The footage revealed Luke, unlocking the door with a woman behind him—laughing, as if nothing had changed. I didn’t scream. I just called my lawyer,
The next day, I set my trap: a “surprise trip” to the, ake house. I showed Luke the footage over breakfast. His face drained as her laughter filled the room. I handed him divorce papers. “You have until Monday,” I said. “Or I send this to your boss.” He left that afternoon. I sat alone on the dock,
wrapped in my grandmother’s quilt, watching the lake turn golden. It wasn’t forgiveness I sought—it was reclaiming my space, my story, my strength. And sometimes, when your gut whispers something’s wrong, it’s not paranoia—it’s your truth.
