Saturday morning, Tamara and I meet at the diner on Fifth Street. She’s already ordered coffee and has her laptop open when I slide into the booth across from her.

“It’s done,” she says without looking up. “Sent at 9:00 a.m. sharp. All three. Walter’s principal, Esme’s managing partner, and the family court mediator.”

Tamara closes the laptop and finally meets my eyes. “You sure about this timing?”

I pull out my phone and show her the latest text from Walter. Picking up Wally at 2. Don’t be late. Judge won’t like it if you’re uncooperative.

“He’s still threatening me,” I say, even now.

Tamara reads the message and shakes her head. “The audacity is actually impressive.”

Our waitress brings my coffee and I wrap my hands around the mug to stop them from shaking. Six months of planning, and now it’s all in motion. There’s no stopping it.

“Tell me about the early days again,” Tamara says. “I need to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

I take a sip of coffee and let my mind drift back. It started about a year ago. Walter would get these texts during dinner, always from E. He’d smile at his phone in this way—he never smiled at me. And Esme, she started coming around more. Always had some excuse. Needed to borrow something. Wanted to see Wally. Had drama with whatever guy she was dating.

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. She’d sit on our couch complaining about men, and Walter would give her this sympathetic look like he was the only one who really understood her.

“When did you know for sure?”

“Christmas Eve. I came home early from my mom’s and found them on the couch, not doing anything, just sitting too close, talking in whispers.”

Tamara nods. “That’s when you started recording.”

“That’s when I got smart.”

I pull up my voice memo app and show her the time stamp on the first recording. December 26th. Walter on the phone in the garage telling someone he couldn’t wait much longer. That living this lie was killing him.

“Jesus. It gets better.”

January 15th, Esme calls me crying about some guy who ghosted her. While she’s on the phone, I hear Walter’s voice in the background. She claimed she was at Starbucks.

The diner door chimes, and I glance up to see a family with a young kid sliding into a booth. The little girl looks about Wally’s age, and her parents are smiling at each other over their menus. I used to think Walter and I looked like that.

“Show me the custody stuff again,” Tamara says.

I scroll through my phone until I find the recording from March. Walter’s voice fills the space between us. Tiny through the phone speaker, but clear enough.

She’ll never get more than weekends. I’ve got the better job, the stable income. Plus, Esme’s been documenting all of Kendall’s episodes.

Tamara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Episodes.”

That’s what they called it when I cried. When I asked questions, when I had the audacity to be upset that my marriage was falling apart.

I stopped the recording.

“There’s more. Esme coaching him on what to say to his lawyer. Walter bragging about hiding money in his brother’s account. And they recorded themselves doing this. Voice memos they sent each other. Screenshots of their text conversations that they forgot to delete from the cloud. Walter’s laptop that automatically backed up to our shared Google account.”

I leaned back in the booth. “They got sloppy because they thought I was stupid.”

My phone buzzes. Water again. Running late. We’ll be there at 2:30.

I show Tamara the text. “He’s always late. Always has an excuse. Always makes it sound like it’s my fault for being inconvenienced.”

“What are you going to do when he gets there?”

“Same thing I’ve been doing for months. Smile. Be cooperative. Let him think he’s winning.”

I finish my coffee and signal for the check. The beautiful thing about revenge is that it works best when they never see it coming.

We pay and walk to our cars. Tamara hugs me before getting into her Honda.

“Call me if you need anything,” she says. “And Kendall, tomorrow night is going to change everything.”

I know.

Are you ready for that?

I think about Wally’s nightmares, about the way Walter looks at me like I’m something he scraped off his shoe, about Esme’s smirking emoji and her casual cruelty.

I’ve been ready for months.

At 2:45, Walter pulls into my driveway. I watch from the window as he checks his phone, probably texting Esme about how unreasonable I am for expecting punctuality. When he knocks, I open the door with a smile.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “Work stuff.”

“No problem,” I say sweetly.

While he’s ready to go, I watch them drive away, my phone buzzes with a text from Tamara. Someone opened the first email.

Game time.

I smile and head inside to prepare for tomorrow.