My hands clenched so hard around the fruit basket that the handle bit into my skin. I wanted to smash the door open. I wanted to tear her hair out, slap him until his mouth forgot how to lie.
But a voice—old advice I’d once heard—cut through my rage:
If an enemy attacks, don’t fight with emotion. Strike when they don’t expect it. Destroy the foundation, then bring down the whole building.
My shaking hand slid into my pocket. I pulled out my newest phone, muted it, and turned on video recording. Carefully, I aimed the lens through the crack.
I filmed everything.
Daniel kissing Megan’s belly. Their “secret marriage.” Their confession about embezzling my company funds. Their laughter at my generosity. All of it, crisp and merciless in 4K.
Five minutes that felt like five lifetimes.
Then I backed away and walked out—step by step, swallowing the sobs clawing up my throat. In an empty waiting room, I finally sat down, staring at the video saved on my screen.
Tears fell—briefly.
I wiped them away with the heel of my palm.
Crying wasn’t for trash.
“So this whole time…” I whispered, voice trembling as love curdled into something colder. “I’ve been sleeping with a snake.”