He told me I was crazy for being jealous of his “special friend.” Then I found out he was funding a new life—one that didn’t include me.
I trust my husband, Greg. Or at least, I did. We share finances, passwords, and a life. So when I got a notification on our joint banking app that $700 had been transferred via Zelle to “Vanessa K.”—his former coworker and self-proclaimed “work wife”—I didn’t immediately panic. I was just confused.
I asked him about it over dinner. “Oh, that,” Greg said, waving his fork dismissively. “Vanessa is going through a tough time. Her cat, Whiskers, needs emergency surgery. She was crying on the phone, and I just loaned it to her. She’ll pay us back next month.”
“Seven hundred dollars for a cat?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “And why did you delete the transaction notification from my phone?”
“I didn’t want you to worry,” he snapped. “She’s a special friend. I felt bad for her. Don’t be so heartless.”
He made me feel guilty. He made me feel like the jealous, unreasonable shrew. I dropped it. But the phrase “special friend” stuck in my throat like a fishbone.
The Midnight Audit
That night, Greg fell asleep early. I couldn’t sleep. The math didn’t add up. Vanessa had a well-paying job. Why did she need a loan from my husband?
I grabbed his iPad. He had changed his passcode, which was a red flag the size of a billboard. But he hadn’t changed the fingerprint lock, and he was sleeping soundly. I pressed his thumb to the sensor.
I went straight to his email. The “Sent” folder was empty. The “Trash” was empty. He was covering his tracks. But Greg isn’t a tech genius. He forgot about the Archive folder.
I searched “Vanessa.” There was no mention of a veterinarian. No photos of a sick cat. Instead, I found an email from “Lakeside Property Management.”
Subject: Application Approved – Unit 4B The email read: “Dear Greg and Vanessa, we have received the $700 security deposit via Zelle. The lease for the studio apartment is attached. Please sign by Friday to secure the keys.”
The “Love Nest”
My hands shook as I opened the attachment. It wasn’t just a loan. It was a joint lease. They weren’t just “work friends.” They were setting up a love nest. Or worse, he was planning an exit strategy. He was using our joint savings to fund a bachelor pad where he could play house with Vanessa while I paid the mortgage on our actual home.
The “sick cat” was a down payment on his betrayal.
The Morning Eviction
I didn’t wake him up with screaming. I woke him up with packing tape. I spent the next three hours packing his clothes into garbage bags. I printed the lease agreement and taped it to the front door.
When Greg woke up at 7:00 AM, confused by the noise, he found his suitcases in the hallway. “What is going on?” he groggily asked.
“I decided to help you move,” I said, sipping my coffee. “Since you already paid the deposit on Unit 4B, I figured you should probably go live there.”
He turned white. “You looked at my emails?”
“I sure did. How’s Whiskers doing? Is Whiskers a 500-square-foot studio with a kitchenette?”
The Aftermath
He tried to backtrack. He claimed it was just an “office” because he needed space to work. He claimed Vanessa was just a roommate to help split the cost. “Save it for the judge,” I told him.
I locked the door behind him and changed the locks an hour later. He is now living in that studio apartment with Vanessa. From what I hear, “paradise” isn’t going so well now that he doesn’t have access to my income to subsidize their lifestyle.
He wanted a special friend? He got one. And I got the satisfaction of knowing that the $700 he stole was the cheapest divorce settlement I could have asked for.
