My Husband Had an Affair With Our Neighbor’s Daughter. I Made Her Regret. (2 of 3)

The next morning, I got up early, made Matthew coffee, and kissed him goodbye like always. Then, once he was gone, I walked two doors down and knocked on Susan’s door. She answered in yoga pants, all smiles. “Hey!” I smiled back—sweet as sugar. “Susan, I need your help. I’ve been thinking about redecorating the living room. And I heard you studied interior design?”

Her eyes lit up. “A little, yeah!”

“Great. I’d love your advice. Can you come by tomorrow?”

“Sure! What time?”

“Oh, any time in the afternoon. I’ll make tea.”

She had no idea.

The next day, I set the scene. I printed out every bank statement showing the gifts Matthew had bought her—jewelry, dinners, a weekend at a hotel while I stayed home with a sick toddler. I laid out the evidence like placemats on the coffee table. I even added a framed family photo for effect.

When Susan walked in, I offered her tea, then motioned for her to sit.

“Before we talk about throw pillows,” I said sweetly, “I just wanted to thank you. You really opened my eyes.”

She looked confused. I handed her the first receipt. Then the next. And the next. Her face drained of color.

I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I didn’t need to. Because by the time she stood up and fled from my house, stammering apologies, I already knew:
This wasn’t the end of my marriage.