I was away on a business trip, fighting to secure a deal that would help cover our son’s medical bills. Meanwhile, my husband Jacob was betraying me with his colleague Jessie. I found out in the most humiliating way—Jessie flaunted her pregnancy at the supermarket and casually announced Jacob was the father. My world shattered.
Jacob didn’t deny it. He packed his bags and left, calling our sick child a burden. I was devastated, but grief slowly turned into resolve. Months later, I found a keychain Jacob cherished—his grandfather’s. That became the seed of my revenge.
I called Jacob and told him to pick up the keychain on Saturday at 10 AM. He hesitated—Jessie was due to give birth that day. I insisted. He came.
I welcomed him with coffee and a calm conversation about parental rights. He relaxed, even reached out to hug me. What he didn’t know was that our nanny cam was recording everything—his touch, his words, his comfort in my presence.
After he left, I sent the footage to Jessie. The fallout was swift. She banned Jacob from the hospital. Security escorted him out. He called me, furious and broken. I told him this was the consequence of his choices. He had lost both families.
Jacob’s life unraveled—his job, his relationships, even his own mother turned her back on him. Meanwhile, I rebuilt mine. But one night, my son asked, “Why doesn’t Dad come home anymore?” I told him, “Dad had to go away. But I’m here.”
Did I go too far? Maybe. But I protected my son and reclaimed my dignity. Jacob sobbed, but I didn’t. I rose.
