My brother, who runs a hotel in Honolulu, called me and asked, “Where is your husband?” I replied, “He’s on a business trip in Manhattan.” He responded, “No, he’s at my hotel in Hawaii with a beautiful lady, and he’s using your ATM card.” With my brother’s help, I made a revenge plan. The next day, my husband called me in panic.

At precisely twelve thirty the following afternoon my phone vibrated with Bradley’s name displayed across the screen, and I answered in a calm voice that concealed the satisfaction I felt at hearing panic in his breathing.

“Allison, something is wrong with the card,” he said urgently, and his usual self assurance was replaced by agitation. “The hotel says the payment did not process and my debit card keeps getting declined, so can you transfer money immediately because I need to settle the balance.”

I leaned back in my chair and allowed a deliberate pause to stretch between us before replying, “That is strange because you told me you were attending meetings in Manhattan, so why would you require additional funds in Honolulu.”

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line before he exhaled shakily and admitted, “I am not in New York.”

“I am aware that you are not in New York,” I said evenly, “so perhaps you should clarify exactly where you are and who is sharing your room.”

He hesitated before answering in a subdued tone, “I am in Hawaii with a friend.”

“Is that friend a woman,” I asked directly while keeping my voice measured and controlled.