Though my heart was pounding, I kept my expression unreadable.
Then at 2:06, I saw them. My husband strolled in, laughing, hand-in-hand with a woman dressed head-to-toe in Gucci.
Tall, stunning, polished — someone you’d expect to see in a luxury campaign, not draped over your husband.
They were clearly comfortable with each other.
I stayed seated, calm. When the waiter passed by, I said quietly, “I need a little favor — and a touch of drama.”
I ordered champagne and had it sent to their table, along with a note that read: “Cheers to my hard-working husband and his ‘business meetings.’ — Your actual wife.”
From across the room, I watched it unfold. He read the card. She leaned in, clearly confused. His face drained of color as his eyes scanned the room — and then landed on mine.
I raised my glass, smiled, and walked out.
He had some serious explaining to do that night. And me? I had the calm satisfaction of exposing a lie with grace — and without ever raising my voice.
