Reddit Stories - DEVASTATED By DIVORCE How I Fought Back And Won $900k In Court Against My CHEATING Wife

Episode Date: June 25, 2025

#redditstories #askreddit #aita #divorce #cheating #court #victory #fightbackSummary: After being devastated by divorce, I fought back and won $900k in court against my cheating wife. It was a challenging journey, but justice prevailed in the end, bringing closure and a sense of empowerment.Tags: redditstories, askreddit, reddit, aita, tifu, divorce, cheating, court, victory, fightback, justice, empowerment, closure, marriage, relationships, legalbattle, personalgrowth, overcomingchallenges, resilience, determination, successBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/reddit-stories--6237355/support.

I hope you enjoy this story. Nearly lost the majority of my $900,000 in a divorce settlement, but I successfully exposed my unfaithful spouse in court with compelling evidence. I am employed as an elementary school educator, so my profession schedule is quite predictable. I have said hours at school and Tuesday afternoons are reserved for staff meetings, which typically run until 6 p.m. as a result, I would usually be home by 7. My wife, Terry, whom I've been married to for 31 years, often felt tired on Tuesday evenings due to her gym workouts. So, I often took the initiative to prepare dinner while she showered and took care of other household tasks.

However, one day, our school principals surprised us by canceling the staff meeting. It was still only 3.30, and on a whim, I decided to head home early and get a head start on preparing dinner. I thought I might also take care of some remaining household chores before Terry returned from the gym. Lately, I had noticed her growing more distant, and I hoped that a candlelight dinner and a relaxed atmosphere, free from the usual household logistics, might rekindle our intimacy and passion. Our marriage had been going through a tough period, often revolving around financial issues. I observed Terry becoming increasingly distant from me. She seemed to want more control over various aspects of our lives and would become quite stubborn and argumentative when things didn't go her way. Despite these challenges, I considered myself a patient man.

Today, I got home, just like any other day, parking in our garage, which was quite a distance from our house. We had positioned the garage this way when our children were little to ensure their sleep remained undisturbed by car noises. Their sleep was precious, not just for their health but for our sanity too. It gave us some quiet time to recharge while they slept soundly. So, I parked and took a leisurely stroll up to our two-story house. I noticed Terry's car in the garage, but it was a common sight on her workout days because she preferred taking the bus to the gym. As I entered the back door, my initial thought was that it was time to tidy up the space.

I had a knack for fixing things around the house, so all the door hinges and moving parts were well maintained and noise-free. Nothing irritated us more than loud doors or squeaky hinges. However, the first thing that caught my attention was Terry's handbag still sitting on the kitchen counter. I knew she'd be upset about it. Terry was meticulous about keeping her purse nearby, no matter where she was in the house. This unexpected sight shifted my focus, and I began to notice other unusual things. Her gym attire, mainly a snug leotard and a sizable towel, lay on the floor here the kitchen counter. Then, I heard sounds coming from our bedroom upstairs.

I entertained the possibility that Terry might have fallen ill suddenly and was upstairs. I cautiously and quietly ascended the carpeted stairs, almost tripping over a pair of men's shoes left on the steps. Those shoes definitely weren't mine. And neither were the pants, shirt, tank top, and socks scattered along the rest of the stairs. They were mixed in with Terry's underwear, her exclusive ones that only made an appearance on special occasions like our wedding anniversaries. I came to a standstill. My skin grew clammy, and my blood pressure plummeted, causing my heart to momentarily skip a beat. I had to sit down on the stairs to collect myself.

My disbelief turned to anger, an emotion I rarely feel. Typically, I'm composed and controlled, a result of years as a teacher managing 30 children daily. But now, that composure alluded me. Adrenaline surged through my veins, and I felt anger like never before. I had never even been in a real fight. These emotions were entirely foreign to me. Amidst these strange feelings, curiosity drove me to me to. cautiously climb the stairs and enter our shared closet. There were two doors in front of me,

one leading to the bedroom and the other to the upstairs bathroom. To reach the bedroom, I had to pass through the ensuit bathroom, which then connected to our spacious walk-in closet, and from there, I could access our bedroom. At the wardrobe door leading to the bedroom, I had a clear view of what lay beyond. The closet door was slightly open, positioned just right for me to see the bed. It was like watching a scene from a horror movie, and I couldn't tear my eyes away. All the while, I had been hearing those moans and grunts, but now, I was overwhelmed with an intense mix of anger and disbelief. I grabbed my phone and started recording what I was witnessing. I knew I would need this footage later to convince myself that it was all too real, and I wasn't

trapped in some dreadful nightmare. It would serve as evidence for the impending confrontation with Terry. My gaze remained fixed on the painful spectacle of betrayal unfolding before me. This was my wife, my lover, my life partner someone I had placed unwavering trust in. She was the mother of our grown children, a woman in her 40s who worked out, engaged in charitable activities, and professed her love for me above all else. This was betrayal in its rawest, most fundamental form. I had to stop recording and quietly descend the stairs. I left our property and began walking, not knowing where I was headed, but I eventually found myself in a park miles away from home.

There, I splashed some water on my face, sat down, and watched the recording on my phone. I turned the volume down to avoid alarming the children playing nearby. The destruction of my life and everything I had grown to consider normal was right there on my phone screen, captured in digital reality. It was the wreckage of our marriage. And it was at that moment that I finally let the tears flow. Update, it was around 7 p.m., my usual return time on staff meeting days. I found myself back at home, standing at the back door, and Terry noticed something was amiss immediately.

My disheveled appearance, red eyes, and pale complexion were clear indicators. She asked with genuine concern, honey, what's wrong? You look really pale. Is everything all right? I'll get you a drink. Are you okay? Her eyes conveyed her worry. I couldn't bring myself to tell her the real reason for my distress.

In a shaky voice, I replied, not really. Something upset my stomach. Maybe lunch. I was taking a shower and heading to bed. Terry responded, okay, Han, but take a container with you to bed. If you puke, it might be on the nice clean sheets. Those sheets, once clean, were now stained by something far worse than last night's dinner betrayal. I replied a bit more firmly, it's okay.

I will sleep in the spare room until I feel better, and made my way to the spare downstairs bedroom. That's how it went for the next few days. Terry continued her usual routine, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. I was on autopilot with work, and I kept sleeping in the spare bedroom, using the excuse of potential illness. I knew I couldn't sustain that excuse for long. Eventually, I moved back into our bedroom, but sleeping in that place of betrayal was a challenge. Terry carried on as if nothing had changed.

When Monday arrived, I had made a decision about what to do next. I needed to find out if this was an ongoing affair or a one-time incident. I informed my principal that I would be undergoing an unexpected medical procedure the following day, and he arranged for a substitute teacher to take my class. Tuesday morning, I left home as usual but parked a few streets away from our neighborhood and walked back to our street. I knew the rear entrances to the neighboring yards near our house. I proceeded with caution, ensuring I wouldn't be seen by any neighbors, and made my way to our garage located at the back of the house.

There, I changed into casual attire and soft, noiseless socks suitable for walking quietly. Then, it became a waiting game. I recalled that there was no extra car at home when I unexpectedly returned last Tuesday. Therefore, I couldn't rely on the sound of a car arrival to alert me to any visitors. They must have walked here. I stealthily navigated our gardens until I reached a spot where I could observe our front door while remaining concealed by the hedges and bushes we had planted for privacy from the road. I waited. Terry could be heard going about her usual tasks, completely unaware of my presence. Her confidence in the routine

proceeding as normal was evident. Kitchen duties, washing up and operating the dishwasher followed by activities in the living room like vacuuming and dusting continued until approximately 11.30. Terry then headed upstairs. I could faintly hear the sound of the shower, followed by a period of silence and then the flushing of the toilet. She returned downstairs about 45 minutes later, opened the front door, leaving it ajar so that any potential visitor wouldn't hesitate. I didn't have to wait long. Around 12.30, he arrived. I didn't know who he was, but he had walked in from the left side of our front gate. My phone recorded about 10 seconds of video, capturing side profiles and even an almost direct view of his face.

He didn't hesitate. He entered and proceeded through the door. The next words I heard sent shivers down my spine. Hey lover, I hope you're dressed for a big workout again. Terry's response was, of course. You always love it when I wear these. I sometimes wonder if it was these that attracted you to me. in the first place. Or maybe it was these. I had seen enough to confirm the ongoing affair. Their familiarity suggested it wasn't a one-off. As they moved to the bedroom, I retreated to the garage, trying to compose myself. With my heart pounding, I grappled with the burning questions, who was this man? I doubted a future intimate connection with her. I saw no signs of protection, raising concerns about potential risks if she was with others.

I pondered why she never discussed her feelings. I remembered Terry's two-year gym sessions nearby, a place where she bonded with local married women and engaged in charity events. Perhaps the gym held answers to our issues. Update 1. Being a teacher, I had access to computers, printers, and other resources. I decided to begin my investigation by printing out profile pictures from my phone footage to figure out who was involved. Maybe that would eventually lead me to the where and when of this situation. Finding out the who didn't take much effort. On the following Thursday, Terry had her regular gym session, and I suggested that I'd join her to see if I might want to become a member too,

especially since I had a break from school due to midterm. Terry wasn't too keen on the idea and gave excuses like, it's just a group of married ladies, and we mostly chat during the session or some other weak reasons. I persisted and managed to accompany her to the gym on the next Thursday. As I walked into the gym, it felt like a scene out of an old Western film where everyone turns to stare when a stranger enters the saloon.

All eyes were on me, and I noticed some hushed conversations among the ladies. Terry brushed it off, explaining that they weren't used to seeing her with someone during her usual gym sessions. The workout started with the usual warm-ups and stretching, followed by about an hour and a half of rotating between exercise stations to target different muscle groups. I tried to keep up, but I had to take a break about 45 minutes in. My blood sugar was dropping, and I knew I needed to eat something sweet soon. I did that, and Terry understood. After grabbing some jelly beans and sitting in a nearby chair, I began to pay closer attention to Terry. It was evident that she was quite nervous, frequently glancing toward the staff area where the instructors enter the main hall.

I also took a closer look at the gym itself. It had the typical layout you'd find in gyms worldwide, with exercise stations scattered around the room, and wall mirrors at each station so participants could check their form and muscle definition. I decided to explore the gym a bit more and noticed a wall dear the hall exit with staff information. It was a way to pass the time while waiting for Terry. I glanced at the top photo, which featured a woman who seemed to be in great shape but had an age that was hard to determine. I thought to myself, Ms. Elizabeth Wiles, director and owner. Below her photo were her contact number and hours of availability. There were three more photos below hers, two women and one man.

It was at this point that I froze, realizing that he was Terry's lover. This man was the one involved with my wife, with her enthusiastic consent, it seemed. I read his description, Mr. Philip Bond, head of exercise regime planning and personal body training. As I made a mental note of his phone number, I noticed that Terry was no longer at the station I had last seen her. I returned to my seat and carefully examined each station, searching for my wife. After some searching, I finally spotted her engaged in what seemed like a desperate conversation with a man partially obscured by some powerlifting equipment. He appeared to be near the entrance to the staff area and had clearly been prevented from

entering, presumably by Terry. She gestured for him to leave and hurried back to the station where she was supposed to be. She hadn't noticed that I had observed her absence in conversation. I was seething, an emotion I wasn't accustomed to. By the time Terry returned to my location, it was evident that I wasn't feeling well. She asked, are you okay? Did it take a while for your blood sugar to recover? I replied, yeah, I'm fine now. Are you ready to go? Before she could respond, Ms. Wiles made an announcement over the gym's PA system. She explained that tonight's usual final exercise session wouldn't happen because Mr. Bondi suddenly fell ill and had to leave.

This news was met with groans in size for most of the women present, as it seemed Mr. Bondi's session was a highlight for many of them. I thought to myself, this requires investigation, as I glanced at Terry. She remained silent when the announcement was made, but she appeared almost relieved. Terry quickly said, let's go, as she gathered her towel and handbag from the area where everyone stored their belongings during the workout. We were just leaving when one of the ladies, whom I didn't initially recognize, approached Terry. It's such a shame that Phil couldn't finish the session as usual tonight, she commented. Terry replied, true, and headed for the car in a manner that clearly signaled to the lady

that she didn't want to discuss it at that moment. Okay, see ya, Terry said dismissively. She got into the car faster than I had ever seen her do-but. before. The ride home was quiet, with Terry appearing relaxed. She had her head tilted back, eyes closed, and seemed to be deliberately taking slow breaths. I couldn't help but notice these changes in her behavior. Perhaps now, in her seemingly relieved state, I could learn more about what was going on. So, that was quite an interesting session, dear, I remarked. The workout stations seemed to be set up really well. No wonder you're looking so fit and trim. Thanks, honey, she replied.

You're absolutely right. They offer an extensive program, and I enjoy going there. The ladies are friendly too. It's just a shame about Mr. Bondi, I prodded further. You mean Bondi, she corrected, a bit too quickly. Phil, I mean Philip Bondi. He usually wraps up every session with exercise routine that really challenges everyone, pushing their bodies to the limit. It was disappointing that he wasn't there tonight. Inside, I couldn't help but think, she's fully committed to this lie. I knew exactly how far Mr. Bondi was pushing her body. But all I said was, hmm, maybe next Thursday he'll be feeling better. I couldn't shake the thought of the upcoming intimate encounter between my wife and Mr. Bondi next Thursday. It was time to get down to business. During the next school

week, I had pick-up duty. For those unfamiliar with it, this is when teachers oversee the area where parents pick up their kids by car after school. It's usually a chaotic scene with kids eager to head home, chat with their friends, and spot their parents all at once. For parents, it's a time of patience as they navigate through the stop and go car queue, hoping their child is ready when they reach the front. To my surprise, near the end of pickup time, a car pulled up, and the driver was the lady who had tried to talk to Terry at the gym the previous night. Hi, she greeted me. I'm sorry, but I'm new to this whole pickup thing, and I completely lost track of time. Is my son, Timothy, here. As teachers, we're used to this, especially when someone is new to the school.

So, I assured her that I'd go find Timothy while my fellow teachers supervised the remaining kids. I located Timothy near his classroom, chatting with another staff member's child. Hey, Tim, I said, your mom's here to pick you up. Come with me to the pickup area. He seemed a bit puzzled by this. He was in the last year of primary school and didn't strike me as the type to forget about pickups. That's odd, he remarked. Mom is usually occupied with her gym instructor on Friday afternoons. She often picks me up late. At my previous school, she sometimes didn't arrive until around 5.30. The moment I heard gym instructor, my suspicions grew stronger. I continued the conversation, trying to stay composed and casual. Ah, it's good to see your mom taking care of her health.

Exercise is a crucial part of a healthy lifestyle. Do you happen to know the instructor's name? I hope the response wouldn't confirm my fears. Oh, his name is bounty, or something like that, replied Timothy. He also works at a local gym and often gives private lessons at people's homes. That's what I want to do when I grow up. up. Mom really enjoys her workouts with him. On Friday evenings, she's so relaxed and looks radiant by the time we get home. It's fantastic. Fridays are always takeout nights because mom rarely has time to cook. No way. I thought. This bounty guy is involved with more people than just my wife. I walked Timothy back to his car, where his mom expressed her gratitude for our concern. No problem, I said. It's all part of the service. By the way, I don't believe we've met before.

I'm Gerard Downs. The kids call me Mr. D for short. Nice to meet you. I shook her hand, and she introduced herself, Hi, I'm Mary Jones. I remember seeing you at the gym last Thursday. I was there with my wife, Terry. Sorry, she seemed rushed when leaving.

Mr. Bounty's absence seemed to disrupt everyone's routine that night. At that moment, her entire demeanor changed dramatically. While previously she had been an apologetic parent picking up her child from school, she suddenly turned pale and guarded. She appeared almost trembling as she said, Um, yes. All right. I'll see you again, Mr. Downs.

Goodbye. And quickly drove off. Update 2. It was time to chart my future, something I believed I had already outlined together with my then partner, Terry. This future appeared grim, featuring only me, and possibly no one else, definitely not Terry. My anger led me down a path I had never imagined traversing the path of revenge. I began to meticulously review all the vital yet often overlooked details that are a part of a couple's everyday life. Questions like, who is responsible for paying the bills?

Which insurance company do we use? When are our utility bills do? From which account do we settle various bills and when? My database of this information began to expand. I discovered that we had only a small amount left to pay on our mortgage, and my superannuation account had grown impressively to $900,000. I couldn't help but express gratitude for our teacher's union, which had insisted on making compulsory super contributions a part of a teacher's basic employment conditions.

After conducting thorough online research without Terry's knowledge, I reluctantly concluded that there was no escaping the fact that we would need to evenly divide all our assets. Our children were now financially independent. We did have a substantial sum saved in a cash account around $30,000, designated for a planned overseas trip. Unfortunately, that trip was no longer on the horizon. My initial step would be to deplete that account as swiftly as possible before Terry became aware that I had uncovered her betrayal.

I discreetly made several household appliances suddenly malfunction. I would disconnect a wire here and there when Terry wasn't at home. Then, I'd claim that Mr. So-and-so had come to fix the particular appliance, charging a certain amount in cash, which was slightly less than his stated price. I would secretly stash away this cash and then repair the appliance. Through this method, I managed to squirrel away about $20,000. I also purchased tools and such, always paying with cash, showed them to Terry, and then returned them the next day for a cash refund. I admit it was deceitful, but the values of honesty and trustworthiness had already eroded in our relationship due to Terry's actions.

The whole situation was turning me into someone I never thought I could be a liar. Terry's Thursday afternoon workouts with Bondi continued, and I no longer attempted to maintain any kind of sexual relationship with her. We simply coexisted as two housemates would. Gradually, my personal belongings began to disappear into boxes in the garage. Terry rarely ventured into the garage, so she didn't know. the rearrangement. Her car was usually parked in front of it, and she was content to leave the garage as my own space. She did question the absence of some of my personal items from the shells once, though. I kept postponing it, explaining that I accidentally broke things

or no longer had a use for them. Terry was fine with these responses, mainly because most of my belongings didn't fit her preferred color scheme or the desired ambience of the room. When most of my items were cleared away in this manner, it didn't significantly change the atmosphere in the house. It made me realize how much I had yielded to Terry's influence in many aspects of our life together. I withdrew as much of my superannuation as I could and purchased a small house on the town's outskirts. It was exceptionally compact, with only two bedrooms and a tiny yard, but it had a garage and was conveniently located near my workplace at the school. What made it even better was that the remaining mortgage balance allowed me to comfortably manage the monthly payments even on half of my

salary. This wasn't a grand mansion by any means. It's astounding how great a deal you can find if you're willing to forego the allure of flashy, popular neighborhoods. My separation plans were underway. I gradually moved my personal belongings into the new house. Furniture wasn't a problem, as I could easily find second-hand or pre-owned pieces at thrift stores. It felt like my life was pre-loved, once cherished but now forgotten, relying on charity for any value. It was time for those involved to receive their just rewards. I reconnected with Mary Jones when she approached me during a school pickup. I was alone with her son, Timothy, waiting for her.

When she arrived, she looked distressed, her eyes hinting at recent tears. As a teacher, I was trained to pick up on these cues, giving insight into students' lives and their struggles. Mr. D., can I talk to you for a minute? She asked anxiously. Of course. Since no one else is arriving, just stay parked there, and come over to my usual spot, I replied. I referred to the benches around the school as my office. She parked her car while Timothy played with his soccer ball, and we sat together on. the bench near the pickup area. I'm not sure how to begin what I need to tell you, she started. I'm uncertain about how much you know regarding the gym you saw me at. I looked at her intently and replied cautiously, I know that Terry, my wife, enjoys going there, and it's been beneficial in

helping her stay fit and active. She hesitated, clearly struggling to speak, and then continued, there are things you should know about what happens there. Trying to get to the point swiftly, I asked, is it related to Philip Bond? She responded vehemently, you have no idea how much it involves that pig, I said, I might have an idea, but please go ahead and tell me. She confidently said, he's a player, targeting many of the regular women there. When I asked how she knew, she replied, tears in her eyes, I was one of them. Until last week, we met every Friday at 1230.

She paused, looking up as if reliving those moments. I too looked away, reminded of those sessions, though not with fondness. She apologized, I'm sorry for sharing this. I genuinely enjoyed what he was doing to me while it lasted. It was only when he had someone else taking my place during that time that he abruptly ended it, offering no explanation, just a sorry, no more. I had actually believed we might have a future. I'm divorced, and I missed the regular affection of a married relationship, so I was excited

about experiencing it again, this time with him. I couldn't have been more wrong. I was completely shocked by her candidness. How could she think it was appropriate to share all of this with me? She must be really upset. Trying to provide some comfort, I responded a bit too hastily, marriage relationships aren't aren't always what they seem. She looked at my face and noticed the pain and anguish in my expression. You already know, don't you? She asked slowly, shaking her head in disbelief. You already know

that he's been involved with Terry, your wife. I admitted, yes, I knew, Mary. Thank you for sharing this, though I struggle to conceal the bitterness in my voice. But I've already set things in emotion regarding the whole situation. I genuinely believe in karma, and I think it might catch up with him soon. That guy has to face the consequences. Mary practically shouted. He doesn't care about who he hurts or how, as long as he satisfies his sexual ego, something he can brag about to his buddies at the bar. If you want my help to get back at him, just let me know. That guy has to pay, and he should pay dearly. She called her son over and departed.

I sat there, deep in thought, for quite some time. Update 3 I found a measure of relief when Mary shared her story with me. For a while, my revenge plan felt like sour grapes, stemming from my inability to salvage my marriage. I realized it required deeper consideration. I began to ponder just how many other women he might be involving from the gym. It was time to gather concrete evidence. I couldn't help but be amazed by the man's stamina, but I suppose even the devil doesn't tire.

I discovered that he worked at the gym every day except on Mondays when the gym was closed. I recalled the phone number posted on the gym's wall. Using the telecom's white pages, I traced the number back to an address, not more than three blocks away from our own. It explained how that scoundrel could conveniently walk over to our place to engage in affairs with my soon-to-be ex-wife. I told Terry that I'd be going for a walk each day around 5 p.m., claiming my specialist recommended it. Fortunately, Terry had no interest in joining me, and she knew it wouldn't interfere with her liaisons, so it all went smoothly. During my first evening walk, I headed straight to Bonnie's address and observed that he lived in a ground-floor apartment among several. similar units. His car was absent, so I lingered nearby to track his return. He consistently

left our house well before six, making it likely for him to arrive around that time. As expected, he walked into his apartment right before six. This occurred every day I could go for a walk, except for my staff meeting day when I couldn't walk. I suspected he followed this pattern each day the gym was open. Did he have a different woman to rendezvous? with on each of these days. I aimed to find out by progressively starting my walks earlier to monitor his daily movements. I decided to take a whole week off from school for this specific purpose. I went to an electronic store and purchased the necessary equipment. This included a discrete, long-range listening device, not the one that resembles a satellite dish. I also bought

voice and motion-activated cameras with full-color HD capabilities, five of them to be be precise. To ensure I had enough storage space for digital evidence, I acquired an extra portable hard drive for my computer. After purchasing these items on Monday, I proceeded to install one of the cameras in Bondi's apartment. Fortunately, his place wasn't overly spacious, more like a one-bedroom apartment with a generous living and kitchen dining area. One camera sufficed to cover everything except his bedroom. Getting it into his bedroom was a breeze. I simply waited for him to head to the gym and retrieved his apartment keys from where he carelessly left them under the doormat.

He couldn't have been less imaginative. After ensuring the camera functioned correctly, I departed. Now, whenever he made a movement or a sound in his apartment, the camera, equipped with a microphone, would activate and live stream both video and audio to my computer, where it was also securely stored with date stamps. It began operating as soon as Bondi returned home on Monday night, capturing clear footage of him enjoying a takeout meal in front of his television before retiring to bed around 9 p.m. On Tuesday, I waited until the gym had closed and then entered through the back door, which is often overlooked during the pre-closing checks in most stores. Fortunately, luck was on my side.

I strategically placed the next camera in the private room located at the back, where clients usually undergo personal health assessments. This was the same room where Bondi often conducted sessions with his private clients. I couldn't help but question the kind of person I had become installing cameras in other people's spaces, essentially spying. I wondered where this would lead. By Wednesday, I seized the opportunity when Terry left for groceries and discreetly positioned the third and fourth cameras in our bedroom and living area. Upon reviewing the footage from Tuesday, I was both surprised and unsurprised by what I observed and heard, given the context. Bondy woke up and promptly left, only to return later with breakfast.

I couldn't help but think, lazy guy can't even make his own breakfast. He remained home until the gym opened and left at 10.30. During this time, he made an intriguing phone call. Julie. Hi, it's Phil. Is he gone yet? Pause, okay. See you at 12.30, at your place.

Make sure to wear what I mentioned. No, I'll be careful. No one will see me enter your place. Did you say he was going for three days? All right. Maybe I can come on Thursday and Friday as well. We'll talk this afternoon, lover. After that, he ended the call and left with a noticeable spring in his step.

I couldn't help but wonder how he planned to explain this to Terry. On Thursday, I set up shop in the garage with my computer, eagerly awaiting the unfolding events. Almost immediately, Bondi's camera feed appeared on my screen. He had woken up, gone out for breakfast again, and returned to make a phone call. It was Terry's phone he dialed, and the cameras streamed her side of the conversation as well. Hey, it's Phil. How's my favorite slot feeling today? Phil, don't talk like that on the phone.

You never know who could be listening. Luckily, my husband has gone to work. See you at 12.30 as usual. Update 4. Mary, the parent from school, seemed enthusiastic about helping in any way she could. So, I asked her to compile a list of women that scoundrel was involved with or had been involved with in the past. She tackled this task with enthusiasm, and within a week, she had names and addresses. To my shock and dismay, Terry's name was on that list.

By this point, I had nearly severed all ties to our house, which had lost its emotional value and become a mere dwelling. Terry did comment once on how it felt strangely emptier lately. I simply explained that I was diligently decluttering my belongings. She accepted that explanation, as it didn't affect her possessions and even provided her more space. I had also moved the garage items to my new house. To complete my departure, I only needed a 20-minute effort to gather my remaining belongings and drive away in my car.

I consulted with the divorce attorney, and all the necessary divorce documents were prepared and ready to be served promptly. The financial aspects were sorted out. Our savings for a vacation were completely emptied, with the funds transferred into my personal account. I carefully kept all the receipts for the fictitious purchases neatly organized in a folder, just in case they were needed as evidence. I adjusted the beneficiaries of my superannuation fund to our children and withdrew any available funds. I established separate bank accounts, credit cards, and insurance policies in my name alone. Terry's car, its registration, and insurance were all transferred solely into her name,

making her entirely responsible for it from now on. Unfortunately, I had no control over the house, so I had to rely on the decisions of the courts. I purchased a new mobile phone registered under my name alone and ensured that it had an unlisted number. The old phone was deactivated. I assembled a package of information for each husband or partner of the women listed by Mary. Each package included details about when and where that scoundrel had been involved with their partners. It also contained his name and address. Additionally, I provided the address of the

sexual health clinic in our town, as it appeared that most of these encounters were unprotected. I sent a detailed letter to the owner of the gym, suggesting that it was an appropriate time to have a serious discussion with her head instructor. On our kitchen table, I left the divorce papers, printed photos from the video surveillance of that scoundrel and Terry and DVDs of their encounters. Beside this bundle, I placed my wedding ring, cut in half and covered in unpleasant substances. The accompanying note read, Terry, I left you this damaged ring, covered with the same mess that symbolizes what happened to our marriage. Please refrain from contacting me unless it's through the attorney mentioned in the divorce papers. I've requested the

school to prohibit your access to the school premises, so please avoid trying to reach me there. Causing disturbances on school grounds can lead to swift police intervention. I've also informed our children about my actions to ensure there's no confusion about why this breakup occurred. I've sent copies of the DVDs to them, so there can be no false narratives about who initiated this separation. Final update. I drove to my new house and waited for the fallout, which came with full force. Somehow, the local newspapers caught wind of a scandal at a nearby gym. The owner had no choice but to close the business and leave town. Meanwhile, a former gym instructor was discovered in a downtown back alley. It was believed he had been

assaulted by an unidentified group of male attackers. A sudden surge of divorce petitions flooded the local court, and many houses were put up for sale. Terry returned home on that fateful day, discovered my parting gifts, and promptly fainted. A neighbor heard her scream and witnessed her collapse. It didn't take our observant 70-year-old neighbor long to realize why Terry had fainted. She promptly called emergency services before leaving her house, leaving the door open. Terry made attempts to contact me, but was unsuccessful on any of our she even attempted to visit the school, resulting in her arrest. After spending a night in the holding cell and receiving a stern warning from a magistrate,

her efforts to reach me slowed considerably. Our children didn't hold back in expressing their disapproval of her blatant infidelity. Fortunately, they were both married and had inherited more ethical views on fidelity from me, clearly not from Terry. The divorce proceedings were completed, and the remaining financial matters were resolved as per the usual process. Terry had to sell the house, and the proceeds allowed her to purchase a smaller home in the outer suburbs, where she currently resides alone. The stigma of being known as one of the infamous Jim slots never left her. Whenever she ventured uptown, she faced numerous

sidelong glances and whispered snickers. The resulting depression, stemming from this rejection and shame, eventually led to her receiving care in a mental hospital. As for me, I continued with my teaching profession, living contentedly in my new home.