My Husband of 20 Years Lied About Working Late Every Tuesday – So on Valentine’s Day, I Served My Revenge Alongside His Morning Coffee
His hands shook as he lifted the lid. What he saw made him stagger back against the headboard.
He saw the screenshot first, and his face drained of color.
“Will Lola be satisfied?” I asked innocently.
He looked up at me, shock written all over his face.
“Will Lola be satisfied?”
Then he pulled out the invitation.
He read it once. Then again.
I’d printed a screenshot from Lola’s text message and slipped the invitation into the gift box.
“You invited our friends?” he asked slowly.
“Yes.”
His eyes moved back to the handwritten line. His lips parted.
“You’re divorcing me?” he whispered.
“Yes. In front of witnesses,” I said. “I thought that would save time.”
His hands began to shake.
“You’re divorcing me?”
“Honey,” he said carefully, clutching his stomach, “what did you do to the coffee?”
I didn’t answer.
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then he braced and coughed. “You’ve made a terrible mistake. It’s not what you think. The thing is… Lola is my—”
He stopped mid-sentence and grabbed his stomach.
His face contorted.
“Oh no.”
He bolted out of bed and rushed toward the bathroom.
I remained standing there, my heart pounding but my expression cold.
Then he winced and coughed.
A few minutes later, he stumbled back into the bedroom doorway, pale and sweating.
“Claire,” he said hoarsely, “call them. Tell them not to come.”
“No.”
“Please. You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it,” I demanded.
Another wave hit him, and he braced himself against the wall.
“Lola is my dance instructor!” he burst out. “For Ruth!”
I stared at him.
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