rule in the house because I
can't stand the smell. I raised an eyebrow. What's that about,
I asked, gesturing at her smoky clothes. She shrugged, refusing
eye contact. Some folks were smoking at the bar, she

(04:19):
said vaguely, then breezed into the bathroom. No hug, no kiss,
just a waft of stale smoke trailing after her. I
heard the shower start. I stared at the closed bathroom
door for a good minute, my mind buzzing with confusion.

Speaker 2 (04:35):
Was she lying? If so? Why?

Speaker 1 (04:38):
The next day I tried not to dwell on it.
At work, I ran through the company's monthly accounts, matching
inventory orders to outflow. My coworker, Dennis, a season bookkeeper
in her fifties, teased me, you're so distracted today. What's
going on, hun she asked. Denise is the motherly type
who notices every subtle change in people's moods. I shrugged

(05:01):
it off, gave a vague answer about being tired. But
even as I stamped paid on invses, my mind drifted
to Sophie. Something about how she'd been acting lately. Just
wouldn't sit still in my brain. That evening, I mustered
up the courage to mention it. You've been coming home
late a lot, I said over a store bought lasagna.

(05:22):
Sophie hadn't cooked in a while either. I feel like
we hardly see each other enamore. She gave a small sigh,
like my question was exhausting. Real estates, cut throat Ryan.
Sometimes I have to schmooze after hour's client dinners, happy
hour networking. It's not all listings and closings. You know,

(05:43):
you never used to do this stuff every week, I
pointed out.

Speaker 2 (05:47):
She rolled her eyes.

Speaker 1 (05:48):
Markets change, People expect more personal contact now, social media,
face to face meet ups. It's all part of the hustle,
she pointed at my half empty plate. You're done, I
can toss that dish in the sink. I stared at her,
trying to read her expression. That's the thing. My wife
knows how to mask her true feelings. She's done it

(06:12):
a hundred times when negotiating deals for her clients. It
makes her great at her job, but at home it
starts to feel like a stranger's face. I mumbled a
soft I'm done, letting her take the plate. I couldn't
pinpoint a single moment or detail that felt like a
smoking gun, just a creeping sense that her story had
too many holes. Maybe it was her abrupt changes in routine.

(06:36):
Maybe it was how she avoided my eyes whenever I
probed for more info. We still had sex occasionally, but
even that felt mechanical. She'd seem distracted checking her phone
right afterward, not exactly the sign of a fully engaged
partner at the tire company. My father noticed I was
off my game. He pulled me aside one afternoon in

(06:58):
his office, a small glass walled space that overlooks the
main floor. Everything okay, son, he asked, his brow creased
with concern. You've been making miscalculations in the monthly Ledger.
I flushed, embarrassed. I'm sorry, Dad, guess I've been a
little preoccupied. Of course, I didn't spill the beans about

(07:19):
Sophie's late nights. My father is old school. He'd probably
demand I confront her head on, but I wasn't there yet.
I still believed there might be a simple explanation for everything,
something that didn't involve me appending our marriage. I promised
him i'd be more focused. When I arrived home that evening,
I found Sophie in the living room, phone in hand,

(07:42):
tapping furiously at the screen. She snapped it shut when
I walked in. A quick flicker of gilt flashed across
her face. Dinner's on the way, she said, smiling a
bit too brightly. Chinese take out. I forced a laugh.
We really should learn how to cook something besfire sides,
microwaveable lasagna and take out.

Speaker 2 (08:02):
She shrugged.

Speaker 1 (08:03):
Maybe later. Her phone buzzed again. She snatched it up
and hustled off into the bedroom. Doors closed. I stood
there in the quiet living room, hearing the muffled voice
of Sophie speaking. May be excited, may be stressed. It
was impossible to tell. My chest felt tight. The air
seemed heavier than usual, loaded with tension I couldn't name.

(08:27):
Later that night, as we ate dumplings and fried rice
in near silence, I saw her glance at me occasionally,
as though gaging whether I was suspicious. I tried to
act cool, but inside my thoughts spun like a car
stuck in the mud. In that moment, for the first time,
I considered something I never wanted to think about. What

(08:47):
if she's lying to me about everything I wish I
could say. I brushed off the idea and moved on,
but it burrowed into my mind and refused to leave.
As we turned in for the night, I stayed awake
in bed, watching her chest rise and fall in the dark,
my heart thumping with a single, terrifying question, what if
Sophie was deceiving me in ways I couldn't yet imagine.

(09:11):
A few days later, I decided to do something spontaneous,
something romantic, or so, I told myself. Sophie had been
complaining about the monotony of our routine, how we never
do anything fun and amore. So on a random Tuesday,
around noon, I hopped in my car and drove to
her real estate office. I thought I'd show up with

(09:32):
sandwiches from this trendy cafe downtown. Maybe we'd do a
quick lunch at her desk, a little gesture to remind
her I wasn't some clueless husband who didn't pay attention.
The real estate office was in one of those suburban
office parks, rows of glass and brick buildings with neatly
trimmed lawns. I was pretty proud of my plan. I

(09:53):
pictured Sophie's face lighting up. Maybe we'd laugh, talk about
her day, share a few kisses, like old times. But
when I walked into the reception area, the front desk clerk,
a young guy with messy hair, didn't recognize me. Hi,
I said, balancing the paper bag of sandwiches in one arm.
I'm Ryan Adams, here to see Sophie Adams.

Speaker 2 (10:16):
She's my wife.

Speaker 1 (10:18):
The clerk gave me a polite, clueless smile. Oh, she's
out showing a property right now. Hasn't been in the
office since early this morning.

Speaker 2 (10:27):
That was weird.

Speaker 1 (10:28):
Sophie told me at breakfast that she'd be stuck in
the office all day catching up on paperwork. Are you sure,
I asked, my chest tightening. She told me she'd be here,
he shrugged. She told me she had showings on the
north Side. She might be back later. Want me to
leave a note for her? Feeling awkward, I shook my head. No,

(10:51):
that's okay, I'll just text her. I gripped the bag
of sandwiches so tight my knuckles went white. I left quickly.
My minds were with confusion. Outside, the autumn sun felt
colder than usual. The bag of sandwiches in my hand
felt like a dumb prop. Now in the driver's seat,
I fired off a text, Hey, at your office with lunch.

Speaker 2 (11:14):
Where are you?

Speaker 1 (11:15):
Five minutes past, no answer, ten minutes nothing. By the
fifteen minute mark, my heart was pounding. She was lying
that much was clear, but why. I ended up driving
to a nearby park, sitting in my car aiding one
of the sandwich is alone. The turkey on wheat tasted
like dust. I stared at the phone, hoping for a

(11:37):
message that would make it all make sense. Oh, I
forgot I had showings. Sorry, love, but the screen stayed dark.
That night, I confronted her gently. We were sitting in
the living room, the TV on but muted. Sophie was
scrolling her phone. I set my half empty glass of
water on the coffee table and said, I stopped by

(11:58):
your office to day.

Speaker 2 (12:00):
She barely looked up.

Speaker 1 (12:01):
You did. Her tone was casual, but I detected a
flicker in her eyes. I brought sandwiches from Mannie's Dully,
figured it'd be a nice surprise. I paused the receuchnist,
said you weren't there all day. She took a moment
to respond, oh right, I had a step out to
show a property on short notice. Sorry, I forgot to

(12:24):
text you, She quickly turned back to her phone. There's
so much going on, Ryan, the market's insane. But you
told me this morning you'd be stuck doing paper work
at your desk all day.

Speaker 2 (12:36):
I pressed. She shrugged, looking annoyed.

Speaker 1 (12:39):
You know how it is. Plans change on a dime.
The tension in the room was suffocating. I decided not
to push further, at least not yet. My heart beat
pounded in my ears. She was lying to my face
like it was nothing. I tried to laugh it off,
but it came out hollow. Next time, let me know

(12:59):
I I wasted a trip out there. She forced a
little smile. I'm sorry, but hey, at least it's good.
I'm busy, right means more commission checks. We both knew
that conversation wasn't about commissions. Something was off. The distance
between us felt like a mile wide cannon that no
casual chat could bridge. I ended the evening by retreating

(13:23):
to our spare bedroom, supposedly to catch up on some
old accounting texts. I was reading for a certification exam,
but in truth, I just needed to breathe away from
her suspicious half truths. I skimmed random pages, not retaining
a word. The next day, at work, I had trouble
focusing again. My friend and coworker Jake, a new addition

(13:45):
to the accounting team, tried to joke around, but I
wasn't in the mood. Over lunch in the break room,
Jake said, dude, you seem tense. Did you screw up
the ledger again? I shook my head. No, I wish
it was just the ledger. Jake frowned. Is it Sophie?
I remember you mentioned she was super busy these days.

(14:06):
I hesitated, not wanting to share my private life with him,
but an unexplainable urge to talk overcame me. She's distant.
You ever get the feeling that someone you love is
hiding something? Big Jake raised his eyebrows. You think she's cheating?
That blunt question knocked the air out of me. I
I don't know, I stammered. Maybe I'm overacting. He shrugged sympathetically.

(14:32):
Just trust your gut, man, If something's off, maybe it is,
But maybe it's just stress. Have you tried talking it out?
I forced a smile, my stomach twisting, ye kind of.
Back home that night, Sophie was out again. She'd left
a note on the kitchen counter, late meeting with clients.

Speaker 2 (14:52):
Back by nine p m. Dot.

Speaker 1 (14:54):
I stared at the note, suspecting it might be just
another cover. My phone stayed quiet. If she was really
meeting clients, wouldn't she text or call about the sale?
The hours crawled by ten p m. Eleven midnight, no
sign of Sophie. I decided to stay up on the couch,
flipping channels aimlessly. My mind cycled through the worst case scenarios.

(15:18):
She's at a bar with someone, she's hooking up in
a cheap motel. She's at twelve thirty a m. The
front door opened, Sophie stepped in, hair tousled. I slightly
widened like a deer in headlights. You're still up, she asked,
her voice thick with surprise. Obviously, I said, you said nine.

(15:38):
It's one thousand, two hundred thirty. She dropped her purse
on the nearest chair. It took longer than expected. We
had some negotiations come up. Look I'm exhausted, let's not argue.
I studied her, noticing faint impressions on her wrists, maybe
from a watch or a bracelet that wasn't there. Did
you close the deal? What? She seemed? Disoriented? Yeah, sure,

(16:03):
I took a breath, forcing myself to stay calm. I
texted you around ten, but you never replied. She pulled
out her phone, acting like she just saw it. Sorry,
phone died, but the screen lit up in her hand,
clearly not dead. My anger flared, but I swallowed it.
Her lies were so obvious they hurt more than the

(16:24):
possibility of what she might be doing. I stood up,
turning off the TV. We can talk tomorrow, I said, quietly,
walking to the bedroom. My heart raced, but I didn't
have it in me to fight that night. I just
wanted to slip under the covers and pretend for a
moment that my marriage wasn't falling apart behind me.

Speaker 2 (16:44):
I heard her.

Speaker 1 (16:45):
Softly shut the door, neither of us bothering with a
good night, and in the darkness, I felt the weight
of her deception pressing down like a cinder block on
my chest. The real turning point came one Friday afternoon,
just as I was wrapping up for the week at
Adas Tires HQ. My phone buzzed on my desk and
I saw it was Tom Wheeler, my best friend since

(17:06):
high school. Tom worked as a delivery driver for a
pharmaceutical company. We used to joke he was the legal
drug dealer, carding around prescription meds all over the county.
He was honest to a fault, the kind of guy
who tell you if your shirt didn't match your pants,
and he'd do it without any sugarcoating. Hey man, can

(17:26):
we grab a beer after your shift? Tom asked, his
voice tense. I got to talk to you about something important.
I glanced at the clock on my computer screen. Yeah,
I guess everything. Okay, he hesitated, Not really, I'll meet
you at Grady's Pub, say six zero zero. My stomach tightened.

(17:47):
Tom never sounded the serious unless it was big. Sure,
see you there. Grady's Pub is a little hole in
the wall with Nieman signs in the windows and a
smell that's equal parts fry food and stale beer. I
found Tom in a corner booth, nursing a draft, his
expression grim. We did our usual hand jake hug combo,

(18:09):
then sat down. I signaled the server.

Speaker 2 (18:12):
For a beer. What's up?

Speaker 1 (18:13):
But you look like you've seen a ghost, I said,
trying to keep things light. He exhaled, rubbing the back
of his neck. I saw Sophie to day. My heart
gave a weird skip. Okay, where over on Maplewood Drive,
near those new condos they built last year? He paused,
eyes flicking up to meet mine. She wasn't alone, Ryan,

(18:37):
she was with some guy. I forced a casual shrug.
She's a realder. She shows properties to all sorts of guys.
But my voice felt hollow, my jaw stiffening. Tom shook
his head. I saw them leave a house man. They
were holding hands, and then they kissed, like really kissed.
It felt like the bottom dropped out of my stomach.

(19:00):
Heat rushed to my face. You sure it was Sophie.
He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen A few times,
then turned it toward me. My eyes locked onto a
grainy photo, a familiar figure, Sophie's dark hair, her favorite
blue blazer, locked in an embrace with a taller man
in a dress shirt. His hands were on her waist.

(19:21):
It wasn't a friendly peck. It was the kind of
kiss you'd share with someone you really want. I stared
at the image, my throat tightening. Seeing that foto was
worse than any suspicion swirling in my head. It was
real visual proof of her betrayal. My chest felt like
it was caving in on itself. God, I finally whispered.

(19:43):
So it's that's it, Tom said his phone aside. I'm sorry, man,
I know this sucks. I debated whether or not to
show you, but I figured you'd want to know. Thank
you for telling me, I managed. My mind was spinning
with confusion, heartbreak. All the nights she came home late,

(20:03):
all those flimsy excuses. This was the missing puzzle piece.
She was cheating, and there was no denying it now.
Tom took a sip of his beer. Look, I know
this is the last thing you want to deal with,
but if you need help or anything, I'm here. I nodded,
still staring at the table. I appreciate that the server

(20:24):
brought my beer and I took a huge gulp, letting
the cold bitterness shock my senses.

Speaker 2 (20:30):
Who is he?

Speaker 1 (20:30):
Tom shrugged, no idea. He was dressed nice though, looks
like a professional type, gray hair, maybe in his early forties.
I tried to keep my voice steady. Could be a client,
but obviously it's more than that. I swallowed hard, fighting
the urge to smash my fist into the table. A
swirl of emotions tore through me. Rage, betrayal, heartbreak, and

(20:55):
a strange numbness. I can't believe she'd do this. Tom
rested a hay and on my shoulder. You got to
figure out your next move, Ryan, whatever that is. Y're
not alone, I nodded robotically. My mind raced, Should I
confront her now? Should I gather more proof? Part of
me wanted to burst into our house that very second

(21:16):
wave the photo in her face and demand answers. But
the other part recognized that confronting her with nothing but
a snapshot might push her into deeper deceit. People can
be cunning When cornered. Tom and I hung out a
bit longer, but there wasn't much else to say. After
an uncomfortable silence, we headed for the exit outside, the

(21:37):
evening air felt thick. I thanked him again, then drove home,
my pulse pounding the entire way. Walking through the front door,
I expected darkness, but found Sophie in the living room,
lap hop open on her lap. She glanced up. Oh hey,
I wasn't sure when you'd be back. She gave me
a smile that made my stomach churn. How many times

(22:00):
had she smiled at me like that? All the while
sneaking around. I mumbled something about having a beer with Tom.
She nodded, returning her focus to the lap hoop's green.
I wanted to fling my phone at her, show her
the photo and yell who the hell is that guy?
But instead I said nothing.

Speaker 2 (22:19):
Not yet.

Speaker 1 (22:20):
My anger needed direction, and I had no plan beyond
raw confrontation. My brain was swirling with half formed ideas
spy on her, hire a detective. That sounded ridiculous, right,
but how else could I confirm everything? I mopped around
the house for an hour, pacing between the kitchen and
the living room. I was glancing at Sophy as she

(22:43):
typed Eventually, she closed her lap hoop and headed to bed,
claiming she was exhausted. I said a hollow good night,
waiting until I heard the bedroom door click shut. Then,
in the dim light of the living room, I sat
on the couch with Tom's photo load on my phone.
I zoomed in on Sophie's face, searching for regret or hesitation,

(23:05):
but it was just a freeze frame of her in
mid kiss. She looked passionate. My chest tightened like a
visor round my heart. I stared at the man, analyzing
his shape, his posture, that grayish hair. He looked older,
well to do, confident in the way he held her.
I felt a tidal wave of rage, But behind that
anger was something worse, heartbreak. We'd been together for seven years.

(23:30):
Was it all worthless now? A swirl of questions thundered
in my mind. Why would she do this? When did
it start? Am I not enough for her? The noise
in my brain was deafening, and I was drowning in it. Finally,
I set my phone down and forced myself to breathe.
Sophie was asleep in the next room, oblivious to the

(23:51):
storm raging inside me. One thought emerged, cold and clear.
I need proof. I need to know everything before I
decide what to do. And just like that, the path
opened up. I'd find a way to get real evidence,
something she couldn't weasel her way out of. I wasn't
about to accuse her with nothing but a single snap shot.

(24:12):
People can deny photographs. They can claim it's a misunderstanding
or a moment taken out of context. But if I
had more, undeniable, concrete proof, maybe then I'd get the truth.
I had no clue how deep this went or who
that man was beyond Tom's quick guess, but I did
know that my marriage was suddenly a house of cards,

(24:33):
ready to collapse at the slightest breath. I couldn't fix
it with wishful thinking, and if I wanted to confront her,
I needed more ammo. I felt my lips tighten as
I formed a vow to myself I would uncover the entire,
unvarnished story by the next afternoon. I was a bundle
of nerves. Every time Sophie came near me, smelling of

(24:55):
her usual floral perfume, smiling like nothing was wrong, I
had to fight the urge to snap. Instead, I pretended
everything was normal. My thoughts were laser focused on a
single mission, find the truth. Thankfully I didn't have to
wait long for the perfect lead. That evening, while Sophie
was showering, I got a text from Tom call me

(25:17):
when ye can? I have a friend who's a pie.
My stomach twisted with anticipation a private investigator. I'd never
even considered that as a real option, only something from
detective TV shows, but maybe this was the way. I
shot him a quick text back, we'll do. Once Sophie
was in bed, I slipped out to the back padilo

(25:39):
under the guise of taking out the trash. I dialed Tom,
keeping my voice low. He picked up on the first ring. Hey,
so this guy's name is Victor Hayes. Tom explained in
a hushed voice. He's done stuff like this before, infidelity cases,
background checks. If you really want evidence, he can help.

(26:00):
I stared at our dimlylit yard. I feel weird. Tom, Like,
is this even normal? He sighed, Ryan, you deserve to
know the truth. If she's cheating, you got to protect yourself.
If she's not well, at least you'll have peace of mind.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Okay, I whispered, give.

Speaker 2 (26:21):
Me his number.

Speaker 1 (26:22):
Less than twenty four hours later, I was sitting in
Victor Hayes's modest office on the outskirts of downtown. It
felt surreal, like I was stepping into a noir film.
The walls were lined with filing cabinets and a dusty
Venetian blind filtered the afternoon sun. Victor was maybe in
his early fifties, tall and lean, with salt and pepper

(26:44):
hair that framed a thoughtful expression. He'd offered me a
seat across from his cluttered desk. So you suspect your
wife is having an affair, he stated, plainly, no judgment
in his tone. Not suspect, I said, swallowing. I'm certain
I showed him Tom's photo on my phone. He studied
it calmly. I see, he nodded. Any idea who he is?

(27:08):
I shook my head. Not really, Maybe a fellow reelder
or some big client. She's never mentioned him to me.
Victor leaned back, tapping a pen against his desk. In
cases like this, my usual methods involve discreete surveillance, gathering
photographic or video evidence if you prefer. We can also
track phone records, finances, whatever you need to confirm wrongdoing.

(27:32):
My palms were sweaty. The concept of surveilling my own
wife felt so foreign. Yet I was determined. I want
to know everything. I said, voice firm, how long it's
been going on, who he is? Everything? He nodded, understood,
Wheels start small, Follow her for a bit, see if

(27:53):
there's a regular pattern. Also, I have these voice activated
recorders you can slip under a car seat there pretty
effective at picking up phone calls, especially if she uses Bluejooth.
A swirl of emotion, excitement, guilt, anger flooded my chest.

Speaker 2 (28:11):
Let's do it.

Speaker 1 (28:12):
We discussed fees, signed a contract, and that was that.
Victor told me to act normal, not to tip Sophie off.
If she suspects you're onto her, she might get even
sneakier or break off contact with the guy. He explained,
Patience is key, Ryan. I walked out, feeling strangely relieved
for the first time in weeks. I had a plan,

(28:34):
a direction. This wouldn't be a guessing game, annamore. I
was determined to see it through, no matter how ugly
the truth turned out to be. That night, I pulled
into our driveway round seven Sophie's car was already there.
A flicker of suspicion shot through me. She usually stayed
out later. Was she feeling guilty? I shook the thought

(28:57):
aside and went inside. She was in the kitchen, wearing
a casual sweater and leggings, rummaging through a cabinet. Hey,
she called, forcing a smile. I'm making spaghetti for dinner.
I blinked. Cooking was something she hardly bothered with. Enamore,
sounds good, I said, keeping my tone neutral. Anything I

(29:17):
can help with. She frowned, as though surprised by my willingness.
Maybe chopped some garlic. As we moved around the kitchen,
I felt like we were play acting a normal marriage.
She was talking about some new development area she might
list soon, but her voice sounded forced. I inserted a
few polite questions. Meanwhile, all I could think about was

(29:39):
the little audio recorder in my jacket pocket, waiting for
me to sneak it into her car. My heart pounded
with each step, adrenaline fueling my every thought. After dinner,
Sophie declared she had a ton of emails to send
before bed. She trotted off to the living room with
her lapop I seized the opportunity. I'll take the trash out,

(30:01):
I said, snagging the keys to her car from the
bowl by the door. She barely looked up from the screen.

Speaker 2 (30:07):
Outside.

Speaker 1 (30:08):
The night air felt crisp against my cheeks. I walked
to her sedan, opened the driver's door, and rummaged under
the seat. My hands shook as I placed the recorder
in a spot that wouldn't be easily seen. I flipped
it on, hearing the faint beep that signaled it was active.
My pulse hammered in my ears. It took maybe tens

(30:29):
but it felt like an hour. I locked up, tossed
the trash in our bin, and hurried back inside, my
nerves buzzing like live wires. She was still typing away,
so I gave her a casual wave. Heading for the
shower under the hot spray, I let out a shaky breath.
This was it the beginning of the end, or maybe

(30:49):
the start of some new battle. I tried not to
think about how she'd react if she ever found out
I'd bugged her car. My thoughts roamed to the photo
of her kissing that stranger away. Wave of betrayal and
heartbreak washed over me again. Later in bed, she slipped
in beside me. Today was nice, she said, quietly, dinner together.

(31:10):
We should do it more often. I felt a pang
of sadness at how normal her words sounded. Yeah, I murmured,
turning off the bedside lamp, we should. Inside my head,
though a darker voice whispered, why are you doing this, Sophie.
I didn't reach for her, she didn't reach for me.
We just lay there, two bodies in the same bed,

(31:33):
separated by lies and quiet heart break. My plan was
in motion. I had an investigator, a covert recorder, and
a determination to find out the truth, no matter how
painful it would be. But as I stared at the ceiling,
feeling the tension in my chest, I couldn't shake the
dread that maybe I already knew the truth. Maybe I

(31:53):
just needed proof to prove it to myself. One thing
was for certain, there was no turning back now. I
used to assume that if something was wrong in my life,
i'd feel it in my gut. But it's amazing how
quickly your gut can lighty when you desperately want to
believe everything's okay. Ever since I slipped that voice activated

(32:14):
recorder under Sophie's seat. I'd been living on edge, waiting
for proof of what I already suspected. The days crawled
by a mix of tension at home and forced smiles
at work. Then one humid afternoon, Victor Hayes, the pit hired,
called me at my office. I locked my computer screen
and hurried to a quiet stairwell for privacy. Ryan Victor said,

(32:37):
in that calm, professional tone of his, I think you'll
want to see what I've gathered. Can you stop by tonight?
My heart hammered yes, I'll be there at six that evening.
I arrived at Victor's small office across town, a space
that smelled faintly of coffee and old paper. The blinds
were half shut, letting streaks of the setting sun's lap

(33:00):
across the floor. He offered me a plastic chair beside
his desk. In front of him lay a slim Manila
folder and a thumb drive. I've been tailing your wife
for a few days, he began tapping the folder. She
met this man more than once public places, mostly but
always out of the way, less chance of running into acquaintances.

(33:22):
I have photos of them entering a hotel on Elm Street,
for instance, he slid the folder toward me. My hand
shook as I opened it. Each photograph stabbed me in
the chest. Sophie in her crisp blazer, walking close to
a tall, silver haired man I now knew how to be,
Mike Collins. Then a grainy shot of them in a

(33:43):
parking garage, his hand on the small.

Speaker 2 (33:45):
Of her back.

Speaker 1 (33:46):
The final photo showed them entering a side door labeled
hotel staff. Only, you're positive it's the same guide I
told you about, I asked, though the evidence seemed undeniable.
Victor nodded, Match is your friend's picture. I ran a
basic background check. His name is Michael Collins, works in
real estate management. He's I held up a hand, not

(34:10):
sure I could take more. My brain was already spinning.
That's enough for now, Victor clicked his mouse, motioning toward
the computer screen. Then there's the audio from your car bug.
You'll hear a short phone conversation Sophie had yesterday. Want
to listen. The urge to no battled with my fear
of hearing it. Finally I nodded, Victor hit play. A

(34:34):
burst of static came over the speakers. Then Sophie's voice,
Hey you yeh, I can't talk long. No, he suspects nothing.
I'm telling you, Ryan is clueless. Okay, ye I got
the plane tickets locked in next week will A scraping
noise interrupted, but her tone was unmistakably flirty. My entire

(34:57):
body tensed. There it was she was planning a trip
with Mike, a secret getaway. My mind flashed to our
upgoming wedding anniversary, and Nasser rolled over me. Victor paused
the audio. There's more, but you get the gist. I swallowed,
trying to keep my composure. Plane tickets next week. Sophie

(35:19):
was going on a vacation with him, maybe to Vegas,
a tropical spot. I felt an odd clarity wash over me,
like stepping off a ledge and accepting that the ground
was gone. I appreciate your work, I managed, throat tight.
Ryan Victor said quietly, I've seen this scenario a lot.
Most folks don't know how to handle the news. You

(35:42):
sure you're okay? I set the folder down, exhaling shakily.
I'm not okay, I admitted, but I'm glad I'm not
blind anymore. He reached into his desk drawer, taking out
a small USB stick. Here's everything, photos, audio clips, keep
it someway where safe, I nodded, pocketing the drive. My

(36:03):
mind spun with questions how long has this been going on?
Has she done this before? Does she even care about me?

Speaker 2 (36:11):
And amore?

Speaker 1 (36:12):
But alongside those questions brood in intense rage, a desire
for some form of payback, though I didn't know what
that looked like yet. I'm going to find my own
way of dealing with this, I said, standing up, keep
in touch, Victor. On the drive home, I forced my
thoughts into some semblance of order. Confrontation was the word

(36:34):
swirling at the front of my mind. But direct confrontation
might just push her to cover her tracks even more.
Or maybe I should gather more information. Maybe I needed
to know just how deep her betrayal went. For now,
I decided to act normal until I had a plan.
Walking into the house, I found Sophie in the kitchen

(36:55):
finishing up a quick stir fry. She tossed me a
casual look, Hey babe, work run late. I slipped my
face into a neutral mask. Yeah you know how it goes.
My voice sounded cold even to my own ears, But
she didn't comment. She played at dinner, chattering about some
open house she hosted that afternoon. I fought every muscle

(37:18):
in my body to keep from screaming, I know you're
cheating with Mike, so drop the act instead. I quietly ate,
my appetite practically gone. After dinner, she headed to the bedroom,
claiming exhaustion. I sat alone in the living room, flicking
through TV channels, not absorbing a thing. My thoughts reeled.

(37:38):
She's talking about plain tickets. When is she leaving? Where
exactly are they going? The heart break was real, but
anger was creeping in fast. My brain buzzed with the
idea of revenge, some way to make her and Mike
pay for turning my life upside down. When the clock
read midnight, I gathered the dishes, then quietly snuck into

(38:00):
the bedroom. Sophie was asleep, or pretending to be. Her
phone lay charging on the night stand. I stared at
it for a moment, imagining the messages from Mike. I
couldn't bring myself to look.

Speaker 2 (38:13):
Not yet.

Speaker 1 (38:14):
A sense of numbness settled in as I lay down.
Strange how quickly your own bed can feel foreign, like
your lying next to a stranger. Minutes ticked by in
the dark. Finally, just before sleep took me, I had
a single, clear thought, It's time to move from denial
to action. I have to act or I'm going to

(38:34):
drown in all this. A couple of days later, I
left work early under the pretense of running errands. The
truth was I couldn't sit at my desk and amore
mind racing with Sophie's every lie. I drove home determined
to search for more evidence. Part of me felt dirty
snooping around my own house, but my pride was no

(38:55):
longer my biggest worry, uncovering the depth of Sophie's betrayal
was one. When I got home, the place was empty.
Sophie's real debusiness often kept her out until late, which
left me the perfect window. I went straight to the
small office we rarely used her domain, where she kept
stacks of folders and real estate paperwork. The desk drawers

(39:17):
were locked. I felt a pang of guilt, but told
myself I had every right to know what was inside.
I recalled she often hit a spare key in our
bedroom closet, tucked away in a small jewelry box. Sure enough,
that's where I found it back at the desk. I
slid the key into the lock. My breath came shallow,

(39:37):
heart thumping so hard it felt like it might burst.
This is it, I thought, turning the key until the
drawer clicked open. Inside lay a half dozen Manila folders,
a small stack of mail, and a spiral bound note book.
My gaze immediately landed on a thick envelope labeled with
Sophie's name confidential medical, and my stomach churned. I open it, carefully,

(40:01):
skimming the documents inside. At first I saw a letter
from a women's health clinic. My pulse quickened. Then I
caught words like termination, procedure and payment received. I felt
dizzy abortions. The date on one receipt was from about
a year ago, the other just six months prior. My
head swam with questions. Were these Mike's kids? Were they mine?

(40:25):
Did she lie to me about not being able to
get pregnant in the first place? Trembling, I set the
medical folder aside and dug deeper. Another folder contained monthly
statements from an account I didn't recognize, with a balance
that made my jaw drop tens of thousands of dollars
way more than the modest personal savings we each kept.

(40:45):
Then came print outs for expensive items, a men's rollick's watch, cologne,
tailored men's suits. She'd never given me anything like that.
It sickened me to realize she might be funding Mike's lifestyle.
I found added with her name alone for a condo
in a nicer part of town. The deed was stamped
only a few months back. My eyes burned with tears.

(41:09):
She had her own property that I knew nothing about.
My entire marriage, it seemed, was built on secrets. I
almost missed the small container of birth control pills near
the back of the drawer. Sophie used to insist she
had some condition that prevented pregnancy. Clearly that was another lie.
She'd even told me she had her tubes tied. Turns

(41:31):
out she was not only capable of conceiving, she actually
had more than once. I carefully placed everything back in
the drawer, determined to document it more thoroughly later. For now,
I just snapped some quick photos on my phone, ignoring
the tremor in my hands. Leaning against the desk, I
studied my breathing, my mind ping pong between fury, heartbreak,

(41:53):
and an odd sense of numb clarity. This was bigger
than a fling. Sophie was living a parallel line stash
of money and entire property and secrets about her health.
She never let me in on the guilt of snooping
around was overshadowed by the weight of her lies. I
took the notebook off the desk, flipping through pages of

(42:14):
scribbled notes. Most were about potential clients or open house schedules,
but a few lines stuck out meeting m at riverside property,
must confirm final price, need to schedule condo furniture delivery.
Get plan B if I forget pills again. My jaw
tightened so it was definitely M Mike. And then that

(42:35):
mention of plan B. It was like confirmation that her
cheating wasn't an impulsive one night stand. She was methodical,
planning every step. I returned everything to its original place,
locked the drawer, and carefully hid the key back in
our closet. Right as I left the office, headlights flooded
the front window. Sophie was home hard hammering. I tried

(42:57):
to compose myself, walking cabs usually into the living room.
When she came through the door, she looked surprised to
see me. You're home early, she said, setting down her purse.
Everything okay, I forced a neutral shrug. Dad told me
to take some personal time. He's noticing I've been a
little out of it. She gave a half smile. That's

(43:20):
sweet of him. I could use some personal time too.
These clients are driving me crazy. She vanished into the kitchen.
I stood there, wanting to scream in her face. I
know about these abortions, the condo, the money, but I didn't. Instead,
I swallowed my anger, deciding I needed to think carefully

(43:40):
before making a move. She re emerged with a kin
of diet soda, her eyes glancing around the living room.

Speaker 2 (43:48):
So you hungry.

Speaker 1 (43:49):
I was thinking of making something quick, na I said,
forcing a polite tone. I'm not too hungry right now.

Speaker 2 (43:57):
You go ahead.

Speaker 1 (43:58):
She frowned like she sent some off, but gave a
noncommittal nod. Suit yourself. I retreated to the bedroom, phone
in hand. My mind reeled with images of those receipts
and statements. The magnitude of her lies was staggering.

Speaker 2 (44:13):
I typed out a quick text to Victor.

Speaker 1 (44:16):
We need to talk. Found some major stuff. I didn't
send it, just yet instead, I saved it as a
draft and certain about the next steps, even though it
felt like the walls were closing in. A new determination
flared inside me. If Sophie had gone to such lengths
to deceive me, what was stopping me from taking matters

(44:37):
into my own hands. She clearly didn't mind crossing lines.
Why should I slipping my phone into my pocket? I
left the bedroom to grab a glass of water. Sophie
was at the counter, fiddling with her phone. She glanced
at me and gave a small smile, and there it was, again,
a facade of normalcy. In that moment, I realized just

(44:59):
how easy it was for her to lie with a
straight face. Stepping away, I stared out the kitchen window.
The sun was going down, painting the sky in deep
orange streaks. Darkness was rolling in, and with it an
undercurrent of tension that felt almost electric. I made a
silent promise I wouldn't rest until I exposed Sophie's entire

(45:20):
double life. She wanted a secret condo, hidden bank accounts,
hush hush medical procedures. Fine, I'd uncover every last corner
of her secrets, iven if it meant I had to
become a stranger to myself in the process. I never
imagined I'd team up with another betrayed spouse to take
on my wife's a fair partner, but heartbreak makes for

(45:43):
strange allies. After discovering the medical records, the condo deed,
and the hidden finances, I felt I was dealing with
something far bigger than a simple fling. I needed more
than just my anger. I needed an ally. Turns out
that ally came in the form of Hannah Collins, my wife.
My friend Tom Wheeler was the one who put me

(46:04):
on that path. We were grabbing coffee early one morning
at a local drive through spot. I told him about
the evidence I'd found, in vague terms, no mention of
abortions or finances, just that Sophie had a whole secret life.
He whistled softly, Man, that's intense. But if Mike's married,
then his wife might be going through the same crap. Ever,

(46:27):
think about contacting her, I stared at the lid of
my coffee cup. I have, but it's not like I
have her number or the guts I thought. Tom leaned in.
I can ask around. Mike's name isn't unknown in real
estate circles, A friend of mine works at city Hall
sometimes processes property records. Maybe I can get you an address.

(46:50):
I felt a twinch of discomfort at the thought of
prying further, but realistically, how else could I find her?
All right, let me know what you dig up. A
few days later, Tom came through. He handed me with
slip of paper with an address and a phone number,
Hannah Collins, he'd scrawled in neat handwriting. I stared at it,

(47:11):
heart pounding. What if she doesn't believe me? What if
she already knows? Eventually I mustered the nerve to call.
The phone rang four times before a cautious voice answered, hullo, Hi,
is this Hannah Collins? Yes, who's asking? My hand gripped
the phone tight. My name is Ryan, Ryan Adams. I

(47:33):
I'm sorry to call you out of nowhere, but this
is about your husband, Mike Collins. I have reason to
believe he's involved with my wife, Sophie Science. My stomach clenched.
Then she let out a trembling sigh. God, I was
afraid of something like this. You have proof, I do,
I said, softly, photos audio. It's pretty overwhelming. I'd like

(47:58):
to meet and show you. She took a moment, sounding
near tears. OK, I want to see it. Let's meet
somewhere neutral. There's a cafe on the corner of Mill
and Third Tomorrow at noon. I'll be there, I agreed.
The next day, I found myself perched at a small
table in top row cafe, fiddling with my phone. The

(48:20):
place smelled like espresso and toasted bagels, a cozy enough
spot for a decidedly uncozy discussion. Hannah arrived, wearing a
simple navy blazer, her dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail.
I recognized the strain on her face, mirroring the same
weariness I felt in my own bones. We introduced ourselves,

(48:41):
then got down to business. I showed her the photos
Victor had taken. She leaned over them, knuckles whitening as
she gripped the table's edge. A tear slipped down her cheek,
but she quickly wiped it away. That's Mike, she whispered,
voice trembling, and your wife. I nodded, feeling a pang
of empathy. I'm so sorry, she let out a shaky breath.

(49:04):
I suspected something was going on. He's been coming home late,
traveling more for work. Conferences. She looked up, watery eyes
meeting mine. I just never had any concrete proof. I
pulled out my phone and played a short snippet of
Sophie's conversation, referencing playing tickets. Hannah's face hardened. They're probably

(49:26):
planning some rendezvous soon. God, I feel like a fool.
We've been married nearly nine years. We fell silent, the
background hum of coffee machines filling the space. Finally, I spoke,
I have more evidence. Sophie's finances, a secret condo, all
kinds of hidden stuff. I suspect they used that condo

(49:47):
to meet up. I paused, suddenly feeling self conscious for oversharing.
I'm telling you because well, I think we both deserve
the truth. Her eyes flashed with anger. Damn right, we
So what are you planning to do? I shifted in
my seat, unsure. I'm trying to figure that out. My
PI said, we have enough to confront them, but a

(50:10):
direct confrontation might backfire. I was actually thinking about scaring
them a bit, making them face the consequences of what
they've done. Hannah pursed, her lips, nodding slowly. I want
him to regret lying to me. But I don't want
to do anything illegal or crazy. We need a plan
that lets them know they're not as clever as they think.

(50:31):
She paused, setting her coffee down with a sharp click.
Tell you what I've got Some time tomorrow, maybe we
could meet again and see that condo of yours. Her
word choice made me grin bitterly, write the condo of mine.
It's in my wife's name, but I get the irony.
Then more seriously, are you sure you want to do that?

(50:53):
It might be rough to see, she inhaled, gathering herself.
I've put up with Mike's crab for two long If
he's stashing his stuff at that place, I want to
see it for myself. We agreed to meet the next morning.
Before we left, Hannah reached out and touched my wrist lightly.
Thanked you for being honest, She said quietly. I know

(51:15):
this isn't easy. I gave a small nod you too.
I am sorry we have to meet this way. That night,
I replayed our conversation in my head. The raw pain
in Hannah's eyes was unmistakable, and it reminded me of
the ache in my own chest. Something about sharing that
pain made me feel less alone and more driven to

(51:36):
see this through. Maybe we could help each other find
some form of closure or justice, or maybe we'd just
create more chaos. Either way, it felt like the next
step on a path I never thought i'd walk. The
following morning, I took a personal day from work. My father,
Robert Adams, had been concerned about my distracted state, but

(51:58):
I told him I just needed time to deal with
a personal matter. He didn't pry, which I appreciated. Hannah
and I met in a parking lot across from a
gated condo complex on the nicer side of town. Gray
Stone buildings with tidy land skipping lined the street. It
was a bright, sunny day, which felt oddly out of

(52:18):
place for the task at hand. My nerves twisted as
I led her to the unit number i'd memorized from
Sophie's deed. At the entrance, I punched in the security
code I'd found scribbled on a slip of paper in
Sophie's desk. The red light blinked green, and the lock clicked.
Hannah shot me a tense glance, as if silently confirming

(52:38):
that we were about to cross a huge line. Stepping inside,
we found ourselves in a small foy that opened into
a modern living space. Sunlight streamed through windows draped with
sheer curtains, lacy, feminine curtains that Sophie would definitely pick.
A quick glance revealed bran new furniture, a plush gray couch,
a sheykh glass coffee table, and a large flat screen

(53:01):
on the wall. The place felt strangely sterile, like a
staged properby, but the left over coffee mug on the
counter suggested recent use. Hannah walked around, slowly, silent. At first,
I hovered near the door, half expecting Sophie or Mike
to pop out at any second. The air smelled faintly
of fresh paint and lavender, Sophie's favorite scent. It made

(53:23):
my stomach twist. In here, Hannah called from a hallway.
I followed her voice to a bedroom with a queen
size bed, dressed in crisp white sheets. She held up
a men's shirt from the closet, a stylish brand. I'd
never wear. This is Mike's, she said, voice trembling with anger.
I've asked him about missing clothes before, and he always

(53:44):
blamed the dry cleaners. I clenched my teeth bustard, I
muttered under my breath. A wave of disgust hit me
as I eyed the neatly hung clothes, some men's, some women's.
This wasn't just a flag hide out. They'd made it
practically a love nest. My face burned with outrage. Hannah
looked at me, tears brimming. Where do you think they

(54:08):
keep our spouse's stuff? I hesitated, then moved toward a
small dresser. Pulling open the top drawer, I found a
jumbled mix of lingerie and men's socks. The second drawer
held more personal items, some definitely Sophie's, including a half
empty bottle of expensive perfume I'd never seen at home.

(54:28):
Anger searched. They do all this in my wife's secret
condo while we're home clueless. I can't believe it. I
slammed the drawer shut, the wooden thud echoing in the
still air. Ryan Hannah said softly, I'm so sorry. Her
eyes flicked to the bed, the crisp sheets that had
definitely been used for more than sleeping. We need to

(54:50):
make them pay for this, I nodded, taking a step
back to rain in my fury. I have an idea,
I said, My voice was tight, but a the plan
was forming. We gather up all their stuff, everything we
recognized that belongs to them at home, and we dump
it here. Make them see we're not idiots. Hannah cracked

(55:10):
a wry smile through her tears. So they walk in
and find all their personal belongings piled up. That's kind
of genius exactly, I said, feeling the flicker of grim satisfaction.
It's not illegal. We're just returning their property to them, right.
A shaky laugh escaped her lips. Write, let's do it.

(55:31):
We spent another minute snapping pictures of the place, documenting
every corner. I noticed a small nightstand with a partially
open drawer. Inside lay a fancy greeting card addressed to
my love. I took a photo of it and didn't
bother reading the entire message. My heart was beating too hard,
and I was afraid of the rage it might unleash.

(55:53):
We locked up and left the condo, the plan fully
brewing between us. Over coffee at a nearby diye, we
mapped out the details. Collect we'd each go home and
gather our cheating spouses, clothes, toiletries, and personal trinkets, transport
meet back at the condo, dump everything into the living
area or bedroom, vanishing touch. We'd leave a note, something

(56:17):
short and cutting, so they'd know they were caught. As
we hammered out the details, I felt a strange camaraderie
with Hannah. We were like soldiers in the same war,
or maybe survivors of the same disaster. There was no
romantic tension, just two wounded people helping each other fight back.

Speaker 2 (56:36):
But in her.

Speaker 1 (56:36):
Eyes I could see relief that she wasn't alone, and
I knew I felt the same. That evening, I waited
until Sophie left for a supposed client meeting. Then I
pulled out a stack of boxes from the garage and
started clearing her side of the closet. My heart pounded
with every shirt I folded, every pair of shoes I
stuffed inside. It felt both cathartic and horrified, like I

(57:01):
was physically removing her presence from my life. I did
the same with some of her make up, perfumes, even
that fancy blow dryer she'd raved about. If she wanted
to live part time at a secret condo, she could
of her stuff there too. At one point, I paused
staring at a framed photo of us from three years ago,
a trip to Chicago, smiling on a boat tour. It

(57:23):
felt like a different lifetime, that Sophie was someone I
thought I knew. Gritting my teeth, I wrapped the photo
in a towel and dumped it in the box. The
next day, Hannah pulled up to the condo's parking lot
and a hatchbuck loaded with bags of Mike's belongings. I
arrived in myceedan trunk stuffed. We hauled everything inside under

(57:45):
the cover of daylight. My heart raced, half expecting an
angry confrontation if Sophie or Mike suddenly appeared, but the
place was silent. We dumped the bags in the living room,
letting them sprawl across the polished floor, sweater, socks, hair products,
a chaotic sea of personal items. It looked like the

(58:05):
aftermath of a messy yard sale. Hannah scribbled a note
on a piece of paper, We're done being fools. Enjoy
your new home together. She placed it on the kitchen counter.
For a second, I feared the consequences, but looking at
all that scattered clothing, I felt a surge of grim satisfaction.
Let them walk into the wreckage of their own lives,

(58:27):
let them feel a fraction of the shock WEED endured.
After finishing, Hannah and I stood in the doorway, surveying
our handiwork A million questions still lingered, how they'd react,
what they'd do next, but we'd take in a stand.
We locked the door behind us, hearts pounding in unison,
each of us sharing a small nod of solid dirty

(58:50):
Walking back to our cars, I realized that, for the
first time in weeks, I felt oddly light. The betrayal
still hurt like hell, but at least now we weren't powerless.
We'd taken the first step in reclaiming our sense of control,
even if it was only by dumping clothes in a
secret condo, And as I drove away, I couldn't shake

(59:11):
the feeling that this was only the beginning. By the
time I cleared out Sophie's clothes and dumped them at
her secret condo, I realized there was no going back
to normal. My marriage to Sophie had become a strange,
twisted game. When I was determined not to lose. In
the days following that first act of revenge with Hannah,
something inside me changed. Maybe it was anger simmering below

(59:34):
the surface, or the rush of finally doing something after
feeling helpless. Either way, I found myself studying Sophie with
new eyes, mentally cataloging every hint of weakness or detail
I could use against her. On a humid Tuesday morning,
I ended up in my father's office at Adam's tires,
door closed, blinds half drawn. My dad, Robert Adams, had

(59:57):
known something was off for weeks. He saw it in
my sloppy ledger work and distant stairs. I decided it
was time to let him in on a bit of
the truth, though not every sordid detail. Dad, I said, quietly,
luring into a leather chair across from his desk. Sophie's
been unfaithful. I've hired some help to confirm it. I'm

(01:00:18):
working on a plan to protect myself financially. Mostly, he
looks stunned. Oh, Ryan, I had no idea it was
that bad. I'm sorry, son, He leaned forward, concern written
all over his face.

Speaker 2 (01:00:34):
How can I help?

Speaker 1 (01:00:35):
I hesitated, my palms damp. Even voicing my suspicions felt uneasy.
But if anyone had the business know how to guide me,
it was Dad. I need hush hush advice, Like if
I wanted to freeze accounts or redirect finances that Sophie
could otherwise access, how would I do that?

Speaker 2 (01:00:54):
His brow knit.

Speaker 1 (01:00:55):
You mean you suspect she might take money from you
or the business. I shrugged, heat creeping up my neck.
She's got hidden accounts, a secret condo. I found massive
deposits she never disclosed. There's a chance she's planning something big.
Maybe she'd use my own resources to do it if
I'm not careful. Dad stapled his fingers, voice low. You

(01:01:18):
can open a new account in only your name, move
your savings there. For anything else, you'd need good documentation,
like proof she's misusing or funneling money. We can also
adjust your peril direct deposit if that helps. I nodded,
my pulse slowing as a plan formed.

Speaker 2 (01:01:36):
Ye, that's good.

Speaker 1 (01:01:37):
Keep it quiet, please, I'm not ready to blow things
up just yet. He rested a hand on my shoulder.
I won't say a word. I'm here for you, Ryan,
Just be careful. I left his office feeling both relieved
and uneasy. Step one, secure my finances. Step two expose
Sophie's vulnerabilities. She had that I flying rewalter image to maintain.

(01:02:02):
After all, people in her world expected ethics, or at
least the appearance of it. That night, after Sophie went
to bed early with a migraine, I texted Hannah Collins,
Mike's wife and my unexpected ally securing finances. Any update
on your end? She responded within minutes, gathering info on
Mike's real estate connections. We'll fill you in soon. I

(01:02:26):
stared at her message, recalling how ros she'd looked when
we've uncovered the condo. We'd only known each other under
these terrible circumstances, yet there was comfort in sharing the
burden of betrayal. The next day, Hannah and I met
at a small park on the outskirts of town. It
felt bizarre, almost clandestine, sitting on a sun warmed bench

(01:02:48):
while we whispered about bank accounts and tarnished reputations. She
described how Mike oversaw multiple offices for a regional real
estate group, not just one. He had influence and dear
deep pockets. I want him to feel the burn, she admitted,
voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. He's
humiliated me for too long. If I can tip off

(01:03:10):
his boss about his side projects with female reulders. It
might at least spark an internal investigation. I nodded, a
swirl of empathy and determination. I can do the same
for Sophie. If I leak details to her brokerage, like
how she's been buying properties without telling them, maybe even
forging documents, it'll raise questions about her ethics. Hannah's eyes

(01:03:34):
flickered with a quiet sense of vengeance. So we keep
calm facades, write, act like nothing's changed at home, while
we set this all in motion exactly. I exhaled, slowly,
picturing Sophie's and suspecting face as I kissed her goodbye.
Each morning, we gather more ammo, then pull the trigger
when the time is right. A breeze rustled the trees

(01:03:55):
around us, sunlight dazzling our tents expressions. In that moment,
I realized how deeply this whole mess had changed me.
I used to be an ordinary accountenant, proud husband, the
nice guy. Now I was orchestrating a behind the scene
sabotage mission against my own wife. But she started it.
A voice in me insisted she turned our life into

(01:04:18):
a lie. All I was doing was reclaiming control That evening,
I found Sophie in the living room, half watching some
show while scrolling through her phone. I forced a casual tone,
long day at work. She shrugged, yeh, typical real estate drama.
She barely looked up. Need anything for dinner? I offered,

(01:04:39):
resisting the urge to pry her phone out of her
hands and see if she was texting Mike. Sophie's gaze
flicked to me. I'm good. I'm actually not that hungry.
I settled on the couch a few feet from her.
My stomach churned with adrenaline at the thought of all
I was planning behind her back. She had no idea

(01:05:00):
I had already begun fundling part of my paycheck into
a private account, or that Hannah was compiling intel to
ruin Mike's career. Watching Sophie in the lamp's glow, I
wondered who she saw when she looked at me. Did
she suspect I was more cunning than the clueless husband
she believed me to be. Eventually she mumbled something about
heading to bed early. I nodded, letting her slip away.

(01:05:23):
Once she was gone, I grabbed my phone and fired
off a note to Victor Hayes, my PA, I need
help cross checking Sophie's brokerage data. Let's chat tomorrow. If
we could gather proof she was misrepresenting herself or fundling
client money into personal deals, it would be the perfect
blow to her professional image. She valued that more than

(01:05:45):
anything besides perhaps her secret fling. As I finally drifted
off to sleep that night, my mind hummed with numbers
and strategies. I'd begun to feel less like a victim
and more like a quiet puppetier. This was about more
than just heartbreak. It was about dismantling the lying, manipulative
empire Sophie and Mike had built, one step at a time.

(01:06:08):
I was going to see that empire crumble. When I
think back on my father's advice, it always comes down
to one phrase. Plan for the worst so you're never
caught off guard. That line echoed in my head for
days as I pulled together every financial thread. Sophie might
yank if things got messy. We had a joint account

(01:06:29):
for household bills, but I knew from rummaging through her
office that she had accounts I'd never seen who knew
how much of our shared funds she could twist to
her advantage. So I set up a new bank account
under my name alone, quietly removing my paycheck's direct deposit
from the joint account. My father took care of the
back end changes, ensuring there were no big flags. Over

(01:06:51):
the next week, I monitored my statements, half expecting Sophie
to blow up at me, But she never did. Either
she wasn't looking, or she was too distracted by her
own secret life to notice a dip in our finances.
During that same week, I arranged a hush hush meeting
with Victor Hayes at a diner off the Interstate. He

(01:07:11):
slid into the booth across from me, ordering coffee black.
Got your note, he said, in that calm, methodical voice.
I had come to trust. You want me to dig
into Sophie's brokerage records, see if there's any fraudulent activity. Exactly,
I leaned in, lowering my voice. I suspect she's been
signing deals without the knowledge of her managing broker. If

(01:07:34):
we find evidence, I can pass it along, maybe even
to the state Real Estate Commission. It'll tarnish her image
or at least tie her up in legal trouble. Victor nodded,
scribbling notes in a small pad. All right, I can
get my tech guide to pull transaction histories from the MLS.
We'll cross reference them with official brokerage listings. If we

(01:07:57):
spot anomalies. That's a red flagh. I clasped my coffee mug,
feeling a weird jolt of satisfaction. Perfect, let me know
what you uncover. On the drive home, I couldn't help
marveling at how carefully everything was falling into place in
an odd twist. It reminded me of a puzzle, each
piece sliding in until the final image was undeniable. Except

(01:08:21):
this puzzle would leave Sophie's shiny career in tatters. Meanwhile,
Hannah was working her own angle on Mike. I got
updates via text, short bursts of info. He told me
he's traveling soon for a business trip. Or I checked
his laptop found some risky emails with Sophia about property deals.
Each tidbit was another puzzle piece. If Mike's bosses saw

(01:08:44):
he was mixing personal pleasure with official business, his position
as a regional manager could be on the line. It
felt almost too easy. I found myself wondering if Sophie
suspected something. She'd begun acting odd. Some days she was sweet,
like the Sophie I remembered cooking dinner or asking about
my day. Other times she snapped at small things. I

(01:09:07):
knew enough about guilt to guess she was wrestling with it,
or maybe she was just stressed from juggling her many lies.
One afternoon, I was in the living room, pouring over
spreadsheets from work on my laptop. Sophie strolled in, glancing
at me with a curious tilt of her head. You've
been staying home more lately. Are you sure everything's okay

(01:09:29):
at the office. I forced a casual chuckle. Yeh, Dad's
letting me do some remote tasks, something about saving gas money.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. That's nice, I guess. She lingered,
like she wanted to say more. I sensed an opening
to get into her head. How about you, I asked,

(01:09:49):
turning the spotlight on her. Any big listings coming up?
She took a moment to answer a few. I might
be traveling soon for a conference, possibly Vegas. Nothing final yet.
My heart pounded at her admission. She had no idea.
I'd overheard talk of plain tickets with Mike sounds exciting,

(01:10:10):
I said, trying to hide the tension in my voice.
She shrugged, wandering off as if bored. My jaw tightened.
Bagus great. The anger simmered, but I channeled it into
my next step. If she was planning a getaway with Mike,
it meant they'd have less scrutiny at home, more reason
for me to push my plan forward. That evening, I

(01:10:31):
drove out to meet Hannah at a cheap motel off
Route seven, where she'd rented a room for privacy. She
let me in, arms crossed over her chest, face drawn
with tension. Mike told me the same thing. She hissed,
he's goin' to Vegas soon for some major conference, except
his company didn't mention any upcoming Vegas event. I nodded grimly,

(01:10:54):
So there definitely plotting a romantic getaway perfect. Her brows furrowed.
You don't sound surprised or upset, trust me, I said,
I'm pissed, but I'd rather use their trip to finalize
the blow. They'll be distracted. We can release any damning
info while they are away, let it detonate behind their backs.

(01:11:15):
Hannah's expression hardened. I already called Mike's main office, claim
to be a potential client and asked about real estate
workshops in Vegas. They seemed confused. No one else is going,
so it's obviously a sham. I felt the corner of
my mouth twitch and a humorless smile. It's perfect. They
think they're clever, but they're practically handing us the rope.

(01:11:38):
We spent the next hour refining details Sophie's brokerage. Once
Victor confirmed shady deals, I'd anonymously tip off her brokerage manager,
Mike's boss. Hannah had a friend from college who worked
in HR at Mike's company. If she could quietly share
copies of flirty emails or suspicious expenses, it might spark

(01:11:59):
a formal prop financial safeguards. I'd keep funneling my money
out of reach in case Sophie tried to blindside me
with legal threats timing. Wait until they're en route to
the so called conference. Once there out of town, we
pull the trigger on both ends. No chance for them
to do damage control. By the time we finished, Hannah

(01:12:21):
looked both relieved and shell shocked. Feels like we're about
to detonate a bomb, she murmured. Sinking into a creaky
motel chair, I joined her, heart pounding, we are but
they lit the fuse. We're just making sure it goes
off on our terms. As I drove home, the motel's
Nilon sign growing small in my rear view, I realized

(01:12:42):
how twisted my life had become. Plodding to sabotage my
wife's livelihood wasn't something I dreamed of doing even two
months ago. But heartbreak and betrayal can morph a person's
sense of justice into something darker. I told myself it
was justified. They'd cheated and lied. They deserved the fallout.
Still part of me felt a pang of sadness. There

(01:13:05):
was once a time Sophie and I had dreamed together,
plans to travel to maybe start a family. Now she
was planning a future with someone else, leaving me to
tear down the life we'd built. I shoved the thought aside,
focusing on the cold truth. She had turned our marriage
into a battle field, and I intended to win. A

(01:13:25):
week rolled by, and I started a new routine, pretend
everything was normal while playing puppet master behind Sophie's back.
Mornings began with a light kiss on her cheek, a
forced smile as she left the house, and a cheerful
see you tonight. By day, I'd do my actual counting job,
or coordinate with Victor and Hannah, quietly stacking the deck.

(01:13:48):
By evening, I'd share a dinner table with Sophie as
if I hadn't listened to her phone calls confirming flights.
It felt surreal, like living inside a slow motion film,
where everything had a time tense undercurrent. The fear that
she might catch on lingered in my thoughts, But ironically,
Sophie seemed so preoccupied with her own secrets that she

(01:14:08):
rarely questioned my sudden bouts of errands or extra shifts.
It was the best cover I could have asked for.
I decided to up the ante by playing a bit
of psychological warfare, subtle enough to keep her guessing, yet
not enough to blow my cover. It started with a
few anonymous notes slipped under her wind jeweled wibers at work,

(01:14:29):
just single lines typed on a computer. Lies, never stay
hidden forever. He's not as clueless as you think. I
had no direct proof she received them, but one evening
she came home pale faced, her mood sour over dinner
she muttered about some weirdo leaving nonsense on her car.
I feigned concern. That's creepy, I offered, you sure you're OK?

(01:14:52):
She shrugged, fiddling with her fork. It's probably just some
crack bot. I'll be fine. Next, I arranged for a
withheld number phone call to reach her cell while she
was in the shower, letting it ring twice before hanging up,
just enough to rattle her. I overheard her scolding the
empty room, who the hell keeps calling me? My lips twitched.

(01:15:14):
If she wanted secrecy, I'd let her paranoia grow, let
her suspect someone was on to her, someone besides me.
Amid these small ploys, Hannah and I stayed in contact
almost daily. She giggled riley when I told her about
the wind shieled notes, you're evil, She teased, I like it.
Then she'd share how she left a suggestive print out

(01:15:36):
of an email from Mike's account on his car seat.
He was apparently fuming, demanding to know who was snooping.
Hannah played dumb. The tension in both our homes was skyrocketing,
but that was exactly what we wanted. We were, in
effect smoking them out. One afternoon, I noticed Sophie pacing
the house, phone in hand. She seemed rattled, as if

(01:15:58):
half expecting some one to jump out from behind a curtain.
I sat on the couch, quietly, observing everything. OK, She
forced a strained grin. Ye, work stuff, nothing major. My
eyebrows rose. You look spooked. Her lips tightened. I'm just tired.
We're all under pressure to close deals. Clients can be

(01:16:20):
real night nurse. I nodded sympathetically, trying to hide the
satisfaction coursing through me. She retreated to the bedroom, locking
the door behind her, something she never used to do.
I waited a good five minutes before creeping closer and
listening through the door. I heard her on the phone
with Mike, voice hushed and frantic. I know, but I

(01:16:42):
keep getting these weird messages. It's like someone's watching me. No,
I haven't told Ryan he's clueless. Her words stabbed, reminding
me she still believed I was some bumbling spouse. My
jaw clenched. Let her think that it makes my job easier.
Later than day, Hannah sent me a text. Mike's freaking

(01:17:03):
out about calls too.

Speaker 2 (01:17:05):
He said he's.

Speaker 1 (01:17:05):
Sure someone's trailing him, loving it, I smirked, typing back.
Stay quiet. They can sweat a little longer between the
secret phone calls withheld numbers and cryptic notes. I almost
felt like we were auditioning for a psychological thriller. But
it was working. Sophie grew jumpy. Every ring of the

(01:17:26):
doorbell made her startle. Each random text beep caused her
to glance around nervously. A couple of times she snapped
at me for no good reason, like the night I
accidentally left a kitchen cabinet open.

Speaker 2 (01:17:39):
Why do you have to.

Speaker 1 (01:17:40):
Be so careless, she snarled, slamming it shut. I threw
up my hands. Sorry, I just forgot. Is everything okay
with you, Sophie? You've been edgy? She paused, gilt flickering
over her features. I'm sorry, I've just got a lot
on my plate. Real estate is brutal, right now. I

(01:18:01):
pretended to accept her excuse, all while adrenaline sang in
my veins. Each time I saw her unsettled, I considered
it a small victory. Let her loose sleep, let Mike
scramble to figure out if he was being followed. This
was just the warm up to the real show. Meanwhile,
Victor reported progress. He found multiple listings Sophie had processed

(01:18:25):
off the books home sold at suspiciously high commissions. With
Hush Hush finder's fees, he speculated she might have laundered money,
or at least lied to her brokerage. I planned to
use that the moment she took off for her conference
late one evening. As Sophie lounged on the couch aimlessly
scrolling her phone, I decided to push the tension further. Hey,

(01:18:47):
I ventured casually. I was thinking about our anniversary next week.
She stiffened, ever so slightly. Oh right, her eyes flicked away.
Maybe we could do something romantic, I suggest, watching her
reaction from the corner of my eye. It's our tenth year,
after all. She cleared her throat, pretending to focus on

(01:19:08):
the TV. Ryan, I have a big work thing coming up.
It might overlap with our anniversary. My heart hammered, but
I kept my tone neutral. Is it mandatory? We rarely
get these milestones back, you know, she said her phone aside,
looking frustrated. I understand, but this is crucial for my career.

(01:19:30):
Can we just celebrate after I get back? I nodded, slowly,
as if disappointed but understanding. Sure, I said softly, inside,
rage boiled. Our tenth anniversary was apparently less important than Mike.
Sophie cast me a fleeting look of apology. I promise
I'll make it up to you. Okay, I lied, letting

(01:19:52):
a sad half smile. Linger, I'll hold you to that.
That night in bed, I stared at the darkness, pulse
thudding in my ears. We'd reached the tipping point. She
was basically confirming she'd skip out on our anniversary for
that conference.

Speaker 2 (01:20:07):
Perfect.

Speaker 1 (01:20:08):
Let her run off to our little fantasy. Meanwhile, I'd
be here, ready to pull the rug from beneath her.
Three days before our anniversary, Sophia announced over breakfast that
she'd be leaving for Vegas the following afternoon. She chewed
her toast as if discussing a routine business trip, ignoring
the pang of hurt flashing across my face. That soon,

(01:20:30):
I asked, voice catching just enough to sound wounded. I
stirred my coffee, glancing at her carefully. She shrugged, carefully
avoiding eye contact. Yeah, flights were cheaper earlier in the week. Look,
I'm sorry about the timing. A lie I knew from
the bug in her car that she and Mike had
chosen these dates specifically. Still, I pretended to wave it off,

(01:20:54):
sipping my coffee and laying out a sigh. I guess
it is what it is. That morning, I drove to
Adam's Tires for a quick meeting with my father. We
checked the new deposit account I'd opened, verifying all was
in order. Dad looked at me with concern, Son, are
you sure about this path you're on. It's not too
late to talk things out with Sophie. I forced a

(01:21:17):
tight smile. Talking doesn't work when one side's lying. I
appreciate your concern, Dad, but this is something I need
to handle. He nodded, solemnly, patting my back. Whatever happens,
I've got you covered. After leaving the office, I dialed Hannah.
She picked up on the first ring. They're leaving tomorrow too.

(01:21:38):
We're in sync. I guess that's what happens when two
cheeters coordinate. Write I agreed, so tomorrow, as soon as
they are in the air, we make our moves. You
dropped the bomb on Mike's boss. I alert Sophie's brokerage.
Victor's got evidence lined up. We just hit send. Her
exhale crackled over the line. I CA I can't believe

(01:22:00):
we're actually doing this. I'm anxious, but it's time. By
the time evening rolled around, Sophie was packing her suit
tase in our bedroom. I hovered in the doorway, feigning concern.
Need any help. She shook her head, not looking up.
No thanks, I got it. A tight smile passed over
her lips as she zipped up a garment bag containing

(01:22:23):
what I assumed were outfits more suited for fling than
a conference. I took a step closer, voice slow. I
can't help feeling like we're drifting apart. Are you sure
you should go? Her gaze flicked to me. I's cold, Ryan,
We've had this talk. I have to go. You have
to trust me that this is important dressed. The word

(01:22:44):
clanged in my mind like an insult, but I simply nodded.
All right, I understand. I lied again. She avoided kissing
me that night, Climbing into bed with her back turned,
I stared at tea He's ceiling, replaying the last few weeks,
the voice recorder, the hidden condo, the notes, the near fights.

(01:23:05):
Here we were on the brink of our tenth anniversary,
and she couldn't be bothered to hide her betrayal anamore.
A part of me felt heartbreak, but that heartbreak hardened
into resolve. She had sealed her own fate. The next morning,
I offered to drive her to the airport, an act
of faux kindness that made me sick. She declined, saying

(01:23:26):
she'd leave her car in long term parking. You sure,
I pressed, an edge creeping into my voice. It's a
lot cheaper if I drop you off, she waved me off.
I'm fine, it's more convenient this way. I stood in
the doorway as she rolled her suit tase out to
her car. She hesitated, glancing back. Maybe she expected me

(01:23:48):
to beg her to stay, or maybe she was searching
for some sign I was suspicious, but I kept my
face carefully blank. By ryan, she said, almost softly. I
just nodded, arms crossed, have a safe flight. As soon
as her car pulled away, I exhaled a shaky breath.
The weight in my chest felt crushing. Why am I

(01:24:10):
so torn up? She deserves everything that's coming, I reminded myself.
But ten years is a long time to share a life.
With someone, even if that someone turned out to be
a liar and a cheat. It took me half an
hour to shake off the lingering sadness. Then I went
into gear. I texted Victor, she's gone send everything. He

(01:24:32):
replied almost instantly on it. While waiting for him to
forward the files, I made a call to Sophie's brokerage
main office using an alias. I told them I had
urgent information regarding one of your agents, Sophie Adams, and
possible unethical practices. The line transferred me to a regional manager.

Speaker 2 (01:24:52):
Perfect.

Speaker 1 (01:24:53):
Once I had Victor's dossier in hand, I planned to
email everything anonymously. Next I rang Hannah, who sounded tense
but determined. Mike just left two I'm about to email
the HR contact. With those messages, I found plus mention
the rumored affair with a reolder that should start an
internal investigation. We shared a brief moment of silence, h

(01:25:17):
understanding the gravity of our coordinated strike. Finally, Hannah murmured,
here we go, Ryan. They asked for it. I hung up,
adrenaline surging through me. This was the final step in
our revenge plan, the big blow. By the time Sophie
and Mike landed in Vegus. They'd be facing professional chaos,

(01:25:37):
calls from bosses, possibly even legal threats, all thanks to
the carefully compiled evidence we'd been gathering for weeks. They
wanted to jet off for romantic esque. Paid fine, let
them enjoy the turbulence we'd caused. Back home, my phone
buzzed with Victor's email, open at your discretion, be careful.

(01:25:58):
Attached were scan wrack girds, property sales with forged signatures,
secret transaction logs, suspicious commissions, more than enough to torpedo
Sophie's squeaky clean reputation. My heart pounded as I zipped
them into a password protected folder and drafted an e
mail from a burner account. I kept it short, to

(01:26:19):
the point and full of damning evidence. Right before hitting send,
I paused a swirl of conflicting emotions turned inside me, anger, betrayal, sadness,
a lingering love for the Sophie I thought I knew,
But I reminded myself how casually she'd chosen to skip
our anniversary for Mike, how she'd lied and cheated, killing

(01:26:39):
the very foundation of our marriage. With a final resolute breath,
I clicked send, and just like that, there was no
turning back. I closed my laptop, heart hammering. Over the
next hours or maybe days, I expected the fallout to begin.
Sophie would get calls from her manager, Mike would face

(01:27:00):
questions from his HR team. They'd realize the walls were closing.
In Strangely, though, as I sat there in my silent
living room, I felt a hollow ache in my chest.
The act of revenge, while necessary, wasn't as sweet as
I'd imagined. It felt more like the end of something,
a final nail in the coffin of a marriage that

(01:27:21):
had already died the moment she decided to betray me.
Till I let a grim smile twitch on my lips.
They started this war, we were simply finishing it. I
leaned back on the couch, wondering how they'd react when
their perfect little trip turned into a nightmare. Perhaps by
the time they realized who orchestrated everything, it would be

(01:27:42):
too late. I woke up the morning after Sophie left
for Vegas with a strange stillness in my chest, like
the calm before a storm. My mind buzzed with the
knowledge that Hannah and I had released all that damning evidence, emils,
financial records, and hush hush deals straight to Sophie's brokerage
in Mike's company. I imagine the chaotic phone calls, the

(01:28:04):
scrambling managers, the frantic attempts at damage control. In some
twisted way, I felt victorious. They'd planned a secret trip
for themselves, but they had no idea the worlds they
left behind were about to crumble. I spent most of
that morning in my living room, flipping through channels, feeling
oddly restless. My phone lay on the coffee table, silent.

(01:28:27):
No word from Sophie, of course, not why would she
call me when she had Mike in her arms. It
was around midday when my phone finally buzzed. I snatched it,
heart surging with adrenaline, expecting news about Sophie's brokerage meltdown.
But instead it was Tom Wheeler, my friend who'd first
shown me that incriminating photo of Sophie Ryan. He said,

(01:28:50):
voice low and shaky. Turn on the news channel now.
Something in his tone made my skin prickle. I fumbled
with the remote the local station and showed a frantic
news anchor, eyes wide with shock. Bold texts scrawled across
the bottom of the screen, breaking a passenger plane and
route to Honolulu crashes in Pacific. My throat went dry. Honolulu,

(01:29:13):
That wasn't Vegas. I turned up the volume, trying to
make sense of it. The reporter rattled off flight numbers
and seat capacities, describing how the plane had lost contact
with air traffic control somewhere over the Pacific. There was
no mention of survivors yet, just ominous images of rescue
vessels and helicopters scanning miles of dark water. It didn't

(01:29:36):
register at first. Sophie had told me she was heading
to Vegas with Mike.

Speaker 2 (01:29:41):
So why was.

Speaker 1 (01:29:42):
Tom telling me to watch a Honolulu crash report? I
managed a shaky breath. Tom, I see it, but Sophie's
not going to Hawaii. She I don't think she was
going to Vegas at all. Tom interjected, I have a
body who works at the airport.

Speaker 2 (01:29:59):
He says.

Speaker 1 (01:29:59):
Her name was on the manifest for that flight. Mike's
name too. My chest seized the living room spinning. That
can't be, I whispered. The reporter's voice droned on the
coast Guard is currently searching for any signs of survivors.
My vision blurred. I realized I was gripping the phone
so tightly my hand hurt. Tom let out a slow exhale.

(01:30:23):
I'm sorry, man, I don't know what else to say.
My knees gave out, and I sank on to the couch,
numbus creeping through my limbs. Sophie had lied about Vegas.
She and Mike were going to Hawaii, instead celebrating their
twisted romance on some island paradise while I languished at home,
and now that plane had crashed. Swallowing hard, I tuned

(01:30:46):
back into the TV. The anchor relayed early reports. The
plane went down an hour ago. Rescue efforts were underway,
no official count of casualties. My heart thumped each beat,
reverberating with the dread. I mumbled thanks to Tom and
hung up. The phone almost slipped from my trembling fingers.

(01:31:06):
My carefully orchestrated plan to destroy Sophie's career now seemed
irrelevant in the face of this potential disaster. My stomach lurched,
thinking of her fear in those last moments. If the
plane truly went down, did she even think of me?
Did she realize she'd never return a swirl of conflicting
emotions slammed into me. Rage at her deceit, tear that

(01:31:30):
she might be gone, Guilt that part of me had
wished for a harsh come upance, not this, though I
never wanted any one dead. My phone started to buzz again,
this time with an unknown number. I answered, voice shaking,
mister Adams. A woman asked, this is Cheryl with the
airline's emergency hotline. We're confirming that your wife, Sophie Adams,

(01:31:54):
was on flight two hundred sixteen to Honolulu, which has
gone down in the Pacific. We have no affair on survivors,
but were gathering passenger details. I almost dropped the phone,
cold sweat coating my forehead. That's impossible, I muttered. She
told me she was going to Vegas. I'm so sorry, sir.

(01:32:14):
Our records indicate otherwise. The woman said softly. We'll keep
you updated as.

Speaker 2 (01:32:20):
We learn more.

Speaker 1 (01:32:21):
I hung up, the word impossible still echoing in my mind.
But it wasn't impossible. Sophie had lied she was on
that plane with Mike, and now it seemed they might
both be gone. For the next few hours, I watched
the news in a daze. They played footage of rescue
helicopters skimming the ocean surface searching for wreckage. Reporters showed

(01:32:43):
the floating debris and half inflated life rafts drifting aimlessly.
My phone kept buzzing family members, co workers who'd seen
the news. Even Dad, I vaguely recall telling him, yes,
that's the flight Sophie was on. He was stunned into silence.
A part of me wanted to scream, to smash things.

(01:33:04):
Another part of me felt strangely numb. My mind replayed
images of Sophie packing her suitase, her dismissive responses to
my pleas, her final wave goodbye, The bitterness in my
chest ward with an odd, deep sorrow that she might
never walk through our front door again. Late that night,
the search teams announced they discovered extensive wreckage. Bodies were

(01:33:28):
starting to be recovered, but no mention of survivors. The
plane had likely broken up on impact. My eyes fixed
on the anchor's lips as she spoke the grim details.
If Sophie was in that wreckage, then my carefully plotted
revenge had been overshadowed by a far more final ending.
I think I drifted in and out of shock. At

(01:33:49):
some point, I realized I was replaying her voice messages
in my head, the times she'd said I love you
so casually that I doubted she meant it. Now I'd
never hear her voice again. Not a lie, not an apology, nothing.
That realization hollowed me out. Around midnight, the airline's hotline
called once more with a brief update. No survivors had

(01:34:12):
been found yet, this official death toll was rising. I
thanked the column mechanically and slid my phone onto the
coffee table. Hours of tension had drained me, and I
collapsed onto the couch, numb, staring at the dark TV screen.
I thought about all my elaborate plans to expose Sophie's betrayals.
They were worthless, now, overshadowed by the finality of a

(01:34:35):
plane crash. Life had dealt a blow that made my
revenge feel minuscule by comparison. If she really was gone,
I wasn't sure whether to feel relief or guilt, or heartbreak,
maybe all three all at once. The next morning, I
woke with a start, disoriented by the silence in the house.
Then it hit me the plane crash, Sophie's likely death,

(01:34:58):
my stomach twisted as 's fresh waves of disbelief washed
over me. The TV was still on a news channel,
droning in the background about rescue efforts and partial passenger lists.
I dragged myself to the kitchen for a glass of water,
head throbbing like I'd pulled an all nighter. I couldn't
remember the last time I'd eaten. My phone lay on

(01:35:20):
the counter, blinking with missed calls my father, Tom, a
few from unknown numbers, summoning courage. I checked my voicemails,
one from Dad, voice shaky, urging me to call him back,
another from a reporter sniffing around for a quote from
a relative. I ignored that one. Finally, I scrolled to

(01:35:40):
the latest text from Hannah Collins. My heart lurched at
her name. She'd be in a similar hell. Mike was
also on that flight. The text read, we need to
talk Please no details, but I could sense her desperation.
Mike might have died right alongside Sophie.

Speaker 2 (01:35:59):
I called her.

Speaker 1 (01:36:00):
She picked up instantly, her voice cracked with stress. Ryan,
Oh God, you've hurt ye, I murmured, staring out the
window at the gray morning sky. I'm so sorry, Hannah.

Speaker 2 (01:36:13):
This is awful.

Speaker 1 (01:36:14):
She let out a shaking breath. I can't believe it.
I mean, they deserved consequences for cheating, but not this.
Her voice quivered, thick with tears. What are we supposed
to do now? I wanted to comfort her, but I
was barely keeping myself together. I have no idea, I
guess wait for official updates. A pause stretched heavy with

(01:36:37):
unspoken guilt. We'd plotted revenge, but never this outcome. Look,
I said softly, maybe we should meet. I can drive
over or she cut in relieved, Yes, please come by
my place. I can't handle these reporters alone, reporters. My
mind blanked. Somehow they found out Mike was a prominent

(01:36:58):
figure in local real way estate, she said, voice tinged
with annoyance. They've been calling, sniffing around for human interest angle,
and there's insurance calls starting to insurance. That reminded me
of of a cruel irony. Both Sophie and Mike might
have life insurance policies that week, as the surviving spouses
would stand to collect. The thought made me feel sick.

(01:37:21):
I'll be there soon, I promised. On the drive to Hannah's,
the radio was full of updated crash coverage, A monotone
anchor listed the flight number, the airline, the approximate location
of the wreck, repeating that officials believed no one had survived.
My chest constricted with every word, the finality hammering home.

(01:37:42):
Did Sophie die screaming, regrets flooding her mind? Or was
she too busy clinging to Mike in those last seconds.
Hannah lived in a modest, two story house in a
quiet neighborhood. I spotted a car in the driveway I
didn't recognize, maybe a friend or family member. Nervousness twisted
my insides as I parked. The front door open before

(01:38:03):
I reached it, and Hannah ushered me in. She looked
as bad as I felt. Eyes, red rimmed hair pulled
into a messy ponytail. A middle aged woman stood in
the living room, giving me a somber nod before slipping
way upstairs. That's my cousin, Carrie, Hannah explained quietly. She's
been trying to help me with all these calls. I nodded,

(01:38:26):
following her into a small den where we sat on
a couch. The house smelled a faint coffee and newly
lit incense. My gaze wandered, noticing framed wedding photos of
Hannah and Mike on a nearby shelf. My stomach turned again.
So you have any new info, I asked softly. She
squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping down her cheeks. They

(01:38:49):
confirmed that the plane definitely broke apart, no sign of survivors.
They've recovered some bodies, but Mike's not listed among them yet.
I stared at the carpet, heart pounding Sophie either the
finality choked me. We were talking about them as if
they were gone, yet no official notice had arrived. It

(01:39:09):
felt surreal. Hannah sniffled, wiping her face. I keep thinking
maybe they survived somehow, maybe there on a raft or
an island, she laughed, bitterly. Sounds insane, right, I hesitated.
Guess we can't blame ourselves for hoping, no matter how
slim the chances. But my rational mind recognize the odds.

(01:39:32):
The news guesters kept stressing how unlikely it was for
anyone to survive an impact that vicious. As silent settled,
I realized our revenge plan had ended in a way
neither of us expected. The leftover bitterness at Sophie and
Mike's betrayal ward with the shock of their probable deaths,
My voice finally broke the quiet. Do you do you

(01:39:53):
regret what we did? She looked up, eyes haunted. We
never asked for them to die, Ryan, We just wanted
them to face consequences now this. She pressed a shaking
hand to her forehead. I'm not sure what to feel.
Part of me is angry at Mike. Part of me
is guilty for feeling any sadness after what he did.

(01:40:15):
I'm just numb. Her words mirrored my own tangled emotions.
We were two betrayed spouses left behind in the wreckage,
both literally and emotionally. I reached out, resting a hand
on her shoulder. We'll get through it, we have to.
She offered a weak nod. Just then her cousin carry reappeared,

(01:40:36):
phone in hand. Hannah, the air line is on the line.
They kneed next off kin details. You two, mister Adams there,
requesting your info for Sophie. My stomach nodded next of kin.
It sank in painfully that both Sophie and Mike might
be declared dead at any moment. I exchanged a glance

(01:40:56):
with Hannah. We stood up, heavy resignation, pulling in our eyes. Thanks,
I told Carrie. I followed Hannah to a quiet corner,
and she handed me the phone. This was it, the
official start of a harrowing process. No one ever wants
confirming details for a spouse who might never come home.
In that moment, all I could think was, this wasn't

(01:41:18):
how I wanted our story to end. My carefully laid
plan had demanded Sophie face the truth, not vanish into
a watery grave. But reality doesn't care about plans. I swallowed,
pressing the phone to my ear, bracing for what came next,
the horrific confirmation that Sophie Adams was gone. Thank you
for confirming those details, mister Adams, the airline representative said gently,

(01:41:43):
as though her voice alone could cushion the devastating blow.
We'll be in touch if we learn anything specific about
Sophie's remains remains. I hung up my lungs, straining for air.
That word clanged inside my skull, a brutal reminder that
Sophie was probably floating somewhere in the Pacific or resting
on the ocean floor. Even though we'd been enemies, in

(01:42:05):
the end, we'd also once been partners, lovers, a married
couple with shared dreams. My hands shook as I set
the phone on Hannah's coffee table. I noticed Hannah's cousin
quietly slip out of the room, giving us space. Hannah
stared at the floor, expression hollow. They asked me for
DNA samples, she said, in case they recover a body

(01:42:28):
they suspect. As Mike's guilt coiled in my gut, A
part of me had so fiercely wanted to punish Sophie.
Now I was faced with a scenario far more final
than any revenge. A numbness fogged my mind. I guess
we should handle the next steps. Hannah nodded, insurance death certificates,
though it might take a while since they haven't found

(01:42:50):
actual remains, and we need to finalize their estates, right estates.
My breath caught recalling the secret condo I discovered the
hidden accounts Sophie had. Then there was the matter of
my own finances I'd been shielding. I rubbed my temple. Ye,
I'll have to talk to a lawyer or something, figure
out if there's a will. Though I doubt she changed

(01:43:12):
anything recently. She didn't plan on dying. Our eyes locked,
both of us grimly aware of the irony. They'd boarded
that plain, believing they'd enjoy a week in paradise, leaving
us behind to deal with the ruin. Now we were
left to pick up the scattered pieces of both our marriages.
I excused myself to step outside, needing fresh air. Hannah's

(01:43:34):
front porch overlooked a quiet street with carefully mowed lawns.
The day felt absurdly normal. Neighbor's walking dogs, a jogger
passing by. Meanwhile, my entire life was in shambles. I
pulled out my phone and scrolled through missed notifications. One
caught my eye a text from Victor Hayes, my private investigator,

(01:43:56):
Sorry about the crash. If you need me to handle
press or anything, let me know. Also found more about
Sophie's hidden finances, ping me when you can more hidden
finances Like that matters now, I thought, tucking my phone away,
Yet ironically it did matter. I still needed to settle things.

(01:44:17):
Sophie might be gone, but the condo, the accounts, the secrets,
those remain tangled up in legalities. When I returned, insighed,
Hannah was pacing phone clutched in one hand. They want
me to come in for an official statement about Mike's
finances and to confirm details about life insurance. God, I
can barely think straight. I offered her a glass of water,

(01:44:40):
though my own throat felt parched. I guess we have
a lot of that ahead. You want me to go
with you, she managed a thin smile. I'd appreciate that.
I'm not sure I can handle questions alone. We decided
to meet with her lawyer the following day, someone she'd
hired for minor real estate disputes in the past. He

(01:45:00):
knows the local scene, Hannah explained. He might help you too,
or refer you to someone. The rest of that day
blurred into a haze of phone calls and paperwork. I
drove home in the late afternoon, stepping into my empty
house that still smelled faintly of Sophie's perfume.

Speaker 2 (01:45:18):
My eyes stung.

Speaker 1 (01:45:19):
The reality of her absence struck me with fresh pain.
On autopilot, I wandered into the bedroom, noticing half finished laundry,
her curling iron still out on the dresser. She left
in a hurry, thinking she'd be back. She'd never bothered
to hide the fact that she was packing party dresses
more suited for Hawaii than Vegas. She probably assumed I

(01:45:42):
was too clueless to notice. My phone vibrated another call
from my father, Robert Adams. I swallowed, answering in a
shaky voice. Dad, oh son, he breathed, I heard the
news about the crash. Are you holding up okay? A
wave of warmth spread through me at his concern. Not really,

(01:46:03):
I admitted, sinking on to the edge of the bed.
I don't even know how to feel. Angry, guilty, sad.
She lied to me for months, but I never wanted
her dead. My voice caught Dad's side came through the line.
This is bigger than any of us. I'm so sorry.
Take as much time off as you need. The business

(01:46:25):
can run without you for a while. Thanks, I whispered.
Relief flooded me, knowing I didn't have to juggle office
work on top of this emotional storm. After we hung up,
the tears i'd been holding back finally broke free. I
buried my face in my hands, sobbing in the silence
of our bedroom. Betrayed or not, Sophie was my wife

(01:46:47):
for nearly a decade. The finality of her loss burned fiercely.
If she had survived, we might have confronted each other,
may be divorced, maybe fought, but at least there would
have been some chain ants to speak. Now, all that
was left were lies I'd uncovered and the emptiness she'd
left behind. By evening, I forced myself to eat some

(01:47:09):
leftover soup from the fridge. Each spoonful felt tasteless, my
thoughts drifting to whether the rescue teams had recovered more bodies.
The news kept repeating the same footage, shattered fuse lash,
floating seat cushions, glistening oil slicks. I flicked off the TV,
unable to watch more. Heart of me felt like a

(01:47:30):
monster for letting her board that plain with so much
bad blood between us. Rationally, I knew I couldn't have
stopped her from traveling, but the guilt ate at me anyway.
Despite my exhaustion, sleep wouldn't come easily. I stared at
the ceiling in the dark, imagining the plain's final moments.
Sophie strapped in next to Mike, perhaps gripping his hand.

(01:47:53):
Did she think of me? Did she wish she'd never lied?
My chest ached at the thought. I rolled over wishing
the morning would hurry so I could at least dive
into legal procedures distract myself with the mechanical tasks of
dealing with the fallout. But there was no escaping the
quiet haunting of that night. Eventually, I drifted off into

(01:48:14):
a restless sleep, half hoping i'd wake up to find
it was all a nightmare. But deep down I knew
there was no going back. Reality had shifted and I
was stuck in the aftermath. The memorial services took place
about two weeks later, after the airline officially declared there
were no survivors. They called it a collective remembrance, since

(01:48:35):
many families hadn't received physical remains to bury. The airline
and local organizations co ordinated a sammer event at a
large community center near the airport. Rows of chairs faced
a stage draped in black photos of the victims arranged
in a sorrowful display. I arrived alone, hugging myself against
the brisk wind outside. My father offered to come, but

(01:48:58):
I insisted he stay home. This felt like something I
had to face without well meaning onlookers. Inside, I recognized
a handful of dazed faces from TV interviews, husbands, wives
children who'd lost someone on that flight. We all found
seats in hushed disbelief. Hannah arrived shortly after, wearing a
dark navy dress and looking pale. She spotted me and

(01:49:22):
slipped into the seat beside mine. Neither of us said much,
just a silent nod of acknowledgment. We were two outsiders
who'd lost spouses in a scandalous, intertwined affair. But nobody
here knew that. They only saw a widow and widower
grieving like everyone else. The service opened with gentle music,

(01:49:42):
followed by a string of speakers, religious leaders, a local politician,
even a representative from the airline, offering condolences. I sat stiffly,
mine churning. For a split second, I thought I saw
Sophy in the crowd, wearing that sly smile she'd sometimes
flash when she thought I was clueless. The illusion cut deep.

(01:50:02):
I blinked, heart pounding, only to see an unfamiliar woman
who looked nothing like her. When it was Hannah's turn
to speak, some families were invited to share personal memories.
She shook her head and stayed seated. I noticed tears
brimming in her eyes. I didn't blame her, for not
going up. What would she say about Mike, That he

(01:50:24):
was a liar who broke her heart, that his final
act was to whisk away another man's wife for a
beech vicati on. Instead, she stayed silent, letting a relative
speak in her stead, painting a picture of Mike as
a devoted family man and successful manager. The hypocrisy stung.
I saw Hannah's lips tighten. Later, during a moment of

(01:50:45):
communal prayer for the departed, I bowed my head, battling
conflicting waves of sorrow and resentment. Why, Sophie, I asked
in my mind, why did you have to lie about everything?
The ache of never getting her answers wait maid heavily.
No amount of revenge or phone calls or hidden camera
evidence could erase the heartbreak of her betrayal. No official

(01:51:07):
memorial could bring closure for the wounds she inflicted or
the guilt I carried for wanting her to pay. When
the service ended, people milled about, hugging each other, tears
and condolences mixing with forced smiles. I waited by a
table laden with flowers until Hannah joined me. She rested
a trembling hand on my arm that was intense. Yeah,

(01:51:30):
I whispered, scanning the cluster of mourners like a dream
you can't wake up from. A hush fell between us.
Then Hannah said, I feel like there's no real closure.
You know, no bodies to bury, just an empty casket
or a memorial plaque. She blinked back tears. I wanted
him to face consequences, but not like this. I could

(01:51:53):
only nod throat tight with unspoken regret.

Speaker 2 (01:51:56):
The phrase be careful what you.

Speaker 1 (01:51:58):
Wish for flitted across my mind. We had plotted to
ruin Sophie and Mike, but fate intervened in a far
more brutal way. Over the following days, Hannah and I
finalized the sale of the secret condo. The place had
been discovered by the police and family lawyers soon after
the crash, and we had legal rights to dismantle it.

(01:52:19):
Neither of us wanted to keep it. It symbolized everything
false and cruel about their affair. We arranged for Charity
to take the furniture, returned the keys, and watched the
last trace of Sophie and Mike's love nest disappear. With
the condo's closure came the slow process of sorting Sophie's
personal effects, boxes of clothes, papers, old photos. Some of

(01:52:41):
her relatives reached out, wanting a few mementos. I obliged,
sifting through memories that reminded me of simpler times, anniversary dinners,
vacations we took in our happier days. Each photograph felt
like a gut punch. I saved some in a private
box and sure if I'd ever look at them again.

(01:53:01):
A few days later, I drove to a nearby park,
feeling restless. The weight of grief, anger, and guilt hovered
like a storm cloud. Standing by a quiet lake, I
let the wind whip around me, trying to breathe in
the crisp air. I thought of Sophie's final phone call,
that moment I'd never get, if only she texted or

(01:53:22):
called to say I'm sorry before the plane went down. Instead,
all I had was avoid. My phone buzzed. Hannah's name
appeared on the screen. I answered, hearing the familiar strain
in her voice. Ryan, I just found more of Mike's
old documents. There's well letters he'd written me ages ago.
I don't know if I should read them or burn them.

(01:53:45):
I pressed my lips together don't make any big decisions now.
Emotions are raw. Take your time. She sniffled, half laughing
at the irony. You're right, I guess. I just sometimes
I don't know what to do with all this. Neither
did I, so I told her the only thing I knew.
We keep breathing, keep taking small steps. That's all we

(01:54:08):
can manage. I hung up, eyes drifting over the rippling
lake surface. Her question about burning letters echoed in my mind.
Maybe letting go meant more than discarding physical things. Maybe
we had to confront the memories, the heartbreak, the anger,
release them somehow, peace by piece. The concept scared me,

(01:54:29):
but clinging to the pain wouldn't bring Sophie back, nor
would it undo the lies and betrayal. In that moment,
with the wind tugging at my jacket, I sensed a
fragile understanding. The plane crash had stripped away any chance
of direct confrontation or apology. All that remained was the slow,
messy process of healing, or at least trying to, and

(01:54:51):
maybe in time I'd find a place for sorrow and
forgiveness to coexist in my life, even if forgiveness came
without answer. As I left the park, I realized I
felt a flicker of relief. The condo was gone, the
memorial service was over. The emotional battlefield might never fully heal,
but the bombs had stopped dropping. In a way, that

(01:55:15):
was a start, a step forward into a life where
Sophie's betrayal no longer defined me and my own guilt
no longer caged me. I wasn't certain how many steps
it would take to reclaim a sense of normalcy, but
for the first time in weeks, I felt something close
to hope, or at least a willingness to keep going
one day at a time. I used to think silence

(01:55:36):
was peaceful, but in the weeks after Sophie's plain crash,
the quiet in my house felt more like a vacuum.
No hum of her blow dryer in the morning, no
clack of her heels by the door, just stillness. And
the truth is, I wasn't sure whether that made me
sad or relieved in the early days of my grieving,
if that's even the right word for morning a wife

(01:55:58):
who deceived me. I have the bedroom as much as possible.
She hadn't slept in that bed for weeks before the crash,
but her scent lingered in the sheets, hints of lavender
and something sharper may be left over perfume. It unsettled
me every time I walked by Tom Wheeler, my longtime friend,
noticed how ragged I looked. One Saturday morning, he showed

(01:56:20):
up unannounced, a take out box of doughnuts in one hand,
a stack of mail in the other. Figured you might
need some company, he said, stepping past me into the
living room. I forced a tired smile.

Speaker 2 (01:56:33):
Thanks. I'm fine, though.

Speaker 1 (01:56:35):
Really it was half truth, half fly. Yes, I could
feed myself and pay the bills. But was I okay?
Not even close. He set the doughnuts on the coffee table,
glancing around places, looking a bit bare. Only then did
I see what he meant. I had begun removing framed
photos of Sophie and me from the shelves, stashing them

(01:56:58):
in a closet so I wouldn't care her smile in
the corner of my eye. Every five minutes. The living
room walls felt empty now, like a museum after hours.
I just needed to clear things out, I mumbled, grabbing
a doughnut, more for something to do than hunger. Tom
nodded sympathy in his gaze. You still have any of

(01:57:19):
her stuff around? I tensed some clothes, personal items, a
few pictures. I don't want to toss it all, but
I trailed off, unsure Sophie's deceit still stung, yet part
of me felt it was wrong to simply torch her memory.
Tom gave my shoulder a squeeze. Hey, do what you
got to do. No rush, he paused, scanning the quiet house.

(01:57:42):
You're not alone, Ryan, remember that. I swallowed, hard, nodding.
For the next half hour, we just sipped coffee, chatted
about random stuff, the latest sports scores, new hires at
the tire company, filling the silence with something close to normalcy.
I clung to that, grateful that Tom didn't push me
to talk about Sophie unless I wanted to. Later that week,

(01:58:06):
I tackled my finances and debts. One of the hardest
tasks was sorting through leftover bills that still had Sophie's
name on them. Medical bills from the clinics she used
for those abortions, credit card statements for lavish purchases I
never knew about. Each envelope felt like a small punch
to the gut, reminding me how easily she masked her secrets.

(01:58:29):
One evening, I found myself in the attic, rummaging through
boxes I'd stashed wedding photos, our old college textbooks, and
random souvenirs from vacations we once took a swirl of
dust tickled my nose as I lifted the lid off
a box labeled wedding keepsakes. Inside lay dried flowers, a
guest book, and a stack of cards people had given

(01:58:51):
us on our wedding day. I flipped through them, recalling
family members writing well wishes for our future. My chest constricted,
torn between anger at how that future ended and a
dull ache for the hopes we once shared. For a moment,
I felt a surge of guilt. Was I a monster
for not being purely devastated about Sophie's death? Yes, I

(01:59:13):
grieve the companion she used to be before everything fell apart,
But part of me was relieved the lies whereover that
I didn't have to keep playing the clueless husband. That
dualty weighed heavy on my mind, especially at night. My father,
Robert Adams, insisted I take more time off from the
tire company. Ryan the ledgers can wait, he said over

(01:59:35):
the phone, one afternoon. Your emotional health is more important
right now, I couldn't argue. I was making mistakes left
and right, and every one noticed. I did, however, make
myself useful by clearing out left over debts Sophie had incurred. Secretly,
her name alone was on certain credit cards, so I
got them canceled, making sure to keep records in case

(01:59:59):
lawyers or in surance reps asked, and they did ask
a lot. The airline's legal team and the life insurance
company each needed countless forms, filled out details on her estate,
even letters from the county about her official presumed dead status.
It was grim and mechanical, yet in a twisted way,
it kept me busy. Most nights ended quietly, me curled

(02:00:21):
up on the couch with the TV on low, not
really watching. The house felt too large for one person,
the rooms echoing with silence. Sometimes I jolt awake at
two a m. Convinced I heard Sophie's footsteps in the hallway,
but it was just my mind playing tricks. One morning,
I opened the closet to find several of her coats

(02:00:41):
still hanging there, untouched since the day she left. Stepping closer,
I caught a whiff of her perfume again, a faint
memory that nearly brought me to my knees. A wave
of grief slammed into me, grief for the woman she
once was, or maybe the woman I thought she was.
I spent the next hour sitting on the closet floor,
letting tears slip free for the first time in days.

(02:01:05):
By the time I emerged, red eyed and exhausted, I
felt a strange calm. Maybe it was the start of acceptance,
acknowledging that I couldn't change the past. The first step
I told myself was to keep moving forward, no matter
how slowly, because as empty as this house might feel,
it was still mine and I had a life ahead

(02:01:25):
of me, one not defined solely by Sophie's betrayal or
her tragic end. That afternoon, I started packing some of
her belongings into boxes. I labeled them quietly Donation, Family, Messy,
not sure if for when I'd sent them out, but
the act of sorting was oddly therapeutic, like reorganizing my
inner chaos. Little by little, I made the house less

(02:01:48):
of a shrine to our broken marriage and more of
a blank slate for whatever came next. It was a
lonely process, but for the first time, I felt the
hush of the rooms shift from hollow to contemplative. A
quiet house, maybe, but also a chance for a quiet heart.
And though I wasn't sure what the future held, I
found a small spark of determination inside me. I would

(02:02:11):
keep living. I'd carry the scars, but I'd also carry
the potential for something new, something that didn't revolve around
betrayal and secrets. I took a deep breath, letting the
stillness wrap around me. This was my life now, quiet,
uncertain and strangely ripe with possibilities. If I could survive
Sophie's lies and the shock of her death, maybe I

(02:02:34):
could survive anything. I was unloading groceries from the trunk
one afternoon when my phone buzzed. The screen showed Hannah Collins,
the only person who fully understood the twisted blend of grief,
anger and relief swirling inside me. We hadn't spoken in
a week, each of us busy with finalizing estates and
dealing with leftover wreckage from our spouse's double life, but

(02:02:57):
her timing felt perfect, as if she sensed I needed
to hear a familiar voice. Hey, I said, trying not
to sound too eager. Her tone was cautious, like she
was stepping onto thin ice. Hi, Ryan, just checking in.
How are you holding up. Glancing at the house behind me,
I pictured the half empty closet and boxes of Sophie's

(02:03:20):
old clothes surviving, I guess, I shrugged, even though she
couldn't see me. Still weird coming home to an empty place,
though I'm slowly clearing out her stuff. Hannah sighed, I
know the feeling. Mike's family took some of his things,
but I'm stuck with the rest. It's like do I

(02:03:40):
keep them out of respect or toss them because he
was a lying cheater. I'm all over the place, same,
I murmured, pressing a hand to my temple. Look, if
you ever need an ear, I'm here. The words came
out more warmly than I intended, but I meant them.
She hesitated, then asked softly one to grab coffee, maybe

(02:04:01):
talk about everything a bit past. We can keep it
low key, I promise, I found myself nodding.

Speaker 2 (02:04:09):
I'd like that.

Speaker 1 (02:04:10):
We've agreed to meet at a cafe near the old
part of town. It was a small, cozy spot with
exposed brick walls and a handful of mismatched tables. I arrived,
first ordered a Lotte and found a corner seat.

Speaker 2 (02:04:24):
My nerves buzzed.

Speaker 1 (02:04:25):
We'd been collaborators in revenge, then reluctant come mourners. Now
we were something else, two people caught in a unique limbo.
I wasn't sure how to navigate that. Hannah slipped in
a few minutes later, wearing jeans and a simple sweater,
hair pulled back in a loose pony tail. She glanced around,
spotted me and gave a small wave as she approached.

(02:04:49):
I noticed faint shadows under her eyes, the kind that
told me she wasn't sleeping well either. We've exchanged a
quiet to low, her lips curving into a sad smile.

Speaker 2 (02:05:00):
Now are you really?

Speaker 1 (02:05:01):
She asked, settling into the chair across from me. I
started my Lotte, tired, confused. Sometimes I'm angry, sometimes I'm numb.

Speaker 2 (02:05:11):
I met her.

Speaker 1 (02:05:12):
Gaze you, she scoffed, lightly, sipping her coffee, pretty much
the same. I keep thinking about what might have happened
if that plane never crashed, would Mike and Sophie have
come back to face the mess we created for them?
I exhaled, recalling how we unleashed chaos on them right
before their flight.

Speaker 2 (02:05:31):
They would have.

Speaker 1 (02:05:31):
Come home to ruined careers and shredded reputations, that's for sure.
A flicker of guilt crossed her face. I never expected
them to die, though I wanted payback, but she trailed off,
pain evident in her eyes. I reached over, brushing the
back of her hand gently. We both know we didn't
do anything to that plane. Fate, coincidence, whatever it was,

(02:05:56):
it took them away. She nodded, blinking back. Tears still
feels heavy. For a while, we just sipped our drinks
and let the hum of the cafe surround us. The
barristers voice, the hiss of the espresso machine, and low
chatter from other tables formed a cocoon that shielded us
from our swirling thoughts. Eventually, Hannah cleared her throat. So

(02:06:17):
what's next for you? Any plans? I shrugged, running a
hand through my hair. I'm debating if I should stay
at my dad's tire company or try something else. Sophie's
leftover estate funds might give me a chance to do
something new. Her eyes flickered with interest. That's kind of
what I'm grappling with. Two Mike's insurance policy was bigger

(02:06:40):
than I expected. Plus the settlement from the airline, I
could pay off my house, maybe go back to school,
or start a new venture. She paused a bitter, sweet laugh,
escaping It's strange having these resources come from such a tragedy.
I couldn't help but agree, like blood money, but we
can't deny it might help us rebuild. Hannah's gaze softened.

(02:07:04):
Exactly if we do it wisely, maybe we can find
a new direction. There was a spark in her eyes,
the faintest glow of hope amid the ashes. When we
finished our coffees, neither of us was ready to say goodbye.
We walked along the old main street, passing antique shops
and local boutiques. She pointed out a dilapidated storefront with

(02:07:26):
a frilly sign. This place used to be a bakery
when I was little, she mused, peering through the dusty window.
Sometimes I imagined opening something cozy, like a bookstore cafe.
Then I remember I'm not exactly an entrepreneur. A whimsical
thought fluttered.

Speaker 2 (02:07:43):
In my mind.

Speaker 1 (02:07:45):
Could I help her do that some day? But it
felt too soon, too big a leap. Instead, I just said,
you never know, life can throw surprises at us. She laughed, softly,
shaking her head. I've had enough surp your thanks. We
turned a corner, eventually stopping by my car. The sun

(02:08:05):
was setting, painting the sky a burnt orange. A pensive
hush fell between us. Finally, Hannah exhaled, I'm glad we
did this. I've been feeling so isolated, like no one
else understands. I unlocked my car, realizing I felt lighter
than I had in weeks.

Speaker 2 (02:08:23):
I get it.

Speaker 1 (02:08:24):
We can meet up again whenever you need. My voice
wavered with an undercurrent of relief. She was my only
direct link to the bizarre experience we both endured. She
searched my face, a gentle smile, forming same here, Ryan,
I appreciate you with that. We parted ways, each heading

(02:08:45):
back to our separate realities. But as I drove home,
I caught a glimmer of something not quite happiness, but
a sense that I wasn't doomed to exist in a
vacuum forever. Maybe there was still the possibility of genuine
human connection, even after heartbreak, Even after the darkest betrayals
and tragedies. When I walked into my house, the emptiness

(02:09:06):
didn't feel as suffocating as before. Instead, I remembered Hannah's words,
how we could use this tragedy to shape a new
chapter if we dared. The thought gave me a flicker
of warmth in my chest, a reminder that while I'd
lost so much, not everything had to stay lost. A
few weeks passed, and life adopted a strange rhythm. I

(02:09:26):
spent my days tying up loose ends, meeting with lawyers
to finalize Sophie's estate, responding to more paperwork from the
air line, and occasionally dropping by my father's office to
stay connected with the tire business. My nights, however, often
ended with a phone call or text exchange with Hannah.
Sometimes we joked about mundane things. Sometimes we just vented

(02:09:49):
about feeling adrift. We never mentioned romance, but an unspoken
closeness grew. One Friday evening, she invited me over for dinner.
I made way too much spaghetti, she said over the phone,
and I could use the company. I hesitated. Eating dinner
at Mike's old house felt loaded with emotional land mines,

(02:10:10):
but curiosity and a longing for real connection one out.
Her home was modest, neatly kept. The faint smell of
marinara sauce and garlic bread lingered in the air. As
I stepped inside, my eyes flicked to photos on the wall,
some of her and Mike in happier times. She must
have noticed, because she quickly apologized, I haven't taken them

(02:10:31):
down yet, didn't feel right to erase him completely. I nodded,
setting aside my jacket.

Speaker 2 (02:10:38):
I get it.

Speaker 1 (02:10:38):
I still have wedding photos in a box upstairs.

Speaker 2 (02:10:42):
Hard to know what to.

Speaker 1 (02:10:43):
Do with them. She led me to the dining table,
where two plates were already set. Candle light flickered a small,
soft glow, making the room feel cozy. A pang of
tension bubbled in my stomach.

Speaker 2 (02:10:56):
Was this a date?

Speaker 1 (02:10:57):
Over the meal, we chatted about lighter things at first,
favorite music, bese our local news stories, but eventually the
conversation circled back to our shared tragedy. Hannah stared at
her half eaten pasta brow creasing. I'm not sure when
or if I'll ever forgive Mike completely for what he did,
but I still cry some nights. My chest tightened same

(02:11:20):
sometimes I think about Sophie's laugh, or how she'd get
excited over small things and I forget for a moment
everything she did. Then the anger returns, or the guilt.
She reached for my hand across the table, a comforting
gesture that made my heart skip. This might sound odd,
but I feel like we have the right to love
them and hate them at the same time. Her words

(02:11:42):
resonated deeply. Yeah, that's exactly how it feels. We fell
into a long silence, the kind that wasn't exactly uncomfortable,
but crackled with unspoken tention. I glanced at her, noticing
how the candlelight caught the faint freckles on her cheeks.
She looked up, meeting my eyes, and for a moment,
it felt like the air had shifted and new energy

(02:12:05):
pulsed between us, unexpected, a little dangerous. She cleared her throat,
retracting her hand. Anyway, Want some more bread, I exhaled, nodding, sure, thanks.
We pretended that moment hadn't happened, but it hung in
the air like static electricity. After dinner, we cleaned up together,
brushing shoulders at the sink, our arms occasionally bumping each

(02:12:28):
small contacts and a jolt through me. I realized, with
a mix of excitement and alarm, that I was feeling
the spark I hadn't felt in years, maybe even since
before Sophie's betrayals. Could it be real or was it
just the aftermath of trauma, the desire to fill a void.
When the dishes were done, Hannah turned to me, wiping

(02:12:49):
her hands on a dish towel. Want to watch something
or talk more? She sounded, almost shy. I hesitated, Yeah,
maybe we can watch a show. My pulse racest The
living room couch beckoned another potential minefield, but I followed
her there anyway. We settled in a safe distance apart
as she flicked through streaming options. Some random comedy played,

(02:13:13):
though neither of us paid much attention. My mind was
too busy analyzing every subtle sign, her posture, the way
her knee brushed mine accidentally, the nervous glances we exchanged.
Halfway through the episode, she reached for the remote, pausing
it ryan, She said, quietly, turning to face me, do
you feel something here? Her cheeks flushed, Because I do,

(02:13:36):
and I'm not sure if it's okay. My stomach flipped.
I won't lie, Hannah. I feel a connection, but I'm
also terrified we're both dealing with so much grief and confusion.
She nodded, chewing her lip. Exactly. Part of me worries
it's just drama bonding. Another part wonders if maybe out

(02:13:57):
of all this mess, we found someone who really understands.
My heart pounded. Yes, that's it, I thought, she understood
the betrayal, the guilt, the strange relief. I don't have
a neat answer, I admitted, I just know that when
I'm around you, I feel less alone, and that's huge
for me.

Speaker 2 (02:14:16):
Right now.

Speaker 1 (02:14:17):
Her gaze darted to my mouth, lingering. For a split second,
my breath caught. Then she exhaled sharply, as if making
a decision. Let's promise each other will move slow, Okay,
no rushing into anything. I let out a breath. I
hadn't realized I was holding deal. We smiled at each other,
a tentative, hopeful smile that carried equal parts caution and curiosity.

(02:14:42):
We resumed the show, moving a little closer on the couch.
We didn't kiss, didn't push any boundaries beyond the small
confession of interest, but the emotional tension felt like a
gentle current connecting us. By the time I left her
house it was late. We stood by the front door
in silence for a a moment. She fiddled with her keys,

(02:15:02):
and I debated whether to hug her. Finally I did,
wrapping my arms around her in a brief, warm embrace.
She melted into it, just enough to let me know
she felt it too. Take care, she whispered. When I
pulled away, You too, I said, voice softer than usual.
Driving home, I alternated between excitement and guilt. Should I

(02:15:24):
really be feeling this way about Hannah? But deep inside
I sensed that what we had wasn't.

Speaker 2 (02:15:30):
Just lust or desperation.

Speaker 1 (02:15:32):
It was two wounded people finding the strange solace in
each other's presence. Maybe that was enough for now. When
I slipped into my quiet house, I realized I was
actually smiling for the first time in ages. It felt weird,
but good. The memory of Hannah's shy grin staid with me,
sparking a flicker of warmth in a place I thought

(02:15:54):
had gone cold forever. Sure our feelings were messy and complicated,
but maybe, just me, they were worth exploring. About a
month later, a letter arrived that would set the next
phase of my life in motion. It was from the
airline's legal department, confirming the final settlement for Sophie's death
a considerable sum My chest tightened treating those words their

(02:16:17):
wrongful death settlement. It felt like blood money, but it
was real, and it was mine to decide what to
do with. That afternoon, I spread the letter out on
my kitchen table, along with the bank statements and the
check from Sophie's life insurance. Together it totaled more money
than I'd ever seen. Guilt and relief mingled in my gut.

(02:16:38):
I thought of all the times I'd imagine traveling with Sophie,
maybe buying a nicer house once we had kids. Now
I was on my own, with no plan. Hannah called
that evening, her voice tinged with excitement. They finalized my
settlement too. It feels so strange. I told her about
my own check. Maybe we should talk about how we're

(02:17:00):
going to use it. We both want something new. Rite
We decided to meet at my place, her first time
visiting since the crash. I tidied up frantically, feeling a
flutter of nerves. Even though we'd grown closer, I still
worried about what she'd think of the space Sophie and
I once shared. I stashed any lingering photos of Sophie

(02:17:22):
in a shoe box under my bed, hoping to avoid
painful reminders. When Hannah arrived, she took a moment to
absorb the living room. It feels different here than I expected,
like its inTransition. I gave a small nod. That's me
in a nutshell, I guess. We settled at the kitchen table,
piles of documents in front of us. The late afternoon

(02:17:45):
sun cast a warm glow over the sea ell butter.
She sipped tea I'd made scanning some figures. This is
a lot of money, Ryan, enough to pay off debts,
invest in something new. Her voice trailed, hinting at possibility.
My heart thudded as I considered what new might mean.
Remember you once mentioned a dream of opening a cozy

(02:18:07):
bookstore cafe, that old shop downtown. Her eyes lit, then
flickered with doubt. Are you serious it's just a random
thought I had? I shrugged, feeling a strange surge of confidence. Well,
if it makes sense financially, why not explore it. We
both have the funds. Maybe we partner up create something

(02:18:29):
that actually brings people joy. The idea sounded wild, yet
it stirred something in me, a sense of purpose. Hannah
pressed a palm to her cheek, looking overwhelmed. That's more
than I expected tonight, she laughed softly. But I kind
of love it, I grinned, relief flooding me. We can
take it slow, do some research. But the thought of

(02:18:52):
building something positive from all this tragedy feels right, doesn't it.
She met my gaze, warmth shining in her eyes.

Speaker 2 (02:19:00):
Yeah, it does.

Speaker 1 (02:19:01):
We spent the next hour tossing around ideas, scribbling notes
on a legal pad. The plan was still vague. Location
maybe downtown concept cafe plus curated book selection, budget tbd.
But with each passing minute the spark grew. We were
shifting from victims of betrayal to creators of something new.

(02:19:22):
A calm hush settled after we'd exhausted initial brainstorming. Hannah
glanced around, noting the changes I'd made, fewer reminders of Sophie,
A new lamp in the corner, some furniture rearranged. I
like what you've done with the place, she said, gently,
It feels more you. My throat tightened. I guess I'm
trying to make it mine again. Step by step, she

(02:19:46):
squeezed my hand. I get that I'm doing the same
at my house, repainting rooms. Mike never cared about feels
like reclaiming my life. You know, that same electric undercurrent
from before flickered between us. She didn't pull her hand away,
and neither did I. Slow We promised, I reminded myself,

(02:20:07):
But in that moment, I felt an undeniable closeness deeper
than simple friendship. Steering the conversation to safer ground, I
asked how her therapy sessions were going. She admitted she'd
found a good counselor who helped her process the guilt
and the heart break. I confessed i'd seen one two
upon my father's suggestion, it helps to have someone remind

(02:20:29):
me I'm not evil for feeling relief that Sophie's gone,
I said, in a hushed tone. Though it still feels twisted.
She looked at me, no judgment in her eyes. We
can hold conflicting emotions at once. I'm learning that in
therapy too. The corners of her lips quirked up. Were
complicated people. No kidding, I murmured, thinking how we'd come

(02:20:52):
together under such dark circumstances. If there was ever a
complicated scenario, this was it. Eventually, I offered to cook
a simple dinner pasta with chicken and a side salad.
Nothing fancy, but we shared the comfort of chopping vegetables
side by side, occasionally bumping shoulders in the cramped kitchen.
The tension was still there, but it felt warm, not suffocating.

(02:21:15):
Every now and then she'd tossed me a gentle smile
that set my nerves buzzing. At the table, we quietly ate,
reflecting on the leap we were considering with the bookstore.
Hefe fear crept in what if we fail, what if
it's just a rebound dream. But a stronger voice inside
me whispered that building something good might heal the cracks

(02:21:37):
in our souls. After dinner, Hannah helped me wash dishes.
The casual domesticity was surreal. Less than two months ago,
I'd been plotting to destroy her husband's life, and she
had done the same to Sophie. Now we were cleaning
plates together, discussing paint colors and cafe names.

Speaker 2 (02:21:56):
Life is weird.

Speaker 1 (02:21:57):
As we dried the last dish, she caught my eye
gaze lingering. A slow, sweet moment passed the hum of
the dishwasher, providing a background rhythm. My heart thundered, slow, slow,
I repeated internally. But when she leaned in close enough
for me to smell the faint lavender soap on her hands,
I couldn't resist. I brushed my lips against hers, a soft,

(02:22:20):
tentative kiss. She tensed for half a second, then relaxed,
kissing me back. It was gentle, searching, like we were
both testing the boundaries. When we pulled apart, her cheeks
glowed pink too fast, she whispered, a tremor in her voice.
I shook my head, No, it feels okay. My voice

(02:22:40):
came out husky edrenaline surging. We can still go slow,
just not that slow.

Speaker 2 (02:22:46):
Maybe.

Speaker 1 (02:22:47):
We both laughed quietly, relief, mingling with warmth. The night
ended with a tight hug at the door. She whispered
good night, promising. We talked soon about next steps for
the books or I idea. As I closed the door,
I couldn't stop smiling. For the first time in a
long while, the future didn't look so bleak. It was

(02:23:08):
colored by the possibility of new beginnings and a fragile,
blossoming connection with someone who understood my darkest days. I
headed to bed with a steady pulse of hope in
my chest, anticipating the next morning when I'd wake up,
open my eyes and realize I had something to look
forward to that was more than just survival. I had

(02:23:29):
purpose and maybe even the seeds of a new love.
That was enough to keep me moving forward. I used
to think the future was a fixed thing. Go to college,
join my father at Adam's Tires, Mary Sophie, have a family.
Looking back, I guess none of it was as certain
as I believed. Now Here I stood in the present,

(02:23:50):
juggling a mixture of insurance settlement, left over funds from
Sophie's estate, and the crash compensation. It was more money
than I'd ever seen in one place, and in a
moment I never expected, I felt strangely free. One bright morning,
I found myself driving out to the industrial park on
the edge of town, where Adam's Tires has its main warehouse.

(02:24:12):
The sun gleamed off endless rows of car tires stacked
like black towers. My father, Robert Adams, was waiting for
me in his glass walled office, reviewing spreadsheets. A pang
of memory hit me. How I used to do those
spreadsheets and love the routine of it. But after everything
I'd endured, Sophie's betrayal, her sudden death, I wasn't the

(02:24:34):
same man. Dad closed a binder, giving me a warm,
slightly tentative smile. Son, good to see you.

Speaker 2 (02:24:42):
Good.

Speaker 1 (02:24:42):
How are you holding up? I dropped into a chair,
exhaling better. I've had time to think about my future
and there's something I need to tell you. My voice
quivered with both anxiety and excitement. He leaned forward, concerned.
You know I'm all ears. Whatever you decide, I'll respect it.
I explained the basic outline. How Hannah, the widow of

(02:25:05):
Sophie's lover, and I were planning a new books for
cafe venture with part of our combined funds. We still
have to do a formal business plan, I admitted, but
it's starting to look real. Dad sat back, tapping a
pen on his desk. His expression shifted from mild surprise
to something more thoughtful. I never pictured you going into

(02:25:26):
coffee and books, but if it's what you want, I'm
behind you. One hundred percent relief surged through me.

Speaker 2 (02:25:33):
Thank you.

Speaker 1 (02:25:33):
But there's more, I swallowed. I also want to keep
ties here, maybe hold a smaller stake in the family business,
if you're open to it. I care about Adam's tires.
It's just that I can't give it my full attention.

Speaker 2 (02:25:48):
En amore.

Speaker 1 (02:25:49):
Dad's gaze softened. I understand, Ryan, After what you've been through,
it makes sense you'd seek something fresh. Don't worry. I
can adjust the corporate structure. Let you remain a partial owner.
You can come and for board meetings, keep some decision
making power. I grinned, surprising myself by how easily the

(02:26:09):
knots of tension unwound. That sounds perfect. He rose and
extended a hand across the desk. I stood, shaking it
firmly before he pulled me into a quick, fatherly hug.
I'm proud of you, he said quietly. We spent the
rest of the morning hashing out legalities, transferring part of
my shares, ensuring I'd have a seat at the board

(02:26:30):
table without daily obligations. It felt oddly natural, like we
were re engineering my role instead of throwing it away.
At one point, Dad smiled wistfully. Your mother would be
proud of you too, For finding courage in all this.
I left the warehouse that afternoon, feeling lighter than I
had in years. Outside the sky was a perfect blue,

(02:26:52):
the sun warm on my face. Instead of returning to
my old cubicle, I drove to the quaint downtown area
Sanna and I had scouted for a store front. The
building we liked, a modest, brick faced spot with large windows,
had a sign reading vacant contact for Lee's Information. HARKing
along the curb, I couldn't resist walking up to peer Inside,

(02:27:15):
dust motes danced in the beams of sunlight. The space
needed love, chipped paint, scuffed floors, but I saw potential,
a cozy corner with bookshelves, a small cafe bar, maybe
even a reading nook by the window. My phone buzzed, Hannah,
how'd it go with your dat? I texted back, great,

(02:27:35):
We're good to move forward. Meet at the building in
twenty she replied, instantly.

Speaker 2 (02:27:41):
On my way.

Speaker 1 (02:27:42):
While I waited, I mentally arranged furniture. Visions of comfy chairs,
the smell of espresso, the soft hum of conversation filled
my mind. The idea that I could help create a
peaceful retreat for others somewhere they might escape heartache or stress.
Felt strangely healing, Nolae. Longer was I stuck in the
cycle of anger or guilt. I was building something positive

(02:28:05):
from the ashes. Hannah arrived wearing casual jeans and a
button up blouse, her hair loose around her shoulders. She
shut me an enthusiastic grin that made my heart skip
a beat. We tried the front door. It was locked,
of course, so we just gazed through the glass. Looks
a little run down, she remarked softly. But I can

(02:28:26):
see the vision same here.

Speaker 2 (02:28:28):
I nodded.

Speaker 1 (02:28:29):
We'll bring it back to life, give it character. She
turned to face me. I called the leasing agent this morning.
He wants to meet next week to discuss terms. Her
eyes sparkled with excitement. Are we really doing this?

Speaker 2 (02:28:44):
Ryan?

Speaker 1 (02:28:44):
I slid an arm around her shoulders in a gentle
half hug, ignoring the curious glance of a passer by.

Speaker 2 (02:28:51):
Yeh, we are.

Speaker 1 (02:28:53):
My words came out steady. I realized that for the
first time, I was fully committing to a future plan,
not based on someone else's expectations, Sophie's or my father's,
but my own. And hannahs our new life. Evening rolled
in painting the sky a soft orange. Standing on that
side walk, we chatted about potential names for our place

(02:29:15):
page and brew chapter's cafe, silly puns that made us laugh.
We also talked about logistics. She'd handle interior design ideas,
I'd manage the finances. We'd higher local staff, maybe source
baked goods from a nearby bakery. The more we imagined,
the more convinced I became. This was my calling, now,

(02:29:37):
a fresh sense of purpose. Eventually we parted ways with
a lingering hug. As I drove home, the weight of
the past felt lighter.

Speaker 2 (02:29:45):
Sure.

Speaker 1 (02:29:46):
Sophie's betrayal and tragic death still haunted me, sometimes flashbacks
in the middle of the night, pangs of regret, but
day by day the pain dulled, replaced by a cautious optimism.
I had a father whose supported my dreams. A budding
partnership may be something deeper with Hannah, and a business
concept that could add color to a town overshadowed by heartbreak.

(02:30:09):
At home, I found a voicemail from my father, just
wanted to say again, how proud I am Son, I
love you. That small sign off tugged at my heart
I'm loved, I'm supported, I thought, and that realization steadied
me for the journey ahead. Before bed, I spent an
hour sketching out a rough floor plan of the cafe.

(02:30:31):
My lines were clumsy, but the act of drawing felt therapeutic.
I labeled sections coffee bar, seating area, book racks, reading nook.
Then in one corner I wrote kid's section.

Speaker 2 (02:30:43):
Who knew?

Speaker 1 (02:30:44):
Maybe we'd appeal to families next to it, local events
or book clubs. My phone vibrated with a new text
from Hannah han't sleep too excited. We're really doing this,
I chuckled, tapping out a quick reply, yes, ready for tomorrow.
She sent back a thumbs up and a digital heart
emoji that made me grin. I closed my makeshift blueprint

(02:31:07):
and climbed into bed, adrenaline still coursing through me. Staring
at the dark ceiling, I recognized a feeling I hadn't
tasted since before Sophie's Lies. Genuine hope, powered by a
purpose i'd shaped myself. My last thought before sleep claimed
me was a simple one. I might just be okay.

(02:31:28):
Three weeks later, I found myself in a swirl of
phone calls, meetings, and real estate negotiations. Hannah and I
had signed attentive fleece on the old Downtown building, pending
inspections and final contract details. The day the leasing agent
handed us the keys for a preliminary walkthrough, I felt
a jolt of excitement. We were stepping into a dusty,

(02:31:51):
vacant shell, but it was ours to shape. On a
sunny Saturday morning, Hannah and I arrived with a couple
of new characters in toe Grace, a local in interior
designer recommended by Tom Wheeler's sister, and Miguel, an architect
friend of Hannah's cousin. They were both down to earth
professionals with an obvious flare for design. Grace circled the space,

(02:32:12):
snapping photos. We can do a lighter color palette to
open it up. Maybe you update the flooring, She paused
by the windows. Imagine a comfy reading nook here, floor cushions,
big pillows, maybe a mural behind. Miguel nodded, running a
hand along the cracked wall. We'll need to check structural integrity,

(02:32:33):
but it shouldn't be too costly. Hannah and I exchanged
a grin. Yes, our plan was real. It was happening
soon we'd be knocking down old shells and painting walls,
turning the place into chapters and coffee. We'd finally settled
on the name after an hour of brainstorming. By midday,
Grace and Miguel left to gather quotes and a timeline,

(02:32:55):
leaving Hannah and Mead in the dusty space. We stood
at the center, beams of sunlight highlighting specks of dust
swirling around us. Feels like stepping into a future where
building together, she mused, kicking at a loose floorboard. Her
tone carried a trace of all I brushed away some cobwebs,
clinging to a corner. It does then, more quietly, and

(02:33:17):
not just the business, I mean us too. She glanced
my way, cheeks coloring slightly. Over the past weeks, our
relationship had grown, gentle touches, occasional kisses, and deeper conversations
about trust and what it meant to start over after betrayal.
We hadn't officially moved in together, but the question lurked

(02:33:38):
in the back of our minds. Each day, we spent
more time at each other's houses, cooking, sorting through business plans,
even bringing a mini series on rainy nights. I swallowed,
taking a steadying breath. I was thinking, once we open up,
I might relocate from my old place. Too many memories there.
My heart fluttered. May be we could find somewhere new together.

(02:34:02):
Her eyes widened. Are you sure that's a big step?
I nodded, trying not to show my nerves. I know,
but if we're building this, I want.

Speaker 2 (02:34:11):
A fresh start.

Speaker 1 (02:34:12):
My dad supports me, the cafes coming along. I'm ready
to embrace this change with you, if you want it too.
She stared at me for a long moment, emotions flickering
across her face, uncertainty lying a hint of fear. I
do want it, she chuckled softly. It's just so soon,

(02:34:32):
you know, we've only been exploring this for a short while.
I stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on her arm.

Speaker 2 (02:34:40):
I get that. I'm not pushing you. I paused.

Speaker 1 (02:34:43):
But after everything, Sophie, Mike, the lies, I've learned, time
can be cruel. We either seize chances or lose them.
She leaned into me, her breath catching.

Speaker 2 (02:34:54):
You're right.

Speaker 1 (02:34:55):
Let's do it smartly, though, maybe rent a place first.
See how it goes. A wave of relief and joy
swept through me. I'd like that we shared a gentle
kiss amid the dusty floor and half lit interior, the
moments simultaneously surreal and grounded in real hope. Outside, the

(02:35:16):
day was warming up. We locked the building and grabbed
lunch at a nearby deli, discussing potential living arrangements. We'll
keep both houses for now, Hannah suggested, until we find
a place that suits us. Something closer to downtown may
be an apartment with a spare room for an office.
I agreed, a small step forward. My heart soared just

(02:35:39):
imagining it shared dreams taking shape, not just in business,
but in our personal lives as well. As we strolled
down the sidewalk sandwhich wrappers in hand, passers by mi
have assumed we were just another couple in love. They
didn't know the dark path we'd taken to arrive here,
the betrayals, the plane crash, the guilt. But the past

(02:36:01):
no longer defined us. Instead, it guided us to choose
each moment carefully, striving for honesty and respect. That evening,
we attended a small get together at Tom Wheeler's place,
a casual back yard b b Q. Tom greeted us
with a hearty hay, you too, and a not so
subtle wink. We mingled with a few neighbors, sipped cold drinks,

(02:36:22):
and watched the sun dip behind the fence. At one point,
Tom pulled me aside, Dude, you seem lighter hap air.
He nodded toward Hannah, who was chatting with his sister.
Things going good. A genuine smile curved my lips better
than I ever expected. We're opening a book stre cafe soon.
I gave him the run down, noticing the approval in

(02:36:45):
his eyes. That's awesome, man, Tom said, clapping my shoulder.
I never like that corporate life for you anyway. You
needed something more, you yea, I said softly. I guess
I'm finally realizing that we see day until late. Laughter
and good company filling the air. Hannah and I drove
back to my house, both of us still high on

(02:37:08):
the camaraderie. In the driveway, she let out a contented sigh.
Tonight felt normal, like were just two people in love
doing normal stuff. I switched off the car's engine. That's
because we are. My chest tightened, a swirl of affection
and gratitude welling up. I remembered the feeling of a
quiet house after Sophie's death. The suffocating loneliness, now a

(02:37:33):
new kind of hush enveloped me, a peaceful one made
sweeter by Hannah's presence. We took each other's hands, heading
inside the house, though once haunted by echoes of Sophie,
was gradually becoming a stepping stone to the next phase.
We ended the night cuddled on the couch, discussing Paint's
watches for the cafe, giggling over a silly detective show

(02:37:54):
on TV, trading occasional soft kisses. Despite the swirl of
responsibility and lingering pangs from the past, I felt anchored
by this sense of shared dreams. For the first time
in a long while, life had a brightness to it,
a promise that the shadows wouldn't consume everything. Tomorrow, we'd
call the leasing agent to finalize details, check in with

(02:38:17):
Grace and Miguel about their designs, and maybe even start
searching online for potential apartments near downtown. The future was
a big question mark, but it was our question mark,
now painted in colors of hope rather than heartbreak. As
summer rolled on, the sound of hammering and drilling became
the soundtrack of our fledgling cafe. Every day Hannah and

(02:38:38):
I visited the site, watching walls being patched, floors ripped
up and replaced. Whenever I inhaled the scent of fresh paint,
a sense of renewal washed over me, reminding me how
far I'd come from the bitterness that once consumed me.
Yet personal healing wasn't just about starting a business or
moving in with Hannah. There were deeper wounds to address.

(02:39:00):
One morning, I woke to find an official letter from
a medical examiner's office. It confirmed that no identifiable remains
of Sophie had been recovered, which meant I'd never have
a traditional gravesite to visit. Even though I'd known this
for months, seening it in writing reopened that dull ache
of unresolved loss. I spent the day quietly drifting through

(02:39:21):
the half furnished living room. My father had scheduled attire
company board meeting, but I called in letting him know
i'd be absent. It's all right, son, he told me, gently,
take the time you need. In the afternoon, Hannah showed
up with a small box in her hands. Thought I'd
stop by, She said, softly, you sounded off on the phone.

(02:39:44):
I offered a weary smile, leading her to the couch.
Got another reminder that Sophie is gone for good. I mean,
I knew it, but I don't know. My chest felt tight.
Hannah set the box on the coffee table, flipping open
the lid. Inside I saw a simple wooden keepsake eurn, delicate, unadorned.

(02:40:04):
I had it made by a local artisan. I know
you don't have remains, but maybe you can put letters
or small mementos inside. Kind of a symbolic way to
say goodbye. Emotion swelled in my throat. That's really thoughtful.
Her gaze held mine. I realized I never did any
official send off for Mike either. I scattered a few

(02:40:25):
of his personal items at sea, like a watch he
left behind, just to symbolize letting go. Maybe you could
do something similar. Tears pricked my eyes, an odd gratitude
surging for this woman who understood my tangled feelings. Thank you, Hannah,
I appreciate this more than I can say. We sat
on the floor near the coffee table. I grabbed a

(02:40:47):
few photos from a drawer, one of Sophie and me
at our college graduation, another from a road trip year's back.
I held them in trembling fingers, remembering the laughter before
everything soured. I'm not sure I can just toss them away,
but I need closure, you know. Hannah nodded, eyes glistening.
Maybe placing them in the urn could be part of

(02:41:09):
the closure. Taking a slow breath, I set the photos inside.
Then I fished out a small piece of paper, scribbling
a short note, I'm sorry for how we ended. I
release you. My throat tightened as I tucked the note in.
My heart felt heavy yet lighter at the same time,
like I was acknowledging the past without letting it define me.

(02:41:30):
Anna's hand found mine. We didn't speak for a few moments,
just allowed the weight of the ritual to settle. Finally,
I closed the urn's lid, my pulse thumping with a
quiet finality. I think this is good, I whispered, thank
you for helping me. She let out a shaky exhale,
tears shining. We're helping each other, remember, a gentle reminder

(02:41:54):
that she too carried scars from Mike's betrayal and tragic death.
She'd done her own version of letting go, scattering tokens
of him in a symbolic gesture. That evening, we drove
to a nearby scenic overlook, a cliff that faced the ocean,
a place where the salty breeze rustled the wild grass.
The sun was setting, coloring the horizon and fiery oranges

(02:42:16):
and pinks. With the urn in hand, we found a
quiet spot far from tourists. I didn't plan some big speech,
just closed my eyes and let the wind brushed my face.
Then I set the urn on the ground, bowing my head.
In a soft voice, I murmured, I'm letting you go, Sophie.
I wish things had been different, but this is where

(02:42:38):
we part ways. For a moment, tears stung my eyes,
and I remembered the good times, the way she once
made me laugh, the early years when we believed we'd
conquer the world together, despite the lies and pain. Those
memories mattered to my voice. Card I forgive you in
my own way, and I hope you find peace wherever

(02:42:58):
you are. Hannah stood beside me, her arm gently around
my waist, lending silent support. A gentle breeze blew as
if carrying my words away. I didn't open the urn
or throw it. This was more symbolic than literal, but
the act felt immensely cathartic. We stayed there until the
sun dipped below the horizon. At last, we returned to

(02:43:20):
the car, each of us quieter, as though we'd witnessed
a solemn ceremony. In the hush, I felt a shift inside,
a release, a readiness to embrace life fully. Back home,
Hannah and I sat on my porch swing, sipping tea
under the stars. My mind wandered to the cafe renovations,
the prospect of possibly moving to a place wee share.

(02:43:42):
I realized how crucial these personal healing steps were to
fully inhabit the next phase of life. I turned to
her eyes, reflecting the porch light. Thank you, I repeated
my tone, heart felt for being here, for understanding. She
rested her head on my shoulder. We're in this together.
Her voice trembled, slightly, carrying a world of meaning. We

(02:44:04):
fell into an easy silence, the chirping crickets providing a
gentle soundtrack. In that moment, with the urn safely back
in my living room, I recognized that closure doesn't mean
erasing the past. It means integrating it into who I am,
then moving forward, unburdened by regret. Whatever ghosts remained, they
no longer haunted me as fiercely the regret, sorrow, even

(02:44:28):
the guilt. They'd become part of my story, not the
whole thing. A soft breeze drifted by, carrying the faint
scent of night blooming flowers. I felt something indescribable, a
mixture of peace and quiet determination. The past was done.
The present was a gift I intended to use wisely.
Tomorrow I'd step into that cafe space with Hannah, greet

(02:44:51):
the contractors, and plan our grand opening in a few months.
I'd also keep healing. One day at a time. Knowing
she was beside me, I gave her hand a little squeeze.
She smiled, eyes glimmering in the soft porch light. In
that shared moment, I understood we both found what we
need ed, acceptance, strength, and a humble readiness to see

(02:45:13):
what tomorrow might bring. Months passed in a flurry of paint, coffee, beans,
and last minute construction issues, until at last the day arrived,
Chapters and Coffee officially opened its doors. Hannah and I
had spent countless hours finalizing details the color scheme, Cozy furniture,
carefully curated bookshelves, a small stage for author readings or

(02:45:36):
acoustic music. That morning, the atmosphere crackled with excitement. We
hung a modest banner reading grand Opening over the entry.
A crowd of curious locals trickled in, some out of interest,
others simply wanting a new coffee option. My father showed up,
wearing a proud grin, bearing a bouquet of daisies he
handed to Hannah, who accepted them with a beaming smile.

(02:46:00):
Tom Wheeler strolled in, snapping photos on his phone, half
joking that he was our official social media manager. Now
behind the coffee bar, Hannah's new hire Tory, a talented barista,
frothed milk and tinkered with lat a art. The aroma
of fresh espresso wafted through the air, mixing with the
comforting scent of books. Meanwhile, I rang up the first

(02:46:22):
few sales at the register, feeling an odd thrill each
time someone bought a lotte or snagged a paper back
off the shelf. Throughout the day, my mind drifted to
the journey that led me here, from Sophie's betrayal and
the harrowing plane crash aftermath to discovering a second chance
with Hannah. It felt surreal, yet exactly where I was.

Speaker 2 (02:46:42):
Meant to be.

Speaker 1 (02:46:43):
By afternoon, we were swamped with a steady flow of customers.
Hannah and I occasionally brushed past each other in the
busy space, exchanging the lated smiles. During a brief lull,
she murmured, this is crazy. We actually did it. I
leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. We did.
My heart swelled with gratitude, not just for her, but

(02:47:07):
for the resilience it took to rebuild my life. As
evening settled, most of the crowd trickled out, leaving a
commer vibe. A handful of readers lounged in the cozy chairs,
flipping through novels. Quiet indie music played in the background.
I served a final round of cappuccinos and joined Hannah
at a table near the front window. We watched the

(02:47:28):
sunset paint the sky amber, sipping our own drinks. She exhaled,
contentment etched in her features. Remember how we used to
stand outside this place, peering in, when it was just
dust and broken floors. I nodded, letting memory wash over me.
I also remember thinking I'd never find happiness after everything

(02:47:48):
that happened. My eyes flicked around the cafe. But here
we are alive, healing and building something new. Hannah's gaze softened.
I don't think I ever said it plainly, but I
love you Ryan. My chest squeezed. We'd been dancing around
deeper confessions for a while, neither of us wanting to
rush after our traumatic experiences. But hearing the words felt

(02:48:12):
like a door swinging open. I smiled, setting my cup down.
I love you too, I whispered. It felt good, natural even.
We shared a quiet moment, lost in each other's eyes. Outside,
dusk settled, and the last few customers waved goodbye. We
locked up soon after, turning out the lights and stepping

(02:48:33):
on to the sidewalk, A soft breeze carried the scent
of roasted coffee. Standing there, I took in the quaint
street lamps, the hush of a small town winding down
for the night. Hannah slipped her hand into mine. What now,
She teased, a playful glint in her eye. I glanced
up at the grand opening banner fluttering overhead. We keep going,

(02:48:55):
next steps. My heart pounded, A new thought surfacing proposal
or agreement for a permanent future. We talked about living arrangements,
but we hadn't formalized anything, and yet here I was
brimming with an inner confidence. The words fell from my
lips before I fully processed them.

Speaker 2 (02:49:14):
Move in with me.

Speaker 1 (02:49:15):
Let's find that apartment we talked about, she laughed, leaning
her forehead against mine. Yes, let's do it, she paused,
eyes gleaming. But I have one condition, a bigger kitchen,
so we can actually cook together without bumping elbows. A
burst of laughter escaped me, lightning the tension deal. We

(02:49:36):
spent the next few minutes cleaning up stray cups and
locking the door behind us. The sign in the window
read closed now, but I felt open, like ey'd unleashed
a part of myself that had been caged. We strolled
down the dimlylit sidewalk, arms linked. Today was incredible, she
said softly. Tom's pictures are already trending on local social media.

(02:50:00):
It might even be busier tomorrow. I squeezed her hand,
smiling at the thought of lines of customers eager for
coffee and books. The future looks bright, and it truly did.
Over the coming weeks, I imagined we'd finalize our living arrangement,
potentially upgrading from casual cohabitation to something more permanent. Maybe
we'd eventually get a cozy house with a yard. Maybe

(02:50:23):
we'd stay downtown. The details didn't matter so much as
the fact that we'd do it together, free from the
ghosts of our old lives. A month later, or a
year later, we might decide to take a vacation somewhere
sunny and calm, far from the storms that once ravaged
our hearts. Who knew the point was for the first
time in a long time, I could see it tomorrow,

(02:50:45):
unclouded by dread or old regrets. That night, we parted
ways at my car, sharing a lingering kiss under the
flickering street lamp. She murmured a soft good night and
headed for her own vehicle. I watched her go a
gentle aco if, warmth filling my chest. Then I slid
behind the wheel, exhaling deeply as I started the engine.

(02:51:06):
Life after betrayal and tragedy turned out to be not
just survivable, but a canvas for new beginnings. It wasn't perfect.
Some nights, I still dreamed of Sophie's final voicemail or
glimpsed her face in a passing stranger, but the guilt
and sorrow no longer paralyzed me. I learned to integrate
those memories, gleaning empathy and resilience from them. As I

(02:51:29):
drove home, the glow of street lights flickered across my windshield,
I realized I was smiling to myself, an unconscious, genuine smile.
This was the open ended finale of the darkest chapter
of my life, merging seamlessly into the fresh pages of
an unwritten story. Perhaps I'd proposed to Hannah some day,

(02:51:49):
or we might travel the world or expand the cafe chain.
The specifics didn't matter as much as the newfound certainty
that I could face whatever came next. Back in my driveway,
I took a moment to breathe in the still night air.
Hopes soared through me, unburdened by old secrets or regrets.
In my mind's eye, I envisioned the next morning, flipping

(02:52:11):
the cafe sign to open, greeting customers, with Hannah by
my side, forging a life that embraced both sorrow and joy,
heartbreak and renewal. Stepping inside my house, soon to be
replaced by whatever new place Hannah and I found. I
felt a gentle, powerful calm. I walked to the small
urn I'd kept on a shelf, running my fingers across

(02:52:32):
its smooth surface. It reminded me how grief and healing
could coexist, how letting go of the past made room
for the future. I whispered a silent goodbye to Sophie
and to the version of me that once revolved around her.
Then I turned off the lights, letting the darkness cradle me.
For once, that darkness wasn't a prison, but a companion,

(02:52:54):
guiding me toward a bright tomorrow I never thought possible.
I am Lady Truth, and I hope you enjoyed that cheat.
More stories to come, and I will talk to you
in the next one.