I Wanted To Surprise My Husband In His Office By Hiding In The Car, But When I Saw Who Was Sitting

The leather of the back seat was cold against my cheek. I held my breath, curled into a ball behind the driver’s seat of my husband’s BMW. A stupid smile on my face like a teenager playing hide and seek. The lunch containers I’d spent 2 hours preparing sat beside me in an insulated bag.
His favorite pasta, homemade turisu. Everything made with love. I was going to surprise him. God, I was such a fool. I heard footsteps approaching. Two sets. My heart jumped with excitement. Maybe he was walking with a colleague. I’d wait until he got in, then pop up and surprise him.
I imagined his face lighting up, that warm smile I’d fallen in love with 12 years ago. The car door opened. The vehicle shifted as someone settled into the driver’s seat. Then the passenger door opened. “Are you sure no one saw us?” a woman’s voice said. My blood turned to ice. “Relax,” my husband replied. His voice was different, lighter, younger somehow. Everyone thinks I’m at the downtown meeting. I couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t move. Every muscle in my body locked into place. God, I needed this. The woman sighed. Being around her all day, pretending to care about her boring stories, her pathetic attempts to be interesting. I deserve an Oscar. My husband laughed. Actually laughed. Tell me about it, he said. Last night, she tried to initiate sex wearing this ridiculous lingerie.
I almost couldn’t keep a straight face. Like putting a ribbon on a used car and calling it new. The woman giggled. That giggle. I knew that giggle. No, no, no. Poor thing, the woman said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. She really thinks you still love her. It’s almost sad how clueless she is.
The stupid [ __ ] has no idea, my husband said. No idea that for the past 3 years, I’ve been planning everything. The business is almost entirely in my name now. The house, the accounts, I’ve been moving money for months. When I file for divorce, she’ll be left with nothing. And she’ll never suspect it was me. The woman said her best friend.
The one she trusts with everything. My sister. The woman in my husband’s car was my sister. I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. The lunch containers pressed against my ribs. I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear. I wanted this to be a nightmare I could wake up from. But this was real. And in that moment, something inside me didn’t just break.
It shattered into a thousand razor sharp pieces. And each piece wanted blood. Before we continue, please write in the comment which country you are watching this video. We love knowing where our global family is tuning in from. And if this is your first time on this channel, please subscribe.
Your support helps us bring even more epic revenge tales of life. Enjoy listening. Let me tell you about the woman I used to be. The woman who died in that car. Her name was Elena Marie Castellano. She was 38 years old, though she’d been feeling older lately. Every ache and pain a reminder that youth was slipping away.
She taught American literature at Riverside Community College, a job she’d held for 14 years. She loved it despite the mediocre pay and the students who sometimes fell asleep in her lectures about Hemingway and Fitzgerald. She’d met Aiden Whitmore at a gallery opening in the city 12 years ago. She’d been there with friends from work. She’d had friends back then before her entire life became about being a wife.
He’d been there for a client, some artist he was advising on investment opportunities. He’d approached her by the wine table. tall, handsome in that cleancut, professional way. Dark hair, blue eyes, expensive suit. He’d smiled at her and said, “You look like you actually understand art, unlike everyone else here pretending to be cultured.” She’d laughed. They talked for 2 hours. He’d asked for her number.
She’d given it to him, heart fluttering with possibility. Their first date was at an Italian restaurant in Little Italy. He’d ordered the Peppardell with wild mushroom ragu and insisted she try it. She’d fallen in love with it, maybe started falling in love with him, too. He’d been attentive, charming, interested in everything about her.
What books did she love? What were her dreams? What made her happy? She told him everything. Opened up in a way she rarely did. Told him about losing her parents when she was young. about raising her little sister, about her love of teaching, her quiet dreams of maybe writing a novel someday.
He’d listened to all of it, seemed genuinely interested, made her feel seen in a way she’d never felt before. They’d dated for 8 months before he proposed. A quiet proposal at home, just the two of them, a simple ring. She’d said yes without hesitation. They’d married at city hall with just a few friends. Nothing elaborate. Neither of them wanted a big wedding.
She’d worn a simple white dress. He’d worn a suit. They’d exchanged vows and kissed and started their life together. The first few years were good, really good. They’d bought a house together, a four-bedroom colonial in the suburbs, too big for two people, but they talked about children, about filling those empty rooms with noise and life and joy.
She’d gotten pregnant twice, miscarried both times. After the second one, something broke inside her. She’d fallen into a depression that lasted months. Aiden had been supportive then, or so she’d thought, held her while she cried, told her it would be okay, that they’d keep trying.
But after a while, they’d stopped trying, stopped talking about it. The empty room stayed empty. She’d thrown herself into work, they being a wife, into making their house a home. She’d learned to cook his favorite foods, kept everything clean and organized, tried to be the perfect partner.
And when Victoria showed up 8 years into their marriage, broken and desperate, Elena had welcomed her without hesitation. Victoria, her baby sister, 3 years younger, but always seeming younger than that. The wild child, the beautiful one, the one who’d left their small hometown for New York City at 18, determined to become a model and actress, something glamorous and exciting. Their parents had worried about her. Sent her money she probably spent on parties and designer clothes.
Called her every week begging her to come home to settle down to be more like Elena. Why can’t you be responsible like your sister? Their mother had said more than once. Elena has a good job, a good husband. She’s building a stable life. Victoria had rolled her eyes because I’m not boring like Elena. I want to actually live, not just exist.
that had hurt. But Elena had never said anything. She just smiled and changed the subject. That’s who she was. The peacekeeper, the responsible one, the one who swallowed her hurt feelings to keep everyone else happy. When their parents died, a drunk driver, a rainy night, gone in an instant, Victoria had fallen apart completely.
She’d shown up at Elena’s door 6 months later with two suitcases and mascara running down her face. “I have nowhere else to go,” she’d sobbed. I’m broke, Helena. I’m so broke and so lost, and I don’t know what to do. Everyone I thought was my friend disappeared when I ran out of money. The modeling agencies dropped me. I can’t pay my rent. I have nothing. Please, I need my big sister.
What else could Elena do? Victoria was her only family left in the world. Their parents were dead. No aunts or uncles, no cousins, just them. Of course you can stay, Elena had said, holding her sobbing sister. Stay as long as you need. Aiden hadn’t been thrilled. She’d seen it in his face even though he tried to hide it.
How long is as long as she needs? He’d asked that night when Victoria was asleep in the guest room. I don’t know, a few months. Just until she gets back on her feet. Elena, she’s 32 years old. She should be able to take care of herself. She just lost our parents. She needs support. Aiden had sighed. Fine, but set some boundaries, okay? This is our house, our space. Don’t let her take over. I won’t, Elena had promised.
But somehow months had turned into years. Victoria got a job as a receptionist at a dental office. Barely minimum wage, but it was something. She started therapy, went to the gym, seemed to be getting better, and Elena had been so proud of her, so happy to see her sister thriving. She’d never noticed how much time Victoria and Aiden spent together.
Never thought it was strange when she’d come home to find them laughing in the kitchen. Never questioned the inside jokes they seemed to develop. Victoria is really funny once you get to know her. Aiden had said once, “I see why you love her so much.” Elena had been pleased, happy that her husband and sister got along. What a blessing.
She’d thought that the two people she loved most also loved each other. God, she’d been so stupid, so blind, so pathetically, tragically naive. That was the woman who’d climbed into the backseat of Aiden’s car with homemade pasta and a heart full of love. That woman was dead now. And good riddance. I didn’t go home right away. Couldn’t.
Instead, I drove aimlessly through the city, my mind racing, trying to process what I’d heard. 3 years. They’d been betraying me for 3 years. I thought back, trying to pinpoint when it had started. Three years ago would have been when summer 5 years after Victoria moved in. What had been happening then? I’d been stressed about work. The college had been going through budget cuts.
My department had been threatened with layoffs. I’d been spending long hours in meetings fighting to save jobs barely home. Aiden had been traveling a lot for work. Or so he’d said. How many of those trips had been real? How many had been excuses to be with her? and Victoria. Three years ago, she’d started her job at the dental office. Started getting her life together.
Had been so grateful to Elena for supporting her. Oh, wise. I pulled into an empty parking lot near the river and just sat there, engine running, staring at nothing. My phone buzzed. A text from Victoria. Hey sis, want to do dinner together tonight? I’m making that chicken recipe you like.
I stared at the message, the casual affection, the false intimacy, the complete and utter betrayal hidden behind friendly words. Another text, Aiden just texted me. He says he’ll be late, boys night or something, so it’s just us girls. We can watch that show we’ve been following. She was setting up her alibi, making sure I’d be gone so she could sleep with my husband in my bed. My hands shook as I typed back. Sounds perfect.
I’m actually looking forward to book club tonight. Haven’t been in weeks. Three dots appeared. He was typing. Oh, right. Book club. I forgot that was tonight. Well, I’ll keep dinner warm for you. Have fun. Have fun. While she slept with my husband in my house, in my bed. I wanted to throw my phone. Wanted to scream. Wanted to drive back to that parking garage and run them both over, but I didn’t.
Instead, I took a deep breath. then another and another. I needed to think clearly, needed to plan. They thought I was stupid, pathetic, too passive to fight back. I’d let them keep thinking that. I’d go home. I’d act normal. I’d pretend I hadn’t heard a thing.
And while they were busy congratulating themselves on how clever they were, I’d be gathering evidence, building my own case. If Aiden wanted war, he’d get it. But he’d never see it coming. I got home around 3:00. Victoria’s car was in the driveway. I sat in my own car for a moment, composing myself, wiped away any remaining traces of tears. Checked my face in the mirror. I looked tired, but not obviously devastated. That would have to do. I walked into the house.
Victoria was in the living room, curled up on the couch with her laptop. She looked up when I came in, her face brightening with a smile that looked so genuine, so warm that for a moment I almost doubted what I’d heard. “Almost.” “Hey, you’re home early,” she said. “How was your day?” “Good,” I said.
My voice sounded normal. I was amazed at how normal it sounded, like I hadn’t just heard my entire world crumble. Finished grading papers faster than I thought. “How was yours?” “Oh, you know, same old, same old, Mrs. Henderson came in again, complained about her dentures again. I swear that woman just likes having something to complain about.
She launched into a story about her day, animated and funny, and I made myself listen, made myself laugh at the right moments, made myself be the supportive big sister, all while thinking about what she’d said in the car. Being around her all day, pretending to care about her boring stories. I deserve an Oscar. Also did I, because I was giving the performance of my life.
Want some tea? I asked when she finished her story. That sounds perfect, she said. I went to the kitchen and made tea. Earl gray for me, chamomile for her. Just like always, I even remembered she liked honey, no sugar. We sat at the kitchen table together drinking tea, talking about nothing. She told me about a guy at her work who’d asked her out. “I don’t know,” she said.
“He seems nice, but I’m not sure I’m ready for dating yet. What do you think? I think you should do whatever feels right, I said. But don’t sell yourself short. You deserve someone amazing. You’re the best. You know that, she said, reaching across to squeeze my hand. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Her hand was warm on mine.
Her eyes looked sincere. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe her, but I did know better. I don’t know what I’d do without you either. I lied. She smiled. Sisters forever, right? Forever. I agreed. Around 5:00, I started getting ready for book club. It was real. I did have book club every Tuesday, but I’d been planning to skip it, planning to spend the evening with Aiden instead.
Maybe try to reconnect. Thank god I hadn’t suggested that. Thank God I’d kept the appointment. Have fun tonight, Victoria called as I grabbed my purse. Don’t let Brenda monopolize the conversation again. I’ll try, I said. Thanks for keeping dinner warm for me. Of course, that’s what sisters are for.
I walked out to my car, got in, and drove away. But I didn’t go to book club. Instead, I drove three blocks away, and parked on a side street. Then, I pulled out my phone and opened an app I downloaded years ago and forgotten about, a home security app that connected to the doorbell camera Aiden had installed. I’d never used it before.
Never felt the need to spy on my own house, but I used it now. The camera showed the front door, the porch, a slice of the driveway. I watched as 20 minutes later a familiar BMW pulled up. Aiden got out, looked around, checking if anyone was watching, then walked to the front door. It opened before he could knock.
Victoria stood there wearing something short and tight. I couldn’t see her face clearly, but I could see her body language. The way she immediately pressed against him, the way his arms went around her. They kissed on my front porch, then went inside. The door closed.
I sat in my car watching the empty screen, my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white. They were inside my house, going to my bedroom, about to have sex in my bed, the bed where I’d slept beside Aiden for 12 years, where I’d cried after my miscarriages, where I’d made love to a man I thought loved me back. I wanted to drive back there. Wanted to burst in and catch them.
wanted to see the looks on their faces, but I didn’t because that’s what the old Elena would have done. The emotional one, the one who let her feelings control her. The new Elena was smarter than that. I needed evidence, documentation, proof. I needed to be strategic. So, instead of going home, I drove to an electronic store across town.
Walked in like I belonged there, like I was just another customer buying gadgets. I need hidden cameras, I told the salesman. the kind you can’t see for home security. He showed me options. Tiny cameras disguised as phone chargers, picture frames, alarm clocks. I bought six of them paid in cash. These record to a cloud server, he explained. You can access the footage from your phone. No one will ever know they’re there.
Perfect, I said. Then I went to book club. I walked into Brenda’s house at 7:15, my face composed, carrying the novel we were supposed to have read. I hadn’t read it. Couldn’t focus on fiction when my real life had become a nightmare. But I sat through the discussion anyway, nodded at the right times.
Even contributed a few comments that sounded intelligent enough. Elena, you seem distracted, Brenda said at one point. Everything okay? Just tired, I said with an apologetic smile. long day. You work too hard. Another woman said, “You need to take care of yourself.” “You’re right.” I agreed. I’ll try. The meeting ended at 9:00 just like always.
I drove home timing it so I’d arrive at exactly 9:30. When I walked in, the house looked normal playing. Victoria was on the couch watching TV in pajamas. “Hey, how was book club?” she asked, pausing the show. “Good.” Brenda talked too much as usual. She laughed. Called it. Want to watch the rest of this with me? I saved dinner for you. It’s in the microwave. Thanks, but I’m exhausted.
I think I’ll just go to bed. They sleep well. You, too. I went upstairs to my bedroom. The bed was made. Everything looked normal, but I could smell it. The faint scent of perfume that wasn’t mine. The musk of sex hastily cleaned up. I pulled back the covers. The sheets had been changed.
Victoria must have done it while I was driving home, erasing the evidence. Almost all the evidence, I went to the bathroom and found in the trash can a torn condom wrapper. I took a picture of it with my phone. Evidence. Aiden came home around 10:30. I was already in bed pretending to read. “Hey,” he said, loosening his tie. “Sorry I’m so late. The guys wanted to try this new bar, and you know how it is.” “It’s fine,” I said.
How was it? Good. Food was decent. Had a couple beers. He started changing out of his work clothes. How was book club? The usual. Brenda monopolized the conversation. He laughed. Sounds about right. He climbed into bed beside me. The bed with fresh sheets. The bed where he’d been with my sister just hours ago. I love you, he said, kissing my cheek. I love you, too. I lied.
He fell asleep within minutes. his breathing deep and even the sleep of someone with a clear conscience. I lay awake beside him for hours, staring at the ceiling, planning. Tomorrow I’d install the cameras. Tomorrow I’d start gathering real evidence. Tomorrow I’d begin the process of destroying them both.
But tonight I just lay there in the dark next to a man who’d become a stranger. And I felt nothing. No love, no anger, no sadness, just a cold, clear determination. They wanted to destroy me. I’d show them what destruction really looked like. The next morning, I woke up before Aiden. Slipped out of bed while he was still snoring and went downstairs.
Victoria was already in the kitchen making coffee. She smiled when she saw me. “Morning. Want some?” she asked, holding up the pot. “Please,” I said. We sat at the kitchen table together, drinking coffee in comfortable silence. like sisters, like best friends, like two people who weren’t mortal enemies.
“I’ve been thinking,” Victoria said after a while, “Maybe we should plan a girl’s trip. Just you and me. Get away for a weekend. You know, we haven’t done that in years.” “That sounds nice.” I said, “Where were you thinking? Maybe the beach or wine country, somewhere relaxing. I bet she was thinking about how to use the trip.
More alibi building, more opportunities to seem like the devoted sister while she plotted my downfall. Wine country sounds perfect, I said. Let’s plan it. Her face lit up. Really amazing. I’ll start looking at places. Aiden came down a few minutes later, kissed me on the head absently as he grabbed coffee. Morning, babe. Morning, Vic. He had a nickname for her. Morning, Victoria said.
Want me to make you breakfast? I’ve got time before work. That would be great, Aiden said, sitting down at the table. I watched them. The way they didn’t quite look at each other. The way they were careful not to touch, overcompensating, trying too hard to seem normal. If I hadn’t known what I knew, I’d never have noticed. But I did know.
And now I saw everything. After they both left for work, Aiden at 8, Victoria at 8:30, I called in sick. Sorry, I think I’m coming down with something. I told my department head. I need to take a personal day. No problem, Elena. Feel better. I hung up and got to work. First, the cameras. I installed them carefully, following the instructions the salesman had given me.
One in the bedroom, disguised as an alarm clock on Aiden’s nightstand. One in the living room, hidden in a decorative picture frame. One in the kitchen built into a phone charger plugged into the wall. One in Victoria’s bedroom. That felt invasive, but I needed to know everything. One in Aiden’s home office. One in the garage.
I synced them all to my phone. Tested them. Perfect. Highde video and audio. All uploading to a secure cloud server. Now I’d have a record of everything. Every lie, every betrayal, every moment. Next, I turned my attention to Aiden’s computer. He kept it in his home office, password protected. But I knew the password. Our wedding anniversary. He’d never changed it. Probably because he never thought I’d snoop.
I logged in and started searching. What I found made my stomach turn. Bank accounts I’d never heard of. Investment portfolios in his name only. Our joint savings, the account we’d been building for years, the one that was supposed to be our retirement fund, had been systematically drained.
Small transfers, never more than a few thousand at a time, going back almost 3 years. He’d stolen over $300,000 from our joint account alone. The house we lived in, the house I’d thought we owned together, had been refinanced. The mortgage was now 80% in his name, 20% in mine. When had that happened? I’d never signed refinancing papers. Except thought back. 2 years ago, Aiden had come home with a stack of documents.
Just some boring financial stuff, he’d said. Refinancing to get a better rate. I need your signature here, here, and here. I’d signed without reading, trusting my husband to handle our finances. He’d forged the rest. Had to have because the documents on his computer showed my signature on pages I’d never seen.
I took screenshots of everything, every fraudulent document, every hidden account, every stolen dollar. Then I moved on to his emails, hundreds of them, going back three years, just like he’d said in the car. Aiden and Victoria planning their future together. Planning my destruction. I made myself read them. All of them. Every cruel word. Every intimate detail. Every plot against me.
She’s so clingy lately. Aiden had written 6 months ago. Always wanting to spend time together and reconnect. It’s exhausting. I can barely stand to be in the same room with her. Just a little longer, Victoria had replied. Then you’ll be free of her and we can finally be together. Imagine it.
Our own house, our own life without her dragging us down. Can’t wait. Aiden had written back. I’m so sick of pretending. Last night, she wanted to talk about our future. Like, we have a future. I just nodded along while thinking about you. I read emails about their dates, dinners at restaurants while I was at work, weekend trips while Aiden was supposedly at conferences, romantic getaways funded by money stolen from our joint account.
I read emails about their sex life. Detailed explicit descriptions of what they did together. Comparisons to me always unfavorable. He just lies there like a dead fish. Aiden had written. You’re so different, so alive, so exciting. Each email was a knife. Each word drew blood. But I didn’t stop reading. I needed to know everything. I found emails about their plans for after the divorce.
I’m thinking we should move away. Victoria had written, “Start fresh somewhere new. Maybe California or abroad. With all the money from the divorce, we could go anywhere. Whatever you want, baby.” Aiden had replied, “As long as I’m with you, I don’t care where we are. You’re so sweet,” Victoria wrote. Elena never appreciated you.
She took you for granted. But I see how amazing you are. How smart, how capable, how sexy. I wanted to vomit, but I kept reading. I found the most damning email from just a week ago. Everything is in place Aiden had written. I’m filing next month.
My lawyer says with the evidence I have, her emotional instability, her inability to manage finances, her documented erratic behavior, I’ll get everything, the house, the business assets, even spousal support. She’ll be left with nothing. Perfect. Victoria had replied, “She deserves nothing. After all these years of acting superior, of making me feel like a charity case, she’ll finally get what’s coming to her.
I can’t wait to see her face when she realizes she’s lost everything. It’ll be beautiful, Aiden agreed. The great Elena Castellano brought down to nothing. No husband, no money, no sister, just her pathetic job and her empty life. Should I feel bad? Victoria had asked like morally. For what? Aiden wrote back. She’s a grown woman. She’ll survive.
And honestly, maybe this will be good for her. Make her realize she’s not as perfect as she thinks she is. You’re right. Victoria agreed. This is really a favor we’re doing her. Teaching her some humility. I stared at that last exchange for a long time. They actually believed they were doing me a favor.
That destroying my life was somehow for my own good. The delusion was almost impressive. I saved everything, every email, every document, uploaded it all to my secure cloud account. Then I moved on to Victoria’s laptop. She was even sloppier than Aiden. Her laptop was in her room, barely password protected. I cracked it in under a minute and found her journal.
It was a digital journal kept in a password protected file, but her password was weak. Her birthday plus her initials. I was in within seconds. I started reading from the beginning from 5 years ago when she first moved in. Day one with Elena and Aiden. The house is nice, bigger than I expected. Elena was so happy to see me hugging me and crying and saying she’d missed me so much.
I felt a little bad for lying about being broke. I mean, I am broke, but I could have figured something out. But this is better. Free rent, free food, and all I have to do is play the broken little sister. Easy. My blood ran cold. She’d been lying from the beginning. She wasn’t actually desperate when she showed up at my door. I kept reading. Day 15. Elena is even more pathetic than I remembered.
He tries so hard to be the perfect housewife, making elaborate dinners, keeping everything spotless, always asking if I need anything. It’s almost sad. Aiden barely seems to notice. He’s on his phone half the time during dinner. If I had a husband, I’d know how to keep his attention. Month two. I think Aiden is attracted to me.
I caught him looking at me today when I came downstairs in my workout clothes. He looked away fast, but I saw Elena was right there, oblivious as always. She has no idea how to keep a man interested. She dresses like a librarian and talks about her boring students all the time. If I were Aiden, I’d be bored out of my mind, too.
Month four confirmed. Aiden is definitely attracted to me. We were alone in the kitchen today, and he brushed against me accidentally. The electricity was intense. I think he felt it, too. He’s trying to be good, trying to be faithful to Elena. But I can tell it’s a struggle. Poor guy stuck with someone so boring when he could have someone like me. I had to stop reading, put the laptop down, breathe.
She’d been planning this from the beginning. From the very first day, she’d moved into my house specifically to seduce my husband. I picked up the laptop again, kept reading. Month 8. I’m going to make a move. I can’t wait anymore. Elena is at some work thing this weekend and Aiden will be home alone. I’m going to accidentally stumble into his shower.
See what happens. The worst case scenario is he says no and I pretend it was an innocent mistake. Best case he month 8 update. Oh my god, it worked. Really worked. I accidentally walked in on Aiden in the bathroom wearing just a towel and he didn’t send me away. We talked for a bit and I could see him struggling with it, but then I kissed him and he just melted. We had sex right there. It was amazing.
He’s been so starved for affection, for excitement. Elena has no idea what she has, but now he’s mine. The date on that entry was exactly 3 years ago. The night their affair began. The timeline matched what Aiden had said in the car. I kept reading even though every word felt like acid burning through my skin.
We’ve been sneaking around for a month now. It’s exhilarating. Elena suspects nothing. She actually thanked me yesterday for being such a good sister for helping around the house. If she only knew that while she was at work, I was in her bed with her husband. Aiden says he’s falling in love with me.
That he’s never felt this way before. That being with me is like being alive for the first time in years. We’re talking about the future, about being together for real. But first, we need to figure out how to get rid of Elena without her taking everything. We’ve been planning. Aiden is smart.
He’s been moving money, changing documents, building a case against Elena. He says by the time he’s done, she won’t be able to touch a penny. She’ll be left with nothing. Part of me almost feels bad. But then I remember how she’s always acted so superior to me. Poor Victoria. Such a mess. Let me take care of you, Victoria. You’ll get back on your feet someday, Victoria.
Condescending [ __ ] This is what she gets. I read entry after entry, years of betrayal meticulously documented. She wrote about their sex life in graphic detail, about how much better she was than me, about how Aiden was so much happier with her. She wrote about the times I’d confided in her, about my marriage problems, my insecurities, my fears, and how she’d taken that information straight to Aiden.
Elena told me today that she’s worried Aiden doesn’t find her attractive anymore, that he hasn’t initiated sex in months, that she feels invisible. I listened and comforted her and told her she was beautiful and I’m sure Aiden loves her. Then I went to Aiden and we had sex while laughing about how clueless she is. She wrote about planning my birthday party last year, the one I’d been so touched by.
Spent the whole day pretending to celebrate Elena’s pathetic life. Made her a cake. It was dry as hell, but she loved it because she’s so desperate for affection. All her work friends came and talked about how wonderful she is. They only knew if they only knew that her husband is sleeping with her sister and planning to take everything from her.
I almost told them just to see their faces. The most recent entry was from yesterday before I’d found out about them. Just a few more weeks. Aiden is filing for divorce soon. Everything is ready. Elena will be blindsided. She’ll never see it coming. And then Aiden and I can finally be together openly.
I’m going to enjoy watching her fall apart. After years of playing second fiddle to perfect Elena, I’m finally going to win. I closed the laptop, sat there in my sister’s room, surrounded by her things, clothes I’d bought her, furniture I’d provided, a roof over her head I’d given her, and she’d repay me with this.
For the first time since the car, I felt something other than cold determination. I felt rage. Pure burning, all-consuming rage. I had to be smart about this. Had to stay calm, stay collected, stay hidden. So, I took all that rage and locked it away. Buried it deep where they couldn’t see it. And I put my mask back on.
When Victoria came home from work that evening, I was in the kitchen making dinner. “Smells amazing,” she said, dropping her purse on the counter. “What are we having?” “Your favorite,” I said. “Chicken picata. You’re the best. She hugged me from behind. I felt her arms around me and wanted to scream. Wanted to throw her off.
Wanted to hurt her. But I just smiled and kept cooking. How was work? I asked. Exhausting. How was yours? Feeling better? Much better. I think I just needed a rest day. Aiden came home at 7. We all had dinner together like a happy family. Laughed at Victoria’s stories from work. listened to Aiden talk about his day. Smiled and nodded and played my role perfectly.
Under the table, my hands were clenched so tight my nails drew blood from my palms. After dinner, we watched TV together. Some mindless sitcom. Victoria laughed at all the jokes. Aiden put his arm around me on the couch, kissed my temple. I love nights like this, he said. Just us relaxing together. Me too, Victoria agreed. This feels like home.
Home. They turned my home into a den of lies, but I smiled and agreed and pretended everything was fine. That night, Aiden wanted sex. “It’s been a while,” he said, running his hand down my side as we lay in bed. “I miss you.” He’d had sex with my sister in this bed less than 24 hours ago, and now he wanted me.
The old Elena would have cried, would have pulled away, would have confronted him. The new Elena let him touch her, touched him back, made sounds of pleasure she didn’t feel, gave him exactly what he expected. Afterward, he fell asleep almost immediately. I lay there next to him, staring at the ceiling, and felt absolutely nothing.
I was becoming someone else entirely, someone colder, harder, someone capable of things the old Elena would never have dreamed of. And I was okay with that. Over the next two weeks, I lived a double life. On the surface, I was the same Elena. Loving wife, supportive sister, dedicated teacher. I made dinners, graded papers, had sex with my husband, had heart-to-hearts with my sister, smiled and laughed and pretended, but underneath I was gathering evidence, building my case, preparing for war. The hidden cameras captured everything. Aiden and Victoria
having sex in my house whenever I was at work or out with friends. There whispered conversations about me, their plans. I documented it all, saved every second of footage. I hired a private investigator, paid in cash from a secret account I’d opened at a bank across town. Gave him everything I knew.
I need to know everything. I told him, every place they’ve been together, every lie they’ve told, everything. He was a man in his 50s, worldweary and professional. He’d seen it all before. You want me to catch them together? He asked. I already have that.
I want you to find the things I don’t know about, the trips they’ve taken, the money they’ve spent, the people they’ve told. Everything. He nodded. It’ll take some time. I have time. I also consulted with a divorce lawyer in the next town over. A woman this time, sharpeyed and ruthless. Don’t tell me your name, I said when I sat down in her office. I’m paying in cash. This meeting never happened. She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue.
What do you need? I showed her the evidence I’d gathered. The emails, the bank records, the forged documents, everything. Her eyes widened as she went through it all. “This is extensive,” she said. “My husband is planning to divorce me. He’s been hiding assets, forging documents, building a false case that I’m mentally unstable. He thinks he’s going to leave me with nothing.
With what you have here, that’s impossible. You could take him for everything. That’s the plan. She looked at me carefully. What do you want to happen? I want him destroyed. Professionally, financially, personally, I want him to lose everything. His business, his reputation, his freedom. His freedom. What he’s done is fraud, forgery.
If I present this evidence correctly, he could face criminal charges. She nodded slowly. You’re right. He could. And my sister, she’s complicit in all of this. He helped him. Encouraged him. She needs to pay too. What about you? The lawyer asked. What do you get out of this besides revenge? Everything that’s mine. Everything he tried to steal. And the satisfaction of watching them both suffer. Fair enough.
She leaned back in her chair. Here’s what I recommend. We talked for over an hour. She laid out a strategy. When to strike, how to present the evidence, what to do to maximize damage. The key is timing, she said. Let him file for divorce first. Let him present his manufactured evidence. Let him think he’s winning.
Then you hit him with the truth. The judge will crucify him. That’s what I was thinking. You’re good at this, she said. Ever consider law school? I laughed. A harsh, bitter sound. I considered a lot of things before my life imploded. Now I just want justice. You’ll get it. With this evidence, you’ll definitely get it. I left her office feeling something close to satisfaction.
The plan was coming together. Meanwhile, I kept playing my role. I signed up for a gym membership. Told Aiden and Victoria it was for my health, but really I needed an outlet for the rage that threatened to consume me everyday. I took up boxing, found a trainer, an old man named Tommy, who’d been a professional fighter decades ago.
You got anger in you, he observed during our first session, watching me attack the heavy bag with more force than skill. What makes you say that? I asked, not breaking rhythm. Because I’ve seen it before. That’s not fitness training. That’s violence looking for a target. I stopped punching. Looked at him.
Is that a problem? Depends on the target, he said. You planning to hurt someone? Not physically, he nodded. Fair enough, but you still need to channel it, right? Or it’ll eat you alive. Let me show you how to punch properly. Over the next two weeks, Tommy taught me how to fight. Not that I was planning to hit anyone, but the physical exertion helped.
Gave me an outlet, made me feel powerful instead of helpless. You’re getting stronger, Tommy said one day as I worked the speed bag. Faster, too. Whatever you’re planning, you’re going to be ready for it. What makes you think I’m planning something? He smiled. As I know that, look, that’s not healing energy. That’s revenge energy. Just make sure it’s worth it.
Oh, it will be. I promised. I also started seeing a therapist. Not because I thought I was unstable, but because I needed documentation that I wasn’t. When Aiden presented his false evidence of my mental instability, I’d have professional testimony to the contrary.
I chose a therapist carefully, an older woman with an impressive resume and a nononsense attitude. What brings you in today? Dr. Morrison asked during our first session. I’d prepared for this. Couldn’t tell her the truth. Therapist patient confidentiality had limits and I didn’t want her feeling obligated to warn Aiden or Victoria of anything. Just stress, I said.
Work pressure, family dynamics, the usual midlife stuff. I wanted to talk to someone professional before it becomes a bigger problem. We talked about my job, my relationships, I lied about both. My general life satisfaction, definitely lied about that. You seem very self-aware, she observed. Very grounded. Whatever stress you’re experiencing, you’re handling it well. Thank you.
After three sessions, she wrote in my file, “Patient presents as emotionally stable, cognitively sound, and psychologically healthy. No signs of mental instability, or erratic behavior. Perfect. More ammunition for my case.” Meanwhile, the hidden cameras were capturing everything. I watched the footage every night after Aiden fell asleep.
Watched my husband and my sister together in my house, in my bed, in my kitchen, on my couch. Nowhere was sacred to them. I saved every second of footage, backed it up on three separate cloud servers. One night, the camera in the bedroom caught a particularly damning conversation. Aiden and Victoria were in bed together. My bed after sex. Victoria was tracing patterns on his chest.
When you file next month, do you think she’ll fight it? Victoria asked, “Elena, fight, please.” Aiden laughed. She’ll cry. She’ll be sad, but she won’t fight. It’s not in her nature. She’s too passive, too afraid of conflict. What if you’re wrong? What if she surprises you? She won’t. I know her. We’ve been married 12 years. She’s predictable, boring, safe.
She’ll sign whatever papers I put in front of her because she’s too scared to stand up for herself. And you’re sure about the money? She won’t be able to touch it? I’m sure. I’ve been moving it for 3 years. Small amounts impossible to trace. It’s all in offshore accounts now. Even if she did fight, which she won’t, she’d never find it. You’re so smart. Victoria purred.
I know, Aiden said. That’s why this is going to work perfectly. In 2 months, we’ll be free. We can sell this house, take the money, and move somewhere new. Start our real life together. I can’t wait. Me neither. I’m so sick of pretending. sick of touching her, talking to her, being near her. You’re all I want.
You’re all I want, too. Victoria said. We’re soulmates. We belong together. We do. Aiden agreed. And soon nothing will stand in our way. I watched this conversation with dry eyes. No tears left. Just cold calculation. They were so confident, so sure of themselves. They had no idea what was coming. 3 weeks after I discovered their affair, my private investigator called.
I’ve got everything you asked for, he said. We met at a coffee shop across town. He handed me a thick manila folder. They’ve been busy, he said. 17 trips together over the past 3 years, usually when you were at work or visiting friends. They’ve been to Mexico twice, the Caribbean once, Vegas four times. Always charged to credit cards. They thought you were hidden. I’ve got receipts, hotel records, photos of them together.
He spread out photographs on the table between us. Aiden and Victoria on a beach in Cancun, his arm around her waist, walking through a Vegas casino, holding hands, kissing outside a five-star hotel in San Diego. The money trail is interesting, too, he continued. Your husband has been more careful than most cheaters, but not careful enough.
He’s been using a business credit card for a lot of these expenses, claiming them as client entertainment. That’s fraud. Both against you and his business partners. His business partners? I asked. He has partners? Two of them. They own 30% of the firm together. I doubt they know he’s been using company funds to whine and dine his mistress. He paused.
Also, about your sister, she hasn’t been as broke as she’s been claiming. My head snapped up. What? Victoria Castellano has a savings account with about $40,000 in it. Has had it the whole time she’s been living with you. She’s been depositing money regularly. Cash deposits usually. Can’t trace where it’s coming from, but she’s not destitute. I stared at him. She’s been lying about being broke.
Looks that way. She also owns a condo in the city. Bought it 2 years ago. small place, one bedroom, but it’s hers. She’s been renting it out, probably using that income for her savings. My hands clenched around my coffee cup. She told me she had nothing, that she was desperate, that she’d lost everything. She lied, he said simply.
I’m guessing she wanted the free ride and access to your husband. I took a deep breath, then another. The rage was threatening to surface, but I pushed it down. What else? Your husband has been meeting with a divorce attorney for 6 months. Filed preliminary paperwork 3 weeks ago. He’s planning to serve you with papers right after Thanksgiving, 2 weeks away.
He’s documented alleged incidents of your unstable behavior going back 18 months. Problem is, most of them are fabricated. I cross referenced the dates with your work schedule, credit card statements, even traffic cameras. half the incidents he claims happened when you were verifiably somewhere else.
So, he’s been manufacturing evidence extensively. He’s also got three people lined up to testify about your behavior. I looked into them, his secretary, his business partner, and a neighbor. The secretary and partner both received suspicious payments around the time they agreed to testify. 5,000 each, disguised as bonuses. The neighbor is trickier, but I found out your husband did some financial consulting for him last year.
Allegedly pro bono. I’m guessing that was the payment. Witness tampering. Suborning perjury technically, which is a felony. He leaned back. Your husband has committed multiple crimes. Fraud, forgery, perjury. If you present this evidence correctly, he won’t just lose the divorce case. He’ll face criminal charges. Good, I said coldly.
The investigator looked at me for a long moment. You’re not going to ask me if there’s a chance you’re wrong. If maybe there’s an explanation. No, most people when they find out their spouse is cheating, they want to believe there’s a mistake, some misunderstanding. I heard them, I said in his car.
I heard every word. There’s no misunderstanding. There’s just betrayal. He nodded slowly. Fair enough. What do you want to do with all this? I want copies of everything. Every photo, every receipt, every piece of evidence. I want it documented and backed up so thoroughly that no lawyer, no judge, no one can dismiss it. You’ll have it.
What about the criminal stuff? You going to the police? Eventually, but not yet. I want him to make the first move. I want him to file for divorce, present his fake evidence, think he’s winning, then I’ll bury him. Remind me never to cross you. the investigator said, but there was a hint of respect in his voice. Too late.
You’re already on my good side. He gathered up the photos. I’ll have everything compiled and delivered to you by the end of the week. Encrypted files, multiple backups. No one will be able to make this disappear. Thank you. One more thing, he said as he stood to leave. Your sister, you want me to keep digging into her finances? There might be more there.
Yes, I want to know everything. Every lie, every secret, every piece of dirt you can find. You got it. After he left, I sat in the coffee shop for another hour, staring at my cold coffee, thinking Victoria had never been broke. She’d had money, property, a safety net. She’d lied about being desperate just to move into my house, just to get close to my husband. This wasn’t a crime of opportunity.
This wasn’t something that had just happened. This was premeditated, calculated, malicious. She’d set out to destroy me from the beginning, and I was going to return the favor. The next week was Thanksgiving. Aiden suggested we host dinner at our house. Just the three of us, he said. A quiet family celebration.
Family. The word was poison in his mouth. That sounds perfect, I said. Victoria was thrilled. I’ll help you cook. It’ll be just like when we were kids, remember? Before mom and dad died, we’d always cooked together. We hadn’t, actually. I’d cooked while she’d complained about being bored. But I didn’t correct her. I remember I lied.
The days leading up to Thanksgiving were surreal. I went through the motions, planned the menu, bought groceries, cleaned the house, all while watching my husband and sister on the hidden cameras, having sex in my bed, mocking me, planning my destruction. I wanted to scream, wanted to burn the house down, wanted to hurt them the way they’d hurt me, but I smiled and cooked and played my role. Thanksgiving day arrived cold and gray.
I got up early to start the turkey. Victoria joined me around 8, still in her pajamas. Coffee? I asked. Please, you’re up early. Couldn’t sleep. Too excited about today. She smiled. Me, too. It’s nice, you know, having family, having this. I looked at her, really looked at her, my baby sister, the girl I’d helped raise, the woman I’d have died for.
She looked back at me with warm, affectionate eyes. No guilt, no remorse, nothing but calculated friendliness. It is nice, I agreed. I’m grateful for you. I’m grateful for you, too, she said, hugging me. Best sister ever. I hugged her back and thought about how satisfying it would be to watch her world crumble.
Aiden came down around 9:00, kissed me on the cheek, grabbed coffee, settled in to watch football. We cooked all morning. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie. The kitchen smelled amazing, like a real Thanksgiving, like a real family. All wise, around 3, we sat down to eat. The table looked beautiful. I’d used our good china lit candles, even put out flowers.
This is perfect, Aiden said, raising his wine glass. To family, to family, Victoria echoed, clinking her glass against his. To family, I repeated. We ate. The food was delicious, if I say so myself. Aiden had seconds of everything. Victoria raved about the turkey. You’re such a good cook, she said. I don’t know how you do it. Practice, I said. years of practice.
“Well, whoever ends up with you is lucky,” Victoria said. “You’re the total package. Smart, talented, nurturing.” “Aden is so lucky to have you.” Aiden nodded his mouth full. “Very lucky.” I wanted to laugh. The audacity of them sitting at my table, eating my food, complimenting me while planning to destroy me. “I’m the lucky one,” I said instead.
“I have a wonderful husband and a wonderful sister. What more could I ask for?” Victoria reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “You deserve all the happiness in the world.” “So do you,” I said, squeezing back. After dinner, we watched movies, some holiday classics. Victoria and I shared a blanket on the couch. Aiden sat in his chair.
We laughed at the funny parts, quoted lines we’d heard a hundred times. It was perfect, perfectly fake. Around 11, I went to bed. Aiden stayed up to watch one more movie with Victoria. I pretended to be asleep when he finally came to bed an hour later, but I wasn’t sleeping.
I was watching the hidden camera footage on my phone under the covers. After Aiden came upstairs, Victoria had pulled out her phone and started texting. I couldn’t see who she was texting, but I could see her face, the smirk, the satisfaction. I check her phone later, figure out who she was bragging to about her successful deception. The next morning, Black Friday, Aiden announced he had to go into the office. Sorry, babe. End of year stuff. You know how it is.
I know, I said. Do what you need to do. He left around 10:00. Victoria decided to go shopping. Want to come? She asked. No thanks. I think I’ll just relax. Okay, I’ll be back later. She left too. The moment I was alone, I went to work. First, Aiden’s office. I logged into his computer again. He still hadn’t changed the password and found new emails.
He’d scheduled a meeting with his divorce lawyer for next Monday. Ready to move forward, he’d written. Let’s file the papers. I want this done by New Year’s. Understood, the lawyer had replied. I’ll have everything ready. Given the evidence of her instability, this should be straightforward. One week.
He was filing in one week. Perfect. I also found an email to his business partners sent yesterday. Heads up, personal situation might get complicated soon. Divorcing Elena. Might need to take some time off to deal with legal issues. We’ll keep you posted. Sorry to hear that.
One partner had replied, “Anything we can do? Just keep the business running smoothly. I’ll handle my personal mess.” His personal mess. That’s what I was. I took screenshots, added them to my ever growing evidence file. Then I went to Victoria’s room. She’d left her laptop behind. Probably didn’t think she needed it for shopping. I logged in and checked her recent activity. She’d been texting someone named Alex.
I didn’t recognize the number. Thanksgiving was hilarious, she’d written last night. Elena made this huge meal and was so proud of herself. Meanwhile, Aiden and I kept exchanging looks across the table. She had no idea. It’s actually kind of sad how clueless she is. “When are you guys going public?” Alex had asked. “Soon.” Aiden is filing for divorce next week. Once it’s final, we can finally be together openly. I cannot wait.
What about Elena? What about her? She’ll survive. Probably go back to her boring little life, her boring little job, maybe get some cats. Honestly, we’re doing her a favor. She needs to learn that being nice and domestic doesn’t make you interesting. You’re terrible, Alex wrote.
But I could see the laughing emoji. Whoever this was found Victoria’s cruelty funny. I’m honest, Victoria replied. Elena is boring. He always has been. Even when we were kids, she was the responsible one, the good one, the boring one. I’m just better than her in every way. And now I have proof. I got her husband.
I felt something crack inside me, some last vestage of hope that maybe somehow Victoria felt even a shred of guilt. He didn’t. He was enjoying this. I screenshotted the entire conversation, added it to my file. Then I went into her banking app. She’d saved the password. Looked at her accounts. $47,000 in savings. Steady rental income from a condo I didn’t know she owned. Regular deposits that I couldn’t trace.
She’d been lying about being broke for 5 years. 5 years of I can’t afford rent and I don’t have money for groceries and can you help me with this bill? 5 years of me supporting her paying for everything, giving her a free ride. All wise, I wanted to scream, wanted to destroy something. Instead, I took screenshots, documented everything, added it to the file.
Then I sat on her bed, the bed I’d provided in the room I’d given her in the house I’d opened to her and felt the last piece of my heart turned to ice. The weekend passed. I maintained my mask, smiled, laughed, pretended. Monday came. Aiden went to his lawyer’s office. I knew because I was tracking his phone. Another app I’d secretly installed.
I went to work, taught my classes, graded papers, acted normal, but inside I was counting down. Any day now, he’d file. Any day now, this would all begin. I was ready. Tuesday evening, Aiden came home with flowers. What’s this for? I asked. Do I need a reason to buy my beautiful wife flowers? He said, kissing me. I took them, arranged them in a vase, smiled at him.
Thank you. They’re lovely. You’re lovely, he said. That night, he made love to me slowly, tenderly, like he actually cared. It was the crulest thing he’d done yet. Afterward, as he slept, I went into the bathroom and threw the flowers in the trash. Wednesday, I got a call from my private investigator. He filed this morning, he said.
Divorce papers, you’ll be served soon. How soon? Could be any day. They usually send a process server to your work or home. Good. I’m ready. You sure about this? Once you respond with your evidence, there’s no going back. This will get ugly. It’s already ugly, I said. I’m just making it visible.
Thursday, the process server came to my work, handed me an envelope in front of my colleagues. Elena Castellano, you’ve been served. I took the envelope with shaking hands. My co-workers stared. Is everything okay? One of them asked. I don’t know, I said honestly. I waited until I was in my car to open it. Divorce papers petition for dissolution of marriage filed by Aiden Whitmore.
Grounds irreconcilable differences due to petitioner’s emotional instability and irrational behavior. I read through the whole document. He was asking for the house the majority of assets, even spousal support. And attached were his evidence exhibits, witness statements, emails I’d supposedly sent, documentation of incidents that had never happened. all wise.
I sat in my car and laughed. Actually laughed. He’d done it. He’d actually filed. Presented his manufactured evidence. Showed his hand. Now it was my turn. I drove to my lawyer’s office, the real one I’d hired weeks ago. Her name was Patricia Cole, and she was a shark in a pants suit. He filed, I said, handing her the papers. She read through them, her expression growing darker. This is ballsy.
Half of this is provably false. I know. I can prove all of it. Then let’s bury him. We spent the next two hours preparing my response. I provided all my evidence, the emails, the bank records, the hidden camera footage, the private investigators report, everything. Patricia’s eyes widened as she went through it all.
This is the most comprehensive evidence file I’ve ever seen, she said. You’ve documented everything. I wanted to be thorough. you are. With this, we can not only win the divorce case, we can pursue criminal charges. Fraud, forgery, perjury, embezzlement. Your husband is going to prison. Good. What about the sister? What can we do to her legally? Patricia thought for a moment.
Alienation of affection is hard to prove in most states, and even when it’s possible, it’s rarely worth it. But she did help him hide assets. She knew about the fraud and actively participated. We might be able to bring civil charges. Sue her for damages. Do it. It’ll be expensive. Legal fees alone. I don’t care. Make her pay. Patricia nodded. They I’ll draft a response to the divorce petition and file it next week.
We’ll request an emergency hearing given the evidence of asset hiding. Then we’ll go to the police with the criminal stuff. Perfect. One more thing. Patricia said, “Are you prepared for how ugly this will get? Your husband will fight back. So will your sister. They’ll try to discredit you, attack you, make you look bad. Let them try.
They might go to your employer, try to get you fired, claim you’re unstable. I have documentation from my therapist that I’m perfectly stable and I’ve been employee of the month three times in the past year. My employer knows me.” Good. What about friends, family? They’ll try to turn people against you.
I don’t have much family and my friends will see who my real friends are. Patricia studied me for a long moment. You’re different from most clients I see in your situation. How so? Most people are emotional, angry, hurt, falling apart, cold, calculating, focused. Is that a problem? No. Makes my job easier. Just make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Revenge is satisfying, but it won’t heal the hurt. I’m not looking to heal, I said.
I’m looking for justice. You’ll get it, she promised. I left her office feeling something close to satisfaction. The endgame was in motion. Soon, very soon, Aiden and Victoria would learn what it felt like to lose everything. That night, I went home to find both of them there waiting for me. Aiden looked somber. Victoria looked nervous.
Elena, Aiden said. We need to talk. I sat down my purse. Okay. We sat in the living room, Aiden and Victoria on the couch, me in the chair across from them. I’m assuming you got the papers today, Aiden said. I did. I’m sorry it had to come to this, he said. And he actually sounded sincere. The manipulation was impressive.
I’ve been unhappy for a long time. I think you have been, too. This is the best thing for both of us. I see. I hope we can do this civily. No fighting, no drama, just a clean break. What does a clean break look like? I asked. He shifted uncomfortably. Well, I’ve asked for the house and most of the assets because frankly, I’ve been the primary earner throughout our marriage.
You have your job, your income. You’ll be fine. I’m willing to be generous with the settlement if you don’t contest it. Generous how? $50,000 plus your car and you can take whatever personal items you want. I did the math in my head. Our marital assets were worth over a million. He was offering me 50,000, less than 5%. That seems fair, I said. Both of them looked surprised.
Aiden recovered first. Really? You’re okay with that? Why wouldn’t I be? Like you said, you’ve been the primary earner and I do have my job. I’ll be fine. Well, good. That’s that’s great, Elena. Really mature of you. I try. Victoria spoke for the first time. Are you okay? I mean, emotionally. I looked at her.
My sister, my betrayer. I’m fine, I said. Honestly, I think Aiden is right. We’ve been unhappy for a while. This is probably for the best. Really? Victoria asked. You’re not upset? Of course, I’m upset, but I’m also realistic. Sometimes relationships end. It’s sad, but it’s life. Aiden stood up.
I’m glad you’re being so reasonable about this. I was worried you’d Well, never mind. Thank you for making this easy. You’re welcome, I said. He went upstairs, probably to call his lawyer and gloat about how easy I was making this. Victoria stayed on the couch, looking at me with concern that almost seemed genuine. Are you sure you’re okay? She asked. I’m fine, Vic.
Really? You can talk to me about anything. I’m here for you. The audacity. The sheer breathtaking audacity. I know. I said, “You’ve always been here for me. You’re the best sister anyone could ask for.” He hugged me. I hugged her back and thought about how sweet it would be when she finally understood what she’d done. When she finally faced consequences.
I love you, she said. I love you too, I lied. One week later, my lawyer filed my response to Aiden’s divorce petition. It was 60 pages long. It included every piece of evidence I’d gathered, every email, every bank record, every forged document, every lie, and it requested an emergency hearing due to evidence of fraud and asset hiding.
The judge granted it, set a hearing date for 3 days later. Aiden found out when his lawyer called him that afternoon. I was home when it happened. I’d taken the day off work. I heard him on the phone in his office, his voice getting progressively louder. What do you mean she filed a counter petition? What evidence? That’s impossible. She doesn’t know about.
How the [ __ ] did she get that? A long pause. I don’t care what you have to do. Make this go away. Yes, I know it’s bad. Fix it. He slammed the phone down. I heard him pacing. Then he came downstairs, his face read. Elena, we need to look now. I was in the kitchen calmly making tea.
What’s wrong? You know what’s wrong? You filed a response with evidence. Evidence? That’s That’s true. I supplied. Where did you get that information? Have you been spying on me? Should I have been? Don’t play games. Did you hire a private investigator? Did you go through my computer? Why is there something on your computer I should know about? His hands clenched into fists.
For a moment, I thought he might actually hit me, but he didn’t. You can’t do this, he said. You can’t just just ambush me like this. Like you ambushed me with divorce papers. That’s different. How? Because I Because you. He stopped, took a breath. Look, clearly you’re upset, but this isn’t the way to handle it. We can still settle this reasonably. I thought I was being reasonable.
I’m just presenting evidence. Evidence of what? Private conversations. That’s illegal. Is it? I’ll have to check with my lawyer. Oh, wait. I already did. Turns out recording conversations in my own home on my own property is perfectly legal. His face went pale. You’ve been recording us? I’ve been recording everything. For how long? Long enough.
Victoria appeared in the doorway. What’s going on? Aiden, why are you yelling? She knows, he said. Elena knows about us. Victoria’s face went white. What? She has evidence recordings. She’s filed some kind of some kind of counter petetition with everything. Victoria looked at me. For the first time since I discovered their affair, I let my mask slip.
Let her see the coldness in my eyes, the hatred. You’ve been spying on us, she whispered. I’ve been documenting the truth, I corrected. For how long? Since I hid in the backseat of Aiden’s car and heard you two talking about me, about how pathetic I am, how boring, how you couldn’t wait to take everything from me and leave me with nothing. Victoria’s hands flew to her mouth. Oh my god.
Yeah. Oh my god. I sipped my tea. You were right about one thing, though. You do deserve an Oscar. Your performance has been incredible. The Loving Sister, The Grateful House guest, all while you were sleeping with my husband and planning to destroy my life. Elena, I can explain. Please don’t.
I’ve heard enough of your lies. Aiden stepped forward. Look, clearly we’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry, but this this vendetta you’re on, it’s not going to make you feel better. You’re right. I agreed. But it’ll make you feel worse. And honestly, that’s good enough for me. What do you want? He asked.
You want the house, the money? Fine, take it. Just drop the criminal stuff. Criminal stuff? Don’t play dumb. Your lawyer is threatening to go to the police about the about the accounts. Oh, you mean the fraud, the forgery, the embezzlement, that criminal stuff? I didn’t embezzle. You used company funds for personal trips. That’s embezzlement.
You forged my signature on legal documents. That’s forgery. You hid marital assets and created fake evidence for court. That’s fraud. And you paid people to lie under oath. That’s suborning perjury. Should I go on? Aiden and Victoria exchanged terrified looks. What do you want? Victoria asked quietly.
To punish us? To ruin us? Will that really make you happy? I looked at her. really looked at her. My baby sister, happy nothing will make me happy. You’ve destroyed that. But watching you face consequences, watching you lose everything like you planned to do to me. Yeah, that’ll be satisfying. I’m your sister, she said, tears running down her face. Your only family.
You stopped being my sister the day you moved into my house with the intention of seducing my husband. You stopped being family when you lied about being broke while you had tens of thousands in the bank. You stopped mattering to me when I heard you laughing about how pathetic I am. I didn’t mean those things. Yes, you did. You wrote them in your journal, too. I read it. All of it.
Every cruel word, every lie, every moment of you congratulating yourself on fooling me. Victoria sank onto the couch sobbing. Aiden stood frozen, his face ashen. The hearing is in 3 days, I said. I suggest you both get lawyers. Good ones. You’re going to need them. I walked past them, went upstairs, and locked myself in the guest room.
Behind me, I heard Victoria’s sobs and Aiden’s frantic phone calls, and I felt nothing. Nothing but cold, clear satisfaction. The hearing was set for Friday morning at 10:00 a.m. I wore a conservative navy suit, hair pulled back, minimal makeup. I looked professional, stable, calm. Aiden showed up with his lawyer and two associates.
He looked terrible, haggarded like he hadn’t slept good. Victoria wasn’t there. She wasn’t a party to the divorce, just my sister, my betrayer, but not legally involved yet. The judge was the same woman who’d granted the emergency hearing. Judge Catherine Reeves, 60something sharpeyed, nononsense. Let’s begin, she said. Mr.
Whitmore, you filed for divorce on grounds of your wife’s emotional instability and requested majority of marital assets. Is that correct? Yes, your honor, Aiden’s lawyer said. And Mrs. Castellano, you filed a counter petition disputing these claims and presenting evidence of fraud and asset hiding. Correct. Yes, your honor, Patricia said. I’ve reviewed both filings. I’ve also reviewed Mrs.
Castellano’s evidence exhibits, all 60 pages. Judge Reeves looked at Aiden over her glasses. Mr. Whitmore, did you forge your wife’s signature on loan documents? Your honor, I can explain. That’s a yes or no question. Aiden’s lawyer whispered something to him. Aiden swallowed hard. Yes, but did you systematically transfer marital assets into accounts solely in your name? Yes, but I was the primary earner.
Did you create false evidence of your wife’s alleged emotional instability? Your honor, if I could just answer the question. Yes, Judge Reeves sat back. Did you pay three individuals to provide false testimony about your wife’s behavior? Silence. Mr. Whitmore. I Yes. The judge looked at him with undisguised disgust. In my 23 years on the bench, I have seen a lot of ugly divorces, but this she shook her head.
This is one of the most egregious cases of fraud I’ve encountered. He turned to me. Mrs. Castellano, you’re requesting full disclosure of all accounts, full restoration of marital assets, and majority share of assets as compensation for fraud. Is that correct? Yes, your honor.
You’re also requesting that this court refer this case to the district attorney for criminal investigation. Yes, your honor. She nodded. Request granted. All of them. Aiden stood up. Your honor, please sit down, Mr. Whitmore. I’m not finished. He sat. The court finds that you have engaged in systematic fraud against your wife. You will immediately transfer all hidden assets back into joint accounts.
You will provide full disclosure of all financial accounts, holdings, and assets. You will submit to a forensic accounting of all marital finances, and Mrs. Castellano will receive 65% of all marital assets as compensation for your fraud. Your honor, that’s not fair. Fair. Judge Reeves’s voice could have cut glass.
You systematically stole from your wife. You forged legal documents. You created false evidence and bribed witnesses. and you’re talking to me about fair. Aiden’s lawyer put a hand on his arm, shutting him up. Furthermore, the judge continued, I am ordering you to immediately vacate the marital home. Mrs. Castellano will retain sole possession pending final dissolution.
You have 48 hours to remove your personal belongings. Where am I supposed to go? That’s not the court’s concern. You should have thought about that before committing fraud. He turned to Patricia. Counselor, please provide the court with the names of the individuals Mr. Whitmore bribed to give false testimony.
I’ll be referring those cases for investigation as well. Yes, your honor. As for the divorce itself, this court grants Mrs. Castellano’s petition for dissolution on grounds of adultery and fraud. The marriage is dissolved effective immediately. Mr. Whitmore, you have 30 days to comply with all asset disclosure requirements. Failure to do so will result in contempt charges.
Are we clear? Yes, your honor, Aiden said quietly. Good. This hearing is adjourned. She banged her gavvel. It was over. I’d won. Outside the courtroom, Aiden tried to approach me. Patricia stepped between us. My client has no wish to speak with you. Elena, please just give me a minute. I looked at him. This man I’d loved. This man I trusted. this man who destroyed me.
You have nothing to say that I want to hear. I said, I’m sorry. I know you don’t believe me, but I am. I never meant for it to go this far. You meant every bit of it. You planned it for 3 years. You just didn’t expect to get caught. What happens now to me? That depends on the district attorney. But if I were you, I’d get a good criminal defense lawyer.
And Victoria, what about her? Are you going to come after her, too? Yes, she’s your sister. She was my sister. Now she’s just someone who betrayed me. I turned to Patricia. I’m ready to go. We walked away, leaving Aiden standing on the courthouse steps alone and broken. The news spread quickly. Within days, everyone knew.
My colleagues, my friends, Aiden’s business partners, Victoria’s employer. The response was divided. Some people were supportive, horrified by what Aiden and Victoria had done, offering sympathy and help. Others thought I’d gone too far, that I was being vindictive, that I should have just divorced him quietly and moved on. I didn’t care what they thought. Aiden’s business partners contacted me a week after the hearing. They wanted to meet.
We met at a coffee shop downtown. Two men in their 50s, Robert Arthur and Michael Torres, Aiden’s partners in his financial consulting firm. Mrs. Castellano, Robert said. Thank you for meeting with us. What do you want? We want to apologize. We had no idea what Aiden was doing. The fraud, the embezzlement. You didn’t know he was using company funds for personal trips.
They exchanged glances. We knew about the trips. He claimed they were for client development. We had no reason to doubt him. Until now. Until now, Michael agreed. We’ve conducted our own audit. Aiden has been embezzling from the company for at least 2 years, probably longer. We’re estimating somewhere around $200,000. I whistled low. That’s a lot.
We’re pressing charges, Robert said. We wanted you to know in case it affects your case. It doesn’t hurt, I said. We also wanted to offer you something, Michael said. Aiden owns 40% of the company. Given that he’s likely going to prison, he’ll need to sell his share. We’d like to offer it to you first. I blinked.
You want me to buy into the company? We know you have a financial settlement coming and you have a good head for business. We’ve looked into you. You’re smart, capable, and clearly thorough. We could use someone like you. I’m a literature teacher. You are. You could be a business owner. Think about it.
I did think about it for about 5 seconds. No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I have no interest in being tied to anything Aiden touched. They nodded, understanding. Fair enough. The offer stands if you change your mind. After they left, I sat in the coffee shop and thought about how far Aiden had fallen.
His business partners were pressing charges. His firm was collapsing. His reputation was destroyed. Good. Victoria called me 3 days after the hearing. I didn’t answer. She left a voicemail. Elena, it’s me. I know you don’t want to talk to me. I don’t blame you, but I need you to know. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I never meant to hurt you this badly.
I was selfish and cruel, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I’m your sister. We’re blood. We’re all we have left of our family. Please, please, just talk to me. Give me a chance to explain, to apologize properly. Please. I deleted the voicemail. She called again and again. I never answered. Then she showed up at my house. The house that was now solely mine. The house Aiden had been forced to vacate.
I opened the door to find her on my porch looking terrible. Swollen eyes, messy hair, no makeup. What do you want? I asked. To apologize. To explain to to beg for your forgiveness. They apologize. Can I come in? No. She flinched. Elena, I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.
I know what I did was unforgivable, but I’m your sister, your only family, and I’m begging you. Please don’t shut me out. Please give me a chance. You had chances, thousands of them. Every day for 3 years, you had the chance to tell the truth, to stop betraying me. You chose not to. I was in love. You were selfish. There’s a difference. You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I was selfish.
I am selfish, but I can change. I can be better. Just Just don’t cut me out of your life. Please. I looked at her crying on my porch, begging for forgiveness. I felt nothing. Goodbye, Victoria, I said and closed the door. She pounded on it. “Elena, Elena, please don’t do this. I’m your sister.” I walked away. Eventually, she left. I never saw her again.
The district attorney filed criminal charges against Aiden 3 weeks after the hearing. Fraud, forgery, embezzlement, suborning perjury, all felonies. His trial was set for March, 4 months away. In the meantime, he was out on bail staying god knows where. I also filed civil charges against Victoria for her role in the fraud, for the emotional distress, for alienation of affection. My lawyer warned me it would be hard to win.
She didn’t forge anything herself, didn’t directly hide assets. Her involvement was mostly moral support. Then we make it about that, about how she encouraged him, helped him, benefited from it. We can try, but don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t care if we won or lost. I just wanted Victoria to have to face what she’d done publicly in court, under oath. I wanted her to suffer.
Aiden’s criminal trial started in March. I wasn’t required to testify, but I attended every day, sat in the gallery, and watched him squirm. The prosecutor laid out the case methodically. The forged signatures, the hidden accounts, the bribed witnesses, all backed up by evidence I’d provided. Aiden’s defense was weak. basically that he’d been the primary earner and therefore entitled to manage the assets.
That his methods might have been unorthodox but weren’t criminal. The jury didn’t buy it. They deliberated for 3 hours. Came back with guilty verdicts on all counts. Aiden went pale when he heard the verdict. His lawyer put a hand on his shoulder. Sentencing was set for 2 weeks later. I attended that, too.
The judge, different from the divorce judge but equally unimpressed, sentenced Aiden to 5 years in federal prison, 3 years for the fraud and embezzlement, two additional for the perjury, plus full restitution to both me and his business partners. Mr. Whitmore, you were in a position of trust. The judge said, “As a financial consultant, people trusted you with their money. As a husband, your wife trusted you with her life.
You betrayed that trust systematically and without remorse. This sentence reflects the seriousness of your crimes. Aiden was led away in handcuffs. He looked back once, his eyes finding mine in the gallery. I didn’t look away, didn’t show emotion, just watched him disappear through the door that led to the cells. Gone.
The civil trial against Victoria was scheduled for May. But 2 weeks before it was set to begin, her lawyer contacted mine. Victoria wanted to settle. How much? I asked Patricia. She’s offering $20,000. It’s basically all she has. Take it. You sure? We might be able to get more if we go to trial. I don’t want more. I want her broke and ruined.
Take everything she has. We settled. Victoria paid me $20,000. Her entire savings. She also had to sell her condo to cover legal fees. She moved out of state. Last I heard, she was working retail in Arizona, living paycheck to paycheck. Exactly what she’d planned for me. It’s been a year since I found out about the affair.
A year since my world ended and rebuilt itself into something colder and harder. I got everything I wanted. The house, the money, my husband in prison, my sister ruined, justice, revenge, victory. But it doesn’t feel like victory. Feels empty. I still live in the house. I redecorated. New furniture, new paint, new everything.
Tried to erase the memories, but they’re still there, lurking in corners, hiding in shadows. I still teach at the college. My colleagues know what happened. Everyone knows, but they don’t mention it. Just give me sympathetic looks and avoid asking about my personal life. I still go to the gym. Still box with Tommy. You got your revenge, he said once. Feel better? No, didn’t think so. Was it worth it? He shrugged. That’s not for me to say.
You did what you thought you had to do. I think about that a lot. Whether it was worth it, whether I should have just walked away, filed for divorce quietly, moved on with my life. But then I remember them in that car. Their laughter, their cruelty, their complete lack of remorse. And I know I made the right choice.
They tried to destroy me. I destroyed them first. That’s not victory. That’s survival. I got a letter last month from Aiden sent from federal prison. I almost didn’t open it, almost threw it away, but curiosity got the better of me. Dear Elena, I don’t expect you to read this. I don’t expect forgiveness. I just needed to write it. I’m sorry.
I know those words mean nothing coming from me. I know I’ve destroyed any credibility I ever had, but they’re true. I was cruel to you. Unforgivably cruel. I lied. I cheated. I stole. I tried to destroy you just to make my own life easier. There’s no excuse for that. No justification. Prison gives you a lot of time to think, to reflect on the person you’ve become. I don’t like what I see.
I don’t like who I was. You deserved better. You deserved a faithful husband, a partner who appreciated you. Instead, you got me. And Victoria, I hope you found happiness. I hope you’ve moved on. I hope your life is everything you wanted it to be. I hope you’ve forgiven yourself for whatever you think you did wrong because you didn’t do anything wrong. This was all me.
I’m sorry, Aiden. I read the letter three times, then I burned it, watched it turn to ash in my fireplace. Words are cheap. Apologies are easy, especially when you’re in prison with nothing but time to think about your mistakes, but they don’t undo the damage. Don’t heal the wounds. Don’t bring back the woman I used to be. That woman is gone forever.
Killed in the backseat of a BMW, listening to her world crumble. And in her place is someone I barely recognize. Someone hard and cold and alone. I won the war. But I lost myself in the process. And I don’t know how to get her back. It’s Tuesday night. I’m sitting on my deck watching the sunset. Glass of wine in hand.
The ocean breeze carrying the smell of salt and seaweed. I sold the house in the suburbs 6 months ago. Couldn’t stand it anymore. Too many ghost, too many memories. Bought a small cottage by the beach instead. It’s just me here. Quiet, peaceful, lonely. I’m 39 now. Still teaching, still boxing, still going through the motions of life. Still empty inside. Aiden gets out in four years. Three with good behavior.
Sometimes I wonder what he’ll do when he’s released. where he’ll go, who he’ll be, I don’t care. He’s dead to me. A ghost, a memory of a different life. Victoria tried to contact me once about 6 months ago, sent a letter to my work. I don’t expect forgiveness.
I just want you to know that I think about you every day that I regret everything, that I’m sorry. I know sorry isn’t enough. I know nothing will ever be enough, but I needed to say it. You were the best sister anyone could have asked for. And I destroyed that. I destroyed us. I destroyed you. I hope you’re happy. I hope you found peace. I love you. I always will, even though I have no right to. Victoria, I didn’t respond.
Just filed the letter away with all the other evidence of their betrayal. Some wounds don’t heal. Some betrayals don’t get forgiven. This is one of them. Dr. Morrison, my therapist, asked me recently if I had any regrets. About what? I said about how you handled everything. The revenge, the trials, all of it. I thought about it.
Really thought about it. No, I finally said I don’t regret making them face consequences. They earned that. But but I regret what it cost me. Who I became? Who I had to become to survive this? Who did you become? Someone I don’t like very much. Can you become someone else? someone you do like. I don’t know. Maybe someday.
That’s progress, she said gently. Is it? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I know I’m not the naive woman who climbed into that car with homemade pasta and a heart full of love. I know I’m not the broken woman who sat in a parking lot crying, listening to her life end.
I’m someone you, someone harder, someone who knows that love can be a lie and family can be your worst enemy. Someone who learned that sometimes the only person you can count on is yourself. Is that better? Is that worse? I don’t know. All I know is that I survived. They tried to destroy me and I survived. I fought back. I won. I survived. And maybe someday that will be enough. The sun has set now.
The sky is turning purple and orange. Stars are starting to appear. I finish my wine, stand up, go inside. Tomorrow I’ll wake up. Go to work. Teach my classes. Go to the gym. Come home. Repeat. Day after day, week after week, month after month, surviving. Not living. Not yet, but surviving.
And maybe that’s all I can ask for right now. Maybe someday I’ll learn to live again, to trust again, to love again. But not today. Today I’m just surviving. And that’s enough. Past to be. This is the story of how I discovered my husband and sister’s betrayal and how I destroyed them both. It’s not a happy story. There are no heroes here. No redemption, no healing, just revenge.
Calculated, brutal revenge. And the woman it left behind. Me empty, alone, victorious, but alive, still alive. And sometimes in the darkest moments, I tell myself that’s enough. That survival is enough. that justice is enough. Even when it feels like nothing at all, even when the victory tastes like ashes, even when the revenge leaves me more broken than the betrayal ever did, I survived and I made them pay.
And that has to be enough because it’s all I have