Here’s your 300-word story:
I never expected to find proof of my husband’s betrayal in the glove compartment of his car. But there it was—a crumpled hotel receipt from two nights ago. A room booked for two.
My hands trembled as I smoothed the paper, scanning the details. He had told me he was working late. Lies.
I didn’t cry. Not yet. I was too numb. Instead, I tucked the receipt back where I found it and waited.
That night, he walked through the door, acting like everything was normal. I watched him, my stomach churning. How many times had he lied? How many nights had he spent with her?
I decided to play along. At first.
The next morning, I casually mentioned that I needed the car for errands. He hesitated. That’s when I knew. There was more.
So I took it anyway—and drove straight to the hotel. The receptionist hesitated when I asked about the room. But a little charm, a little pressure… and she confirmed it. His name. A woman with him.
I felt sick. But I wasn’t done.
I went home, packed my bags, and left before he returned. But not before emailing him every receipt, every bank transaction, every lie—with a simple note:
“I know. Enjoy your freedom.”
Karma came swiftly. A month later, a mutual friend told me his mistress had cleaned out his bank account and disappeared. Worse? His boss found out about the misuse of company funds for “business trips.” He lost everything.
I won’t pretend I felt bad.
Some betrayals come with a price. And karma? She doesn’t need help. She always delivers.
Would you like any tweaks to the story?
