I was at work when my chair snapped. Embarrassing, yeah—but what came next hit harder than any bruise.
A coworker drove me to a discount furniture store. As we browsed, I heard a voice behind the racks. Familiar. Laughing.
“I can’t wait till we finish OUR place,” the voice said. “Then I can finally leave her. Our cozy love nest—just for us.”
I froze.
“She still thinks I’m sick,” he chuckled. “Says I’m too weak to work. Sends me money every month for my ‘recovery.'”
I peeked through the lamps.
IT WAS MY HUSBAND!
Beside him, a younger woman giggling over paint samples.
They were renovating their love nest—with my money—while I worked doubles to fund his fake illness.
I didn’t cry. Didn’t scream.
I went home, all smiles, telling him a funny story about my accident with a chair at work. But I didn’t mention I’d been to a furniture store.
Oh no. Throwing a tantrum was a punishment TOO easy for him.
I started my revenge. At first, I secretly found the address of their “love nest.” Then the most interesting part began.
When I walked into the furniture store, I didn’t expect to uncover a secret my husband had been keeping from me for months. But when I finally calmed down from the shock, I made him pay in the worst way possible!
