When my husband told me he had a work party to go to, I didn’t think twice. Why would I? We’d been married for ten years. But then I got that phone call—the one that stopped me in my tracks, set my blood boiling, and had me grabbing my keys to confront him. The next day, I was packing his bags.

You’d think that after a decade of marriage, you’d know someone inside and out. I thought I knew Brian—his routines, his little quirks, even the way he liked his morning coffee. But last week, I learned two things: first, betrayal can come out of nowhere… and second, watching karma hit someone who deserves it is delicious.

It started on a normal Thursday evening. Brian came home humming a tune—something he never did—and there was this unusual bounce in his step. He tossed his briefcase down and grinned like he’d just won the lottery.

“Big news!” he announced. “The company’s throwing a work party tomorrow night, team bonding, you know. Strictly for employees.”

He leaned in, kissed my forehead, and started fiddling with his shoes.

“It’s going to be boring, so you don’t need to come. Just numbers talk and small talk,” he added with a shrug.

I raised an eyebrow. Brian wasn’t exactly Mr. Social. His idea of a good time was watching golf in his pajamas. But I figured, fine—let him have his work night.

“Fine by me,” I said, already thinking about the laundry list of things I had to do tomorrow.

The next morning, Brian was unusually sweet—too sweet. While I was cooking breakfast, he came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“You know you’re amazing, right?” he murmured.

I laughed. “What’s all this about? Trying to earn brownie points?”

“Maybe.” He smirked and handed me his favorite white shirt—the one with the loose button I’d fixed at least five times.

“Can you iron this for me? And, uh, could you make lasagna tonight? Extra cheese. You know how I love it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Anything else, Your Highness?”

“Actually, yeah,” he said, grinning. “Could you make sure the bathrooms are spotless? Just in case… guests, you know?”

I laughed it off. Brian could be picky about the house, but harmless. Or so I thought.

That day, I cleaned like a woman possessed. The vacuum roared, the washing machine whirred, and the smell of lasagna filled the house. I was so caught up in chores, I barely noticed the afternoon slipping by—until my phone rang.

The number was unfamiliar. For a second, I almost ignored it. But something told me to pick up.

“Hello?” I said.

At first, all I heard was muffled music, laughter, and clinking glasses. Then I heard Brian’s voice.

“My wife?” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “She’s probably cooking and scrubbing toilets right now. She’s so predictable! Meanwhile, I’m here with you, my love.”

A woman giggled in the background.

My stomach dropped. The line went dead. Then, a text pinged through—a location. No words, just an address.

I stared at the screen, my pulse hammering. It could be nothing… or it could be everything.

I didn’t cry. Not yet. I threw on my coat, grabbed my keys, and switched off the lasagna. If Brian thought I was going to sit at home like a clueless fool, he was in for a shock.

The GPS led me across town to a sleek Airbnb. The place screamed money—grand entrance, glowing windows, expensive cars in the driveway. Inside, I could see a crowd laughing and drinking.

A doorman stepped in front of me. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Hi, yes,” I said sweetly, holding up a bucket with a toilet brush and cleaner. “I just came to drop something off for my husband. Tall guy in a white T-shirt.”

The doorman glanced at my bucket, confused, but let me pass. Heads turned as I stepped inside—me in my messy clothes, hair pulled back, clutching cleaning supplies.

And then I saw him.

Brian was in the middle of the room, his arm around a young woman in a red dress. Champagne in hand, he looked happier than I’d seen him in years.

His face drained when he spotted me. “Emily? What… what are you doing here?”

“Hi, sweetheart,” I said loudly. “You left something at home.”

I pulled the toilet brush and cleaner from the bucket. “Since you like talking about my cleaning skills, I thought you might need these to clean up the mess you’ve made of our marriage.”

Gasps rippled through the room. The woman in red stepped away from him, looking embarrassed.

“You know,” I said, turning to the crowd, “Brian loves to play the perfect husband at home. But here? He’s playing house with whoever strokes his ego.”

“Emily,” Brian hissed. “Let’s go outside and talk.”

“Oh no,” I shot back. “You didn’t care about privacy when you mocked me. Why start now?”

I faced the room. “Enjoy the party. And remember—if he cheats with you, he’ll cheat on you.”

I dropped the bucket at his feet and walked out. My phone buzzed as I reached my car.

“You deserve to know the truth,” the text read.

I called the number.

“Hello?” a woman answered.

“Who is this?” I demanded.

“My name’s Valerie. I… used to work with Brian.”

“Why tell me this?”

“Because someone had to,” she said. “I’ve watched him lie and cheat for months. Bragging about you. Laughing about how easy it was to fool you. It made me sick.”

She explained she’d quit the company a month ago. Before leaving, she got my number from the emergency contact list.

“My husband was like him. I left two years ago. I couldn’t watch another woman go through it. I sent a colleague to shadow him at the party. She made the call so you could hear him for yourself. I’ve been outside the venue in my car, waiting to see you give him what he deserves.”

Her words hit me like a train.

“Thank you,” I whispered before hanging up.

The next morning, Brian’s things were in bags outside the door. I’d covered the keyhole so his key wouldn’t work.

I sent one text: Enjoy.

And for the first time in years, I smiled—not because I’d caught him, but because I had my life back. Divorce was the next item on my list. And this time, I was going to take him for all he was worth.