I found out my husband was on a dating site. I made a fake profile and flirted. He told me, “My wife is dead… I’m looking for love!” I was devastated but kept quiet and started quietly planning my divorce. A few days later he came home holding a manila envelope, looking terrified. My heart stopped — I thought maybe he had discovered my fake profile.
He dropped the envelope on the table and said: “I got a letter… someone claims you’re cheating on me.” Inside was a printed screenshot of my conversation with him (as “Mira”), where he told “Mira” how lonely he was. The woman “Mira” — me.
He accused me. The irony nearly knocked me out. I had planned a silent exit, but he flipped the script. I felt betrayed all over again.
I backed up all evidence and quietly opened a new bank account, contacted a lawyer using a friend’s number. Meanwhile, he started acting loving — dinners, flowers, even suggesting we renew our vows. But something in me knew I couldn’t stay.
Weeks later I overheard him on the phone in the garage: “She has no clue. I showed her the letter — she thinks someone wants to ruin us.” I stepped back silently and left for good.
When he came back from a trip, he found himself locked out and served divorce papers. He begged, claiming it was a mistake — that he panicked because he thought I didn’t love him. I agreed to meet him once, over coffee. He looked worn and broken, apologized, tried to explain: “I was lonely, I looked elsewhere.”
I told him: “You said I was dead. You erased me. You made your own story while I was right here.”
He cried, but I felt nothing. I walked away.
Months later, a woman reached out online. She said: “Were you married to Martin?” She showed a photo of her with him — from before I even suspected anything. He had lied to both of us.
The story doesn’t end here.