I Saw My Wife Had A Family Group Chat Named “Operation Divorce—Destroy Bob ” My Next Move Was…

Part of me, a small part, wants to take her in my arms and pretend none of this happened. But that part is overwhelmed by the cold anger that’s been building for weeks. “What kind of mistake?” I ask. She starts crying then. Ugly sobs that shake her whole body. “I’ve been seeing Derek. We’ve been having an affair.

” I sit down across from her, keeping my expression neutral. “How long?” “Three months, maybe four.” “I don’t know why I did it. I was feeling old, invisible. Derek made me feel young again.” “And you decided our marriage was worth less than feeling young?” “No. That’s not Simon. I love you. I’ve always loved you.

This thing with Derek, it was just physical. It didn’t mean anything. It meant enough for you to lie to me every day for 4 months. She reaches across the table for my hand, but I pull away. I ended it. She says desperately. After what happened at the hotel, I told Derek we’re done. Patricia’s threatening to destroy the agency.

Derek’s talking about leaving his wife. But I told him I want to save our marriage. What did Derek say about that? He’s angry. He thinks I’m abandoning him. But Simon, you have to believe me. I choose you. I choose our family. I study her face, noting the desperation, the fear. She’s not just afraid of losing me.

She’s afraid of losing everything. Her job, her reputation, her comfortable life. I need time to think, I tell her. How much time? I don’t know. Maybe you should stay at Victoria’s for a while. The suggestion hits her like a physical blow. You’re kicking me out? I’m asking for space. There’s a difference. She packs a bag that night, crying the whole time.

I watch from the doorway, feeling nothing. The woman I loved is gone, replaced by the stranger who traded our marriage for hotel room adventures with a man who drives a classic car and tells her she’s special. After she leaves, I pour myself a scotch and start planning phase three. Derek Graham thinks he can walk away from this mess unscathed.

He’s about to learn otherwise. The next morning, I drive to Derek’s office building. His Mustang is in the parking garage, but it looks different. Someone has keyed the word cheater into the driver’s side door and poured sugar in the gas tank. The car won’t start. I watch from across the street as Derek discovers the damage, his face red with rage.

He calls a tow truck, paces around the car, makes angry phone calls. When the tow truck arrives, I follow it to the repair shop. Excuse me, I tell the mechanic. That Mustang they just brought in, the owner’s a friend of mine. What happened to it? The mechanic shakes his head. Someone really had it in for this guy.

Keyed, sugar in the tank, brake fluid on the paint job. Going to cost him at least five grand to fix. I make sympathetic noises and leave, but I’m smiling. I didn’t vandalize Derek’s car. That was someone else, probably Patricia or one of her friends. But I’m happy to let Derek think I’m responsible. That afternoon, Derek shows up at my house.

He’s driving a rental car, a basic sedan that looks pathetic compared to his usual ride. He pounds on my front door like he’s trying to break it down. Open up, Arden. I know you’re in there. I take my time answering, making sure to look calm and collected when I finally open the door. Derek, what brings you by? You know perfectly well what brings me by. You destroyed my car.

Did I? That’s a serious accusation. Do you have any proof? His face is purple with rage. Don’t play games with me. You found out about Marta and me, and now you’re trying to ruin my life. Your life seems to be ruining itself just fine without my help. I heard Patricia’s family is pulling their account from the agency.

That must be stressful. You sanctimonious bastard. You think you’re so much better than me? Your wife came to me because she was bored out of her mind. You want to know what she told me about you? Not particularly. She said you were like having love with a corpse. No passion, no excitement, just going through the motions.

The words are designed to hurt, and they do. But I don’t let it show on my face. Is that why you’re here, Derek? To share marital advice? Because I have some for you, too. When your wife divorces you and takes half of everything, remember that it was worth it for four months with a woman who just told you she chooses her boring husband over you.

His face goes white. Marta told you that? She told me a lot of things, including how you begged her to leave me and how disappointed you were when she refused. It’s a guess, but Derek’s expression tells me I’m right. “You’re pathetic,” he snarls. “Maybe, but I’m pathetic and married. You’re just pathetic.” He takes a step toward me, hands clenched into fists.

For a moment, I think he might actually try to hit me. Instead, he spits on my doorstep and stalks back to his rental car. “This isn’t over,” he calls out. “Yes, it is,” I reply. “You just don’t know it yet.” That night, I send an anonymous email to the partners at Derek’s agency, detailing his affair with a married colleague and the resulting loss of their biggest client.

I include Patricia’s contact information and suggest they might want to hear her side of the story. By Monday morning, Derek Graham is unemployed. The agency fires Derek on Monday morning. By Tuesday, the story’s all over their industry, the hotshot account manager who destroyed his career for an affair. Marta calls me in tears, begging to come home.

“They’re blaming me, too,” she sobs over the phone. “They think I seduced Derek to sabotage the Morrison account. It’s insane. Why would they think that?” Because Patricia’s been telling everyone I’m some kind of corporate spy. She’s convinced her father that I deliberately broke up her marriage to hurt their business.

“Are you going to be fired, too?” “I don’t know. They’ve suspended me pending an investigation. Simon, I need to come home. I can’t deal with this alone.” “The investigation will be easier if we’re not living together. It looks better.” “Since when do you care how things look?” “Since my wife’s affair became public knowledge.

” There’s silence on the line. Then, “I thought you forgave me.” “I said I needed time to think. I’m still thinking.” “How much more time?” “I’ll let you know.” I hang up and immediately call my lawyer, Jim Hendrix. Jim’s an old friend from law school, now a partner at one of the city’s top divorce firms. “Simon, I heard about Marta. I’m sorry.

” “Don’t be. I need to discuss my options.” “You’re thinking about divorce?” “I’m thinking about protecting myself. If Marta loses her job, she’s going to need financial support. I want to know what I’m looking at. Jim runs through the numbers. Illinois is a no-fault state, so Marta’s affair won’t affect the division of assets, but her loss of income could mean alimony payments for years.

“There is one thing that might help,” Jim says. “If you can prove she committed fraud or wasted marital assets during the affair, expensive hotels, gifts, things like that, you might be able to recoup some of those costs.” I think about the hotel receipts, the new lingerie, the expensive dinners. I might have some documentation.

“Bring me everything you have. We’ll see what we can do.” That afternoon, I get an unexpected visitor. Patricia Graham, looking like she hasn’t slept in days, stands on my doorstep holding a Manila envelope. Mrs. Graham, this is a surprise. “May I come in? I think we need to talk.” I lead her to the living room, offering coffee. She declines.

She sits on the edge of the sofa, clutching the envelope like a lifeline. “I know you were at the hotel that day,” she says without preamble. My blood goes cold, but I keep my expression neutral. I’m sorry. The gas leak. “There was no gas leak. I called the hotel to complain about the evacuation and they told me someone phoned in a false alarm.

Someone who wanted to flush out the guests in room 1547.” I say nothing, waiting. “It was smart,” she continues. “I never would have caught them otherwise. Derek’s too careful and your wife’s too smart, but you forced them into the open.” Why are you here, Mrs. Graham? She opens the envelope and pulls out a stack of photographs, hotel receipts, credit card statements, phone records.

“I’ve been investigating my husband’s affair since I got suspicious last month. I have evidence going back 6 months, longer than your wife admitted to you.” The photos show Derek and Marta at restaurants, hotels, even what looks like a weekend getaway to Wisconsin. The receipts total thousands of dollars, all charged to Derek’s credit cards.

“I’m divorcing Derek,” Patricia says, “but I want more than just half of his assets. I want him destroyed. And I want your wife destroyed, too.” “What are you proposing?” “A partnership. You help me expose everything they’ve done, and I’ll make sure you get copies of all this evidence. Think about how it would look in divorce court.

Your wife carrying on a 6-month affair, lying about the timeline, spending your family’s money on hotel rooms and romantic getaways.” I study the photographs, my mind racing. Marta told me 4 months, but Patricia’s evidence shows it started much earlier. The lies run deeper than I thought. “What kind of help are you looking for?” “Derek’s been calling me, begging for a reconciliation.

He wants to meet tomorrow night to explain everything. I want you there, hidden, recording the conversation. When he confesses to the affair, admits how long it’s been going on, I want it all on tape.” “Why do you need me for that?” “Because Derek’s not stupid. He’ll suspect I’m recording if I’m alone. But if you’re there as backup, hidden somewhere, he’ll think he’s safe.

It’s risky, but the potential payoff is enormous.” “Where’s the meeting?” “Our house. Derek’s coming at 8:00. I’ll leave the back door unlocked. You can hide in the study. There’s a closet with a perfect view of the living room.” I consider the proposal. It’s borderline illegal, definitely unethical. But Derek and Marta destroyed my marriage with lies and betrayal.

Turnabout seems fair. “I’ll do it,” I tell her. Patricia smiles for the first time since she arrived. “Good, because I have one more surprise for you.” She pulls out a final photograph. It shows Derek and Marta in what looks like a jewelry store examining rings. This was taken last week after your wife supposedly ended the affair? They were looking at engagement rings, Simon.

Derek’s planning to leave me and your wife’s planning to leave you. The photograph hits me like a physical blow. While Marta Marta was crying in our kitchen confessing her affair and begging for forgiveness, she was secretly planning her future with Derek. I thought you should know, Patricia says quietly, before you decide whether to take her back.

After she leaves, I sit alone in my house staring at the photograph. The woman in the picture, smiling as she examines diamond rings with her lover, is a stranger. The Marta I married, the mother of my children, the woman I loved for 20 years, she’s gone. Time for the final phase. Wednesday night I park three blocks from Derek’s house and walk through the shadows to his backyard.