Reddit Stories - Betrayed UNCOVERING Infidelity At The Summer Writing Workshop - My Secret INVESTIGATION Revealed All

Episode Date: June 27, 2025

#redditstories #askreddit #aita #writingworkshop #infidelity #secretsrevealed #investigation #betrayalSummary: A thrilling tale unfolds at the Summer Writing Workshop as a secret investigation uncovers infidelity, leading to betrayal and shocking revelations. Tags: redditstories, askreddit, reddit, aita, tifu, writingworkshop, infidelity, secretsrevealed, investigation, betrayal, summer, workshop, uncovering, writing, secrets, investigationrevealed, betrayalrevealed, thrillingtale, shockingrevelationsBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/reddit-stories--6237355/support.

I hope you enjoy this story. Discovered my spouse being unfaithful at her seasonal writing retreat, therefore I enlisted a detective, gathered proof, and vanished without a clue before her arrival. My alias is Andrew Baker, although my buddies call me up, never Andy. There's always some annoying drunk or ignorant guy who tries to act too familiar and calls me Andy. So, Andy, what's your job? They ask. I respond, I create this cool little gadget that cops can use from 40 feet away to check for drunk people.

They've even started attaching them to radars around town. That usually shuts them up, but in case you haven't figured it out yet, that gadget isn't real. It's clear that I have little patience for foolishness. Lie to me, and things get worse. I'm a simple guy, not complex at all. I enjoy a straightforward life and a simple life. find satisfaction in my work. I work as an engineer for a big national company with offices all over the country. I have friends, and while I'm not a heavy drinker, I do have an occasional

beer. Honestly, I lean more towards nachos, but that's my battle. If I let it get out of control, I'll gain weight. So, I make an effort to keep myself in decent shape for my age. I used to go sailing every chance I got, but having a wife and two young daughters takes up a lot of time. Eventually, I sold the boat. That was just one of the compromises I've willingly made over the years, so I could have quality time with the people who really mattered to me. I've been happily married to Karen for 25 years. She's a high school teacher. Our two daughters are now in college. Claire is studying at Brown University in Rhode Island, and her younger sister, niece, is attending Boston University. I probably couldn't afford those expensive schools,

but luckily, the girls are dedicated students and secured impressive scholarships. Our home is in North Carolina, specifically an area known as the Research Triangle. It's centered around some excellent universities in Raleigh and is surrounded by top-notch high-tech companies. Living and working here is wonderful. I could tell you about Carolina barbecue, but it would just make me hungry. I was somewhat disappointed when the girls opted for colleges up north, but I understand they needed to explore beyond their comfort zone, and that's ultimately a positive thing. Our daughters are amazing, intelligent, funny, charming young women with strong moral values. I worry about their safety daily, but I trust their decision-making. Witnessing them grow up

and take their initial steps towards independence meant that my wife and I could finally have some time for ourselves again. I had been looking forward to this stage for a while. With both girls away at college, I imagine returning home every evening to a loving wife who would focus her attention on me, and vice versa. I pictured us rekindling our connection, leading to days filled with happiness. It was almost like being newlyweds once more. We could enjoy dinners out, attend plays and movies, and finally rediscover each other the way I had always wished. However, reality didn't unfold exactly as I had envisioned. To be honest, looking back on that first year of having an empty nest, I noticed Karen undergoing changes.

It seemed like her interests were shifting. While the shift was gradual, it became more evident with time. Initially, I thought these changes were her way of flourishing now that our daughters were no longer living with us. However, I eventually realized that what I was was observing was a significant transformation in her values and priorities. Karen is an English teacher, specializing in creative writing. To be fair, she's also a frustrated writer. Being a young mother and teacher, she never really had the chance to write as she wanted. During the summer and whenever she could spare an hour or two, Karen dedicates time to writing. But so far, not much has come out of it. She used to send her essays and short stories to literary magazines, only to accumulate a collection of rejection letters.

The grand masterpiece she hoped for never materialized. I'll admit, I do enjoy reading her writing, but as a writer, she's never gone beyond formulaic and sometimes overly dramatic stories. She has a romanticized notion of what a writer should be, and secretly, I suspect she's more attracted to the idea of being a writer than the actual writing. Nevertheless, if she's content, then I'm content too. Throughout most of our marriage, Karen has been a member of various writing groups. These are gatherings of people who come together to help each other by providing critiques, suggestions, and discussions on their work, aiming to improve each other's writing. Some of these groups have seemed genuinely productive to me, while others appear to be more

like clubs of mutual admiration. Her last group, which was the one she belonged to when things fell apart, had elements of both. They took turns meeting at each other's homes, and during their meetings here, I'd try to give them space. I attempted to participate once, but Karen and a few others disapproved, so I stopped trying. Karen's current writing group consists of around ten members, including both men and women. I'm fond of some of them, while others I could do without. Half of them are rather unremarkable, and the other half leave a strong impression when you meet them. For instance, Reggie, a woman, is heavily invested in writing histories and biographies.

She conducts real research and writes books with a scholarly aspect while still aiming to engage readers. I've read all of her books and enjoyed them. Betty has a penchant for writing fantasy. I don't think she envisions herself as the next J.K. Rowling. She leans more towards the talking unicorn type. She's friendly, and her writing seems to be mainly for her own pleasure. Who can argue with that? Bill assumes the role of the groups know at all.

A little of that goes a long way, but aside from that, he seems all right. Then there's Frank. I felt alarmed the first time I met him, and those alarms have continued to rain in my head ever since. When I met Frank, it was quite clear that I was being interested. introduced to him rather than the other way around. He looked at me and asked, so, Andy, what's your profession? I glanced at my wife, who gave me a slight frown and shook her head. I simply responded, I'm an engineer, Frank. Did he offer a smile or more of a smirk in return? I mentioned that I had given up attempting to engage with their group, preferring to stay

somewhat hidden and unobtrusive, though not exactly out of earshot when they visit. I'll often be in the next room quietly working or on the back porch with a window open, so I can hear their conversation until they forget I'm around. I noticed early on that when Frank talks with Karen, they seem to share private jokes and a connection that makes me uncomfortable. Sometimes he boosts her ego, and other times it's as if he knows her inner thoughts in a way I don't appreciate. He references past conversations that seem to be only between them, and I get the impression that the rest of the group doesn't remember those moments.

It's just a feeling, but I'm not fond of it, and I've told her so. She brushes off my concerns, and I've learned not to push the matter. I've made sure she understands my sentiments. The rest is up to her. The group follows a routine during their meetings. After their work session, they relax with some whine and unwind. It's during this time that I realize some of them, are merely putting on an act.

It happened in the middle of the spring semester, around early March, when the topic shifted to the lifestyles of true writers. Oh, you know all the famous writers were alcoholics. That's right. They wrote in the mornings and drank in the afternoons and evenings. It relaxes the mind and opens it up to new ideas. Then, in the mornings, their creative thoughts start flowing, and they begin to write. In fact, the truly accomplished writers all experienced romantic relationships.

That's what truly motivated them. That's what Frank was saying. Thanks for sharing, Frank. I'm starting to understand where you're coming from. That's when Karen's words hit me like a punch in the gut. Oh, absolutely. It's the intensity and the thrill of the unknown, the excitement of keeping it all hidden from everyone else that's where the genuine inspiration

is found. Some of them chuckled, while others didn't, so I convinced myself it was just a jest. Yet, I kept an ear on their conversation for the rest of the evening. Maybe we should all have a wild night of passion sometime, and then we'll each write the next great American novel. That came from Bill. I couldn't quite figure out if he meant it humorously or not. Character flaws don't serve as the basis for exceptional writing. What truly Bill is of outstanding stories are qualities like humanity, empathy, and confronting the mysteries of the unknown. I mentioned before that I liked Betty. Unforgettable stories are about overcoming challenges, striving for greatness despite all odds, and leaving the world in a better

state than it was before. Well, perhaps if you conjure the right enchantment, we can avoid all the hassle. That was that jerk Frank again. To their disgrace, some in the group seemed to find that amusing. I'm not so sure Betty did, and I had a hunch Reggie didn't either. They carried on talking about writers' drinking habits and affairs, and I continued to eavesdrop without giving anything away. Then I caught an intriguing part of their conversation. Is anyone else planning to apply for the Illinois Writers' Workshop this summer? Frank was speaking once more. Oh, I already submitted my application. I'm keeping my fingers crossed they'll accept. me. Six weeks of just writing and discussing with fellow writers. It could really transform

things for me. It was Karen, and this was the first time I had heard about it. Frank picked up on it right away. I'm sure they'll accept you. Your writing has shown so much improvement this past year. I believe you'll be admitted. I've applied as well, although I'm not a certain I'll get in. My internal radar for nonsense was off the charts. Seriously, Frank, when did you become so modest? I didn't like what I was hearing, but at this juncture, I still cared deeply for and trusted my wife. When you've been married as long as we have, trust is fundamental. You don't question, is she up to no good?

The thought doesn't even cross your mind. Marriage is a partnership, and your spouse is your other half. She's shown her commitment year after year, and all you truly desire is for her to find the success and happiness she deserves. Or at least, that's what you believe. Then later on, it all crumbles when you discover your trust has been shattered. Update 1, as time went by, I allowed myself to put aside that evening's overheard conversation. Just like I mentioned, I had full trust in my wife. Some younger guys might not get that, but after being mentioned,

married for over 20 years, trust becomes a way of living rather than just a choice. It was late April, and I was finishing up some gardening outside when I decided to call it a day and head indoors. As I reached for the kitchen door, I caught my wife talking on the phone, saying, I can't wait. Six whole weeks without any responsibilities, no commitments, and no one waiting for me to get back. I perked up at that last part. I froze in place and listened, Absolutely. It's going to be the most self-indulgent six weeks of my life. I owe it to myself.

And so do you. None of this sat well with me. I pushed the door open and entered the kitchen. Karen seems startled well, I have to run. Ab is here, and I need to start preparing dinner. She hung up quickly. Who was that on the phone? Oh, just Reggie.

We were talking about school wrapping up soon. Like hell it was, I thought. I wanted to question her about certain things she had said, especially that part about no one waiting for me to come home, but I sensed that the truth might be in short supply tonight. My mood darkened, but I made an effort to conceal it for the moment. Later that night, after dinner, the other shoe dropped. U.B, you won't believe the fantastic news I received today.

Remember that writer's workshop in Illinois I applied for? No. Come on, you hardly pay attention to me. To be honest, I had heard about that workshop before, but that was only because I'd overheard her discussing it that night over a month ago. I don't recall you mentioning it. Yes, I did. I applied for a six-week writer's workshop.

It's from mid-June to late July at the University of Illinois. They have lectures by their professors, and they bring in accomplished writers for seminars and discussion groups, and then we do a lot of writing. It's a wonderful opportunity, and I got accepted. That sounds wonderful, honey. I'm sure we can manage it financially. Maybe I can take a little time off work and join you. I'd love to listen to those writers' talks. Her reaction seems surprised.

Oh, well, we can consider it. It's going to be a really intense six weeks, and I won't have much free time to spend with you. My instincts were tingling again. Well, you know I'm not demanding, and maybe I could be the coffee guy for the group. She offered a slightly nervous smile. That could be nice, dear. Let's see how it goes. I've been in the receiving end of such deflections before, and I knew what it meant.

She was planning to ensure I wouldn't end up going to Illinois with her. I get the feeling you'd rather I didn't go with you. Oh, no, it's not like that. I just worry you might find it dull. You're into computers and circuits, and this is just writers talking about big ideas. Vic. I didn't voice it, but mentally, I was shouting it loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. I'm not unintelligent, honey.

Oh, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying your mind leans towards details, while writers grapple with larger life questions. Big Vic. But I kept that thought to myself. I could tell when I was being sidelined. I'm sure you'll excel she's caught up tonight later that evening. After Karen had gone to bed, I logged on to the internet to review our phone records. AT&T offers that feature.

All incoming and outgoing calls, along with text message. are recorded. I examined the phone log and the call that I had interrupted wasn't with Reggie, or if it was, it originated from Frank's phone. It's astonishing how quickly trust can crumble after a quarter century of marriage when you catch your wife lying and discover her making plans to exclude you. Weeks passed, and she seemed consumed by discussions about the workshop. I attempted multiple times to discuss the idea of going with her or visiting at some point, dismissed the idea each time. Then she shifted from rationalization to manipulation. Up, I've got the most exciting news. I got you and Jake two tickets to a fishing camp in

Northern Canada in late June. You can take Jake and both of you can enjoy fishing for those big brown fish you're always talking about. It was quite expensive, but I wanted to express my gratitude for your understanding about the writer's workshop, and I felt a bit guilty that you wouldn't be enjoying yourself. So, I want you to go and have a great time. Then we can share our experiences when I return. I suspected something wasn't right. Thanks, dear. That was considerate of you. Honestly, I'd have a better time with you. Ab, we've been through this. It's just not logical. I'll be working throughout, and I'd feel bad neglecting you like that. I studied her face and I briefly, trying to interpret what I saw. Was it condescension?

Thanks, honey, Canada sounds fun. My tone lacked enthusiasm. In my mind, I was plotting my options. A surprise trip to Illinois was at the forefront. Well, you could at least say it with a smile. Those tickets were expensive, and I want you to be happy. Sure, sounds fun. I headed down to the basement to tinker for the of the evening. Our house is old and has one of those floor grates in the hallway. It lets warm air flow from the furnace room and was the original way of heating the first floor. Initially, I made a point not to step on it accidentally, but over time, I grew used to it and forgot about its presence. The phone is also in the hallway. I was quietly working in the basement, contemplating my next steps when I overheard Karen making a call. Yes, I gave

him the tickets. He's still hesitant. I don't know. I keep telling him he won't enjoy it. No, I can't just tell him not to come. I understand, and I want that too, but I want to stay married afterward. I just need him to give me some space to enjoy myself for a few weeks. I deserve it. I've earned it. Yes, I want those weeks with you as well. All right, let's wait a bit. I think he'll come around. Okay, baby, I miss you too. Write something great for me tonight. With that, she ended the call.

I felt a lump in my throat. I'm not clueless. I recognize infidelity when I hear it. Either Karen was in an affair or considering one. Anything less and she'd still have a lot of explaining to do. It took me 20 minutes to gather my thoughts, but I knew that for me. now. I had to become the kind of liar I've always detested. At least for the moment, I needed to keep my intentions hidden until I figured out my plan. I called upstairs and in my most

affectionate tone said, Karen, I'm heading over to see Jake and give him the good news. Oh, that's great, dear. Enjoy. And just like that, I was out the basement door. I needed distance. Visiting Jake was merely an excuse. As I pondered it, I realized I needed someone to confide in, and Jake had been my closest friend since childhood. You're kidding me. Jake never beat around the bush. No way, I don't buy it. She'd never betray you up.

Well, she's certainly working hard to keep me away from that workshop. And she's calling someone baby, and it's definitely not me. We just sat there, silent. That's what most guys need from a buddy, just sitting together, sharing the pain. You need to have a conversation with her about this. You can't go through the next couple of months assuming the worst without knowing the truth. And what's she going to say? How much do you want to bet that when I checked the phone records tonight, it wasn't frank she was talking to,

it wasn't frank she called baby, and it wasn't frank she's plotting with? I'm not taking that bet. So, what's your plan? I'm going to sit down and have an honest talk. That's what you do after being together for 25 years. I'll express my love for her, let her know I'm hurt that she doesn't want me to go with her, and I'll straightforwardly ask her what she's up to that she doesn't want me there. Do you think she'll tell you the truth?

Nope. But I'll tell her the truth, even if some of it isn't what she wants to hear. She'll understand how much I love her. She'll know that cheating on me would end our relationship. And then she'll probably try to convince me that I'm imagining things and should just go fishing. I paused for a moment. By the way, I've got two tickets for a fishing camp in Northern Canada in late June, and ones for you. Nice.

Jake caught himself. I mean, I'm here to support you, buddy. I had to chuckle. I've always been sure where his loyalty lies. We chatted, shared our thoughts, and had a few drinks over the next three hours before I headed home. After dinner, I asked Karen to come sit with me in the living room, and I opened up about everything that had been bothering me. Well, almost everything I held back a couple of things. Sweetheart, I've got some serious concerns.

I don't believe you've been completely upfront with me about this writer's workshop. I overheard you discussing it with your writer's group back in March, yet you didn't mention it to me until you had already made plans to attend. I even overheard you talking about how affairs are common among great writers, and I must admit I didn't find that amusing. You've been having conversations with Frank about your trip, but when I inquire, you give me false information and claim it's someone else. You're aware of my feelings about that guy. Then, when you told me about getting accepted, you seemed purposely distant and discouraged me from being a part of it. I don't have to be there, but I wanted to share in this exciting journey with you. Instead of considering that, you made arrangements for me to be somewhere else, without even discussing it with me just making a commitment on my behalf.

It appears like you're trying to ensure that I won't be around while you're in Illinois. I don't think you've been completely honest with me, and I'm starting to question whether you're in Illinois. you've been completely faithful. Up, I've never treated you that way, and I would never be unfaithful to you. What's gotten into you? You're my husband, and all I want is for you to have a good time. It really hurts me that you could think something like that about me. I can't control how I feel or what triggers those feelings.

You know I love you. I've loved you since we first met, but I can't just overlook the idea of betrayal. Is that what you're planning, Karen? Is this writer's workshop meant to be your escape from our marriage? Update 2, that was the end of our conversation. No more understanding or affectionate talk. She exploded into yelling, and for the rest of the night, it was either shouting or silence from her. And for the following week, it was all silence.

She was using the silent treatment as a way to force me to back down, trying to push me to submit. However, it didn't work. In fact, it only strengthened my convictions. But I realized I wasn't making progress this way, so eventually, I allowed her to believe she had succeeded. If she was planning to cheat, there wasn't much I could do to prevent it. The phone conversation I overheard even suggested she might have already done so. Eventually, I thanked her for the trip to Canada, but my mood remained gloomy, and it didn't lift until the trip was over. Once she got what she wanted, she quickly changed her demeanor and acted like a loving wife to reinforce the behavior she wanted from me. It was as if she flipped a switch,

and that only heightened my suspicion. I recognize manipulation when I'm on the receiving end of it. The Illinois Writers Workshop was about 500 miles away, and I didn't know anyone there. So, I asked a co-worker who he consulted when he suspected his wife of cheating. I followed his advice, and the person he recommended was based in Illinois. I reached out to them for assistance. The workshop's location was advantageous, as it took place on a state university campus. The PELS operatives couldn't participate in the program, but they could move around the campus and observe the rooms as needed.

The participants would dine in the campus campus campus. cafeterias, visit local bars, and stay in a large dormitory with other students. This provided an opportunity for inconspicuous surveillance. Some of these students would actually be working for me, equipped with advanced devices. As the school year was coming to an end, our daughters decided to remain at their universities for the summer to work in research labs with their professors. This meant we were still empty nesters, and I made a concerted effort. I invited her to dinners, cooked at home, and took her to various shows.

She seemed to enjoy everything, and I started to believe I was making progress. However, whenever I expressed my love for her, I sensed a dismissive I know attitude from her. Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. It wasn't that she had stopped loving me, she had simply taken me for granted. I was familiar, reliable, and her safety net. She felt assured that she could go away, seek excitement, take a break from our marriage, and I would be waiting when she returned. This realization led to my plans falling into place. The day she departed, I realized I couldn't leave things unspoken.

We stood near the door as her shuttle for the airport arrived. Holding her tightly, I expressed my love and pleaded, please, don't do anything that could ruin us. In response, she shot me an irritated look and retorted, I'm tired of you not trusting me. When I return, we'll have a serious conversation about this. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed her bags, and headed toward the shuttle. She drove away without a single glance back at me. At that moment, I felt certain my marriage was coming to an end. After 25 years in our two grown daughters, it seemed our relationship was fading away.

without much of a fuss. The private investigator carried out his job effectively. According to him, they didn't bother hiding their actions, as they were in an unfamiliar place. Upon arrival at the workshop, Karen must have removed her wedding rings on the plane, as they were absent from her finger. She openly claimed to be recently divorced, and my wife and Frank immediately became inseparable. They were constantly together, sharing kisses, holding hands, and acting like infatuated high school students. My P.I. ingeniously placed a small video camera in the dormitory hallway where they stayed. Though Karen and Frank each had their own assigned room, they only used one of them. Occasionally, they used her room, sometimes his, but always they spent the nights together.

I was already aware of what was transpiring in those shared dorm rooms, yet my PI and his team went to great lengths to confirm my suspicions. One evening, before it got dark, my wife and Frank retired early. Two operatives, appearing like typical college students, sat against the hallway wall, discreetly slipping a miniature fish-eye camera beneath the door. This device captured a 20-minute video of Frank in action. The video quality was surprisingly clear, and when he finished, it was evident he hadn't used protection. That was the final straw for me. My decision was clear, I was done with this marriage. Anything else the team uncovered was just additional evidence to solidify my stance.

My private investigator kept me updated regularly, but after that initial week, her destiny was clear, and my choice was made. Starting from the early days of her workshop, I used my time to put my plan into action. I aimed to become a vanishing presence, almost like a ghost. When she returned, I would have disappeared, and there would be no going back, no lies, no ultimatums, no lengthy talks, explanations, justifications, or attempt to mend things. There would only be divorce. My marriage had come to an end. Love doesn't fade quickly, but what's love without trust?

A future can't exist with a cheating wife. Some might argue that my solution was feeble. They could suggest she deserves physical punishment, utter embarrassment, and complete destitution. However, in the end, the law would prevent me from pursuing any of that, and I had no intention of ruining the rest of my life by seeking such vindictive revenge on my unfaithful wife and her lover. My revenge would be taking away the one thing she always relied on, the steady presence that supported her, consoled her, uplifted her, and motivated her. I was taking myself away.

Frank wasn't a worthy catch. He couldn't provide what she needed long term. Where would a divorced 50-year-old mother find love and emotional stability? I wasn't concerned. She wouldn't be my concern any longer. Every few days, my private investigator would send me more pictures, more videos, and more evidence of betrayal by the person who promised me loyalty above all else. The reports were difficult to read, and the photos and videos were even more painful to watch.

The audio recordings were the hardest to bear, especially when they discussed me. He's always texting me about the fish he's catching and how amazing it is up there. He thanks me nearly every day, she said with a laugh. He's clueless. Frank joined in the laughter. Keep him in the dark. Treat him like a mushroom and you're free from his annoyance. He might as well enjoy himself for now.

When I return, I'll confront that nerd about his accusations. How dare he keep accusing me of cheating? But you are taking a little break from our marriage, right, beautiful? Or is that another woman sharing my bed every night? She actually giggled at that. What a? Maybe he's onto something, but I won't tolerate it. I'm a writer, damn it, and he's holding me back with his circuits and computer jargon, his millimeters, and micro-thingamajics.

What does he understand about big ideas? Update 3, I pondered various revenge tactics. I realized that none of those options would true. truly satisfy me as long as my life remained connected to hers. Only one choice remained, so I began the process of distancing myself from her. I had an open conversation with my boss, explaining everything. He understood, having gone through something similar himself not too long ago. He arranged a transfer for me to our company's office in Portland, Maine. I found the idea appealing. I was familiar with the people there, they were skilled and professional, and I enjoyed

their company. The town and the state both appealed to me. I scheduled movers to transport half of the furniture and all my personal belongings up north. I insured my car was in good shape for the journey. Then, I consulted with a lawyer to initiate the divorce proceedings. As for financial matters, Karen had her own insurance and retirement account. I removed her name from all my assets and made my daughters the beneficiaries. I signed a quick claim for the house, granting it to her in exchange for no alimony. She would keep her car but needed to handle her own insurance. I planned to handle the bank accounts and credit cards closer to the end, keeping my intentions discreet.

From that moment forward, I focused on reinforcing my resolve. What I mean is this. I attempted to call her to inquire about how the workshop was progressing and to express my love. I believe that hearing her lies would strengthen my conviction that my actions were justified. She didn't disappoint. In less than two minutes, she answered with enthusiasm, declared her affection, and hurried off to dinner. My private investigator later informed me that Frank was right beside her, exchanging knowing glances and mocking gestures, which only affirmed my decision. It became evident that she treated the situation as a joke, confirming that I was on the right path.

Subsequently, I chose to communicate with her through text messages instead of phone calls, as I wasn't sure I could keep my emotions in check over the phone. I would update her about successful fishing trips, but in truth, I sent Jake and his wife on those outings. They had a great time. Jake made a wise choice in his spouse. I did pay them a farewell visit before my departure, and they promised to come see me. As her six-week workshop drew to a close, I concluded my final tasks. A friend who's a real estate agent gave me a for-sale sign to place in the front yard.

I couldn't actually sell the house without her consent, especially since I had already transferred ownership to her, but she was unaware of that detail. When she returned home, the sign would be the first thing she noticed. I changed the locks on the house to make it feel less like her residence, selected certain photos from her trip including explicit stills from the video taken beneath Frank's door, and compiled a copy of the P.I.'s report. I left all of this on the dining room table to ensure she was aware that her actions had been uncovered. Most of my belongings had already been moved by the movers, who would store them until I was ready. I only carried two suitcases, my briefcase, laptop, and guitar. with me. My guitar was a must. I couldn't entrust something so precious to anyone else. While Frank might be involved with my wife, I cherished my guitar deeply. My initial plan was to depart the next morning, knowing she wouldn't return until later that night. This way, I'd be long gone when she arrived. However, I had a change of heart the night before.

I wanted her to experience the pain right away, while she could only wait and worry until her return. I sent her an email containing three carefully chosen photos of her and Frank along with the words divorce you. I divorce you. I divorce you. I opted for one photo where they were nearly intimate on the dance floor, clearly showing she wasn't wearing her engagement and wedding rings. The second image captured them walking into his dorm room while holding hands. The third was a screenshot from the dorm room video, showcasing her face clearly. I anticipated she would see these images and hoped it would tarnish her final romantic night with Frank as they frantically searched for cameras that were already removed. Subsequently,

I turned off my phone. Leaving the house that had been our family home for countless years was a mix of pain, uncertainty, and newfound freedom. It felt like the most challenging, uncertain, and liberating moment of my life all at once. In essence, my wife was gone from my life. I didn't know the when or the why, but it was as if she had died, even if I hadn't caused it myself. The woman who remained, resembling my wife, was a stranger to me, someone I didn't recognize and didn't wish to reconnect with. I was embarking on a fresh start, facing an unknown path ahead. Amidst the deep sense of loss, there was an odd sense of liberation.

The weight of deceit, betrayal, and belittlement was lifted off my shoulders, if only temporarily. The only cost was that half of my life was now inaccessible. Though it was late, my mind was racing, so I drove for about a hundred miles along the quiet highway, lost in thought, until I found a hotel for the night. I wasn't looking for a chain hotel, I wanted a genuine local breakfast place. I sought something authentic. Eventually, I found it and savored what could be my last plate of grits for a considerable while. As I savored those grits, my thoughts shifted, and I began to reconsider my journey to Maine.

This marked the start of my fresh beginning, and I had a lengthy drive ahead of me. I could speed up my trip to Maine, escaping my problems, but I had a two-week window before work started. Why hurry? I required time to calm my thoughts, come to grips with her betrayal, and leave the past behind. I chose to take it slow, relishing the scenery during my northbound drive, and engaging with each state and its residents as I passed through. This week would be my transition from my old life to my new one. I intended to pamphemy. I intended to pamphemy, my senses, including my taste buds, to cleanse myself of the ugliness and mistakes of my past and get ready for a fresh start. The rest of the day was spent wandering around Williamsburg amidst the summer crowds. I explored the talents of skilled artisans and craftsmen. Despite

not having a reservation, I managed to find a place to stay. It wasn't until after a light dinner and settling in for the night that my thoughts returned to my failed marriage. Around that time, she was likely returning home. I wondered how she'd react upon seeing the for-sale sign on the front yard and realizing her keys no longer opened the door. The next day, I headed north and drove along the back roads toward Annapolis, Maryland's capital. I passed through small towns and historic plantations along Virginia's ancestral rivers like the York, Rappahannock, and Potomac, which flow into the Chesapeake Bay. There was a single stretch of road ahead leading me toward my future. I would follow that meandering path as it guided me away from betrayal and toured a

fresh chapter in my life. Update 4. I sat in my hotel room in downtown Annapolis, and I finally powered on my cell phone. As expected, it was filled with numerous missed calls, emails, and text messages. Most of them were from Karen, while a few came from friends. I read and listened to all of them, even though it was tough. It was a necessary step. Initially, Karen was attempting to convince me that things weren't as they appeared. Yeah, right. Those were the messages she said from Illinois before she returned home and saw the rest of the photos and read the P.I.'s Report. Meanwhile, my friends were informing me that Karen was reaching out to everyone in a bid to locate me. Little did she know, she was looking in all the wrong places.

Jake and his wife were aware, but I chose to keep the others in the dark intentionally. I would let them know once I had settled. I was already aware that I couldn't continue being a ghost forever. The two calls that got me concerned were from my daughters. Karen had contacted them in an attempt to find out my whereabouts. I had purposely not told them about my decision to leave their mother, as I wanted to do it face-to-face. However, I couldn't let them worry. So, I spoke with my daughters and calmly explained the situation to them.

They were upset and found it hard to believe that their mom could do such a thing, so I sent them the same pictures I had sent Karen the night I left home, along with the P.I.'s report, for them to read. After that, they pledged not to inform their mother about my actions. There was one more missed call. My lawyer informed me that Karen had been officially served with divorce papers. Now she knew I meant business. He also shared that Frank's wife had received a complete set of photos, videos, and audio recordings from his six-week workshop.

That was a dose of karma for Frank. On the third day of my journey, I drove through Northern Maryland and with a lot of excitement, I finally reached New Jersey. Well, not exactly. I crossed into New Jersey but didn't stop until I had reached Connecticut. Once in Connecticut, I took a few hours to explore some historic towns along the coast. I didn't have a specific goal, but the architecture was so distinct from what I was used to in North Carolina that I felt a strong sense of being in a new place both physically and emotionally. And don't tell the government, but I spent an hour in Groton trying to spot as many submarines as I

could. Those blackfish are quite stealthy. While gazing along the shore, I was reminded that when they refuel those nuclear submarines, they cut a hole in the hole to refuel the reactor and then weld the hole back together. Was that a metaphor for my situation? Could Karen's betrayal, which tore a hole in my heart, be the first step in re-energizing my life? Could I heal myself once I embarked on my new journey? As I woke up the next day, I knew it would be the most challenging day so far. After a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and a hearty breakfast of eggs, In a strong cup of black coffee, I braced myself for a difficult conversation with my eldest daughter, Claire, in Brown.

The drive there didn't take long, and I arrived at her dorm around late morning. We decided to delay our conversation a bit so that she could pretend to be cheerful for an hour or two. She showed me around the campus and then took me to the cafeteria, where she introduced me to her friends. They were exactly the kind of young men and women I had hoped she would be surrounded by. They were friendly, attentive, and seemed to provide mutual support. On our way out, I took Claire's roommate aside and informed her that Claire was going to have

a tough day. I asked her to look after my daughter. She replied, of course, Mr. Baker. She shared with us last night. We're all here for her. Yes. My daughter had chosen her friends wisely. Claire and I spent hours in her dorm room, having a long conversation. I shared with her

photographs and played audio recordings that I never expected to share with one of my children. Her emotions shifted between sadness and anger. I can't believe Mom would do that. Is she even the same person who raised us? What kind of disgusting person has she turned into? I had to intervene at that point, even though I understood her sentiment. Claire, regardless of what she's done, she's still your mother. And remember, it's me she's betrayed, not you. Sorry, Dad, but she shattered my only family. This is absolutely affecting me.

I couldn't dispute that. Throughout the afternoon, we continued our conversation, and I outlined my plans to her. I encouraged her to gather her friends, and we went out for dinner at the best place in town, or at least the best within my budget. It seemed like everyone enjoyed a break from the usual dining hall food. I shared stories of my own college dining experiences, and I think it gave them a newfound appreciation for their current situation. I stayed at a local hotel that night, and the next morning, I had breakfast with Claire, held her in a tearful hug, and then headed north to Boston to repeat the process. Claire must have informed Denise, as

her reaction was much more composed than her older sisters. There was still disappointment and anger, but less surprise. She requested to see the evidence, and I showed her. Coincidentally, her mother called while we were talking, and I gave her the universal sign for no, I'm not here. I shook my head, gestured frantically, and mimicked a throat-cutting motion. She understood. Denise was always the more level-headed one in the family.

Then she did something I thought I'd never witness. She said, Dad called last night, didn't he? Is it true you become a woman who cheats on her husband and lies about it, becoming involved with multiple partners? I was taken aback. I wanted to scold her for speaking to her mother like that, but at the same time, I couldn't deny the truth in her words. You heard me, Mom. You spent six weeks being involved with someone else while Dad was alone at home. Was it worth it, Mom?

Was it worth losing your marriage over? Wow, my daughter has quite the way with words. Note to self, don't get on her bad side. There wasn't much more to discuss. Denise informed me that her mother was mostly in tears and attempting to offer excuses, but my daughter wasn't buying any of it. Later, I took Denise and her friends to a Thai restaurant called the Elephant Walk, not far from campus. from campus. Just like her sister, Denise had chosen her friends wisely, and dinner was a pleasant

affair. On our way back to campus, one of her friends said, Mr. Baker, Denise told us about what you're going through. She was really upset last night, but we supported her. Maybe you could visit us again and we'll treat you to the cafeteria. That elicited laughter from the group. I mean, well, actually, maybe we can find a better place than that. This sparked more giggles, and we laughed all the way back to her dorm. I found a place to stay for the night, had breakfast with my daughter in the morning, and on the seventh day of my journey, I continued heading north. I departed Boston and found myself just two hours south of Portland. My focus had shifted from my soon-to-be ex-wife to my daughters.

They were growing into strong, principled young women, and I couldn't be prouder of them. I now realized they would navigate the upcoming divorce better than I had anticipated. The challenge on this day was leaving these two amazing gems behind, with no certainty of when I'd see them again. As it turned out, my worries were unnecessary. I wasn't prepared to confront the reality of starting my new life just yet. So, when I reached Portsmouth, New Hampshire, I turned west and drove towards the White Mountains and the presidential range. I entered the White Mountains and took the Cog Railway up to the summit of Mount Washington. Standing there, gazing across the expanse to the smaller peaks of the White Mountains and surveying the green pine forests below,

feeling the cold Arctic winds that seemed out of place in the early days of August, I finally sensed a rebirth within myself. I was alone, but at last, I was standing tall. I had gone through a transformation, leaving behind the challenges and regrets of my old life. and now I was ready to embrace the new chapter and all its potential. I stood on higher ground, prepared to embark on a fresh journey. Everything I desired lay ahead. The next morning, I ordered a plate of pancakes topped with real maple syrup. I was in maple syrup country now, and that would be the case for years to come.

Feeling rested and eager, I got back into my car and drove to Portland. I arrived in the mid-afternoon, so I decided to touch base with my new boss to let them know I had made it. I was already acquainted with about half of the office staff, and I received a warm welcome. It felt reassuring. They were the first cheerful, uncomplicated faces I had encountered in a week. My new boss, Henry, gathered the office for introductions. I had a quick tour of the workplace, but not before everyone agreed on where we would all go for dinner. I assumed it would be a downtown restaurant, but to my surprise, we ended up at Henry's

house, grilling steaks and enjoying all the accompaniments. I know, I should have savored lobster in Maine, but there was no rush for that. This was more about reintegrating into society. While enjoying some exceptionally good steaks and truly outstanding local beer, they inquired about my story. What was a guy from the South doing, uprooting his life and moving to Maine at this stage. So, I shared my tale. I omitted the graphic details but provided enough for them to understand. I concluded with a small request, I might get a bit short-tempered in the next few weeks. It's not my usual demeanor, but I have a lot to process. I hope that if I act out, you'll call me out and tell me to cool it. I could use some gentle pushback now and then.

unexpectedly, every woman there hugged me and gave me a peck on the cheek, while every man put an arm around my shoulder. We're here for you, up. That's all they said and all they needed to say. Later that night, as I settled into my hotel room, I powered up my cell phone once again. Both of my daughters had sent supportive texts. They must have shared my number with their friends, because I had received about eight or ten additional texts from the young men and women who appreciated the dinner and wanted me to know

they'd be there for my daughters. Those kids are truly wonderful. A number of friends continued reaching out, so I made the decision to connect with all of them and explain the situation so they could stop fretting. I didn't reveal my location, that would come later. I simply told them why I had left. Despite their initial reluctance to believe, I sent them the same three photos I'd sent Karen and informed them that I had even more incriminating evidence if they needed further convincing. I pondered it, but honestly, I couldn't find a single reason to shield her from her own choices. I had tried, and it hadn't worked. So, let the truth come out. In due time, I received messages of love and support from each of them, and I assured them I would stay in

touch. It was becoming increasingly apparent that my notions of becoming a ghost were just wishful thinking. Too many people cared about me, and that's certainly a positive thing. I went through the remaining text messages from Karen and listened to the missed calls. Eventually, she came clean and confessed, though her confession was mixed with strange bursts of anger. She managed to blame me one way or another for her actions and for everything that had unfolded. Well, that's just ridiculous. I sent her a text saying I'd call her the next day around noon. It had to happen sooner or later. Let's just say the conversation was far from satisfying. She swung between blame, guilt, and denial. She was sorry. Frank's influence was strong over her.

I was suffocating her. It was my fault because I worked too much. She even had the audacity to claim that nothing serious happened between them. They were just messing around. I almost burst out laughing when she tried to convince me she was only searching for her creative inspiration. She went so far as to accuse me of turning our daughters against her, as if her own actions hadn't accomplished that without any assistance from me. When she finally fell silent, I laid it out for her in a straightforward manner. She had conspired with Frank to betray me, resisted my efforts to salvage our relationship,

carried out the betrayal, and now she was facing the consequences. I no longer cared about the wise. When I hung up, she was still crying and pleading her case. I was done with her. There was no turning back. I knew too much. I located a simple yet comfortable two-bedroom apartment in an older building, conveniently close to the office. I thought I could use the exercise from walking and initially considered it a temporary arrangement,

but my perspective quickly shifted. Living simply in town, avoiding the extra responsibilities that come with owning a house, and having a small coastal cottage for weekends seemed like a good plan. Then I thought, why stop at a cottage? I could get a boat, keep it docked in the harbor, and that could be my seaside retreat. By the time I sorted all of this out, it was early fall. I thought I'd lead a solitary life, but it hasn't turned out that way. I actually spend more time with my daughters now than when I lived in Raleigh.

They come up for a weekend every month, often bringing friends along. During those 36 hours, my apartment buzzes with activity, and I usually treat them to dinner. Once they're gone, I do crave the quiet, although I miss them as soon as they leave. Surprisingly, a few of my friends have visited, and the rest planned to come when the weather's better. I'm living alone, but I don't feel lonely. I've made new friends at work and through my adventures. The sailing community is lively and inclusive, and I've met intriguing women. However, I'll stay respectful and well-behaved until the divorce is finalized. Even though the divorce will be official soon, Karen still reaches out to me.

She never truly repents and prefers to downplay the situation. All she says is, everyone does it. It doesn't mean anything. But it does. The intimacy carries weight, and the deceit and manipulation matter even more. I thought about explaining this to her, but people change, and I no longer see the point. Truthfully, my life isn't fully separate from hers.

With two daughters and many mutual friends, complete detachment is unlikely. Nevertheless, with 600 miles between us, I no longer live with the daily pain of rejection and betrayal. She used to be the center of my life until I was no longer in hers. Now, I'm forging my own path and creating my own future. Several positive outcomes emerged from this situation. To begin with, I genuinely enjoy living up here. I'm going through my first main winter, which is a bit of a shock,

but if others can handle it, so can I. The early darkness in this region actually makes indoor gatherings feel cozier and brighter. I've started searching for a boat and found a place with moorings not too far from town. So, I'm looking forward to spring when I can work on splicing lines and applying varnish. The local restaurants are good, the microbreweries are fantastic, and the people are authentic. There's a variety of music, dances to learn like contra dancing, and I'm still discovering surprises. I believe life will turn out well for me after all. Is my heart fully healed? Not yet, but time has its way of healing wounds, and I'm confident in the better life that

lies ahead. Oh, and as a side note, Frank's wife seems to be as old-fashioned as I am. She kicked him out of the house and divorced him. What's even worse, both Karen and Frank are still unpublished.