When Tony got promoted, I uprooted our life and moved with him to a quiet town in Illinois. I was juggling two toddlers, feeling isolated, and struggling to adjust. Tony, ever the workaholic, seemed to thrive—but something felt off. Our only acquaintances were a younger couple, Lauren and Matt, who worked with Tony. One day, Lauren messaged me with a bombshell: Tony wasn’t eating lunch alone on the office rooftop like he claimed. He’d built a cozy lunch setup and was sharing it daily with his 22-year-old receptionist, Becky.
I checked Becky’s Instagram and saw Tony had liked nearly every selfie she posted. That stung. He’d never mentioned her, and coworkers seemed surprised to learn he was even married. I didn’t lash out—I set a trap. I liked the same selfies Tony had liked, hoping Becky would notice me, realize Tony had a wife and kids, and maybe rethink whatever was happening. I didn’t follow her or comment—just silent, strategic likes. I knew she’d tell Tony. And she did.
Tony exploded. He accused me of being dramatic, invasive, and jeopardizing his job. He insisted nothing inappropriate was happening and that I was overreacting. But to me, the real issue was his secrecy. If it was innocent, why hide it? Why pretend he was alone? His outrage felt like guilt in disguise. I wasn’t trying to ruin his career—I was trying to reclaim my dignity. I wanted the truth, not excuses. And I wanted Becky to know I existed.
Now I’m left wondering: did I cross a line? Was it wrong to quietly “like” her posts? Or was it the only way to make my invisible presence felt? I’m not sure what hurts more—his betrayal or his reaction. But one thing’s clear: when trust erodes, even a lunch break can become a battlefield.
