The Email From My Cheating Wife A Year After Our Breakup Changed Everything… 

So that was his name. I set down my wrench and face my son. Samuel deserved the truth. or at least as much of it as I could give him without destroying his relationship with his mother. Yes, I said simply. She is. Samuel nodded like he’d been expecting that answer. How long? 2 years. Damn, Samuel said, then looked at me apologetically. Sorry. It’s okay, son. I’ve been thinking worse things than that. We stood in silence for a moment, both of us processing what this meant for our family. What happens now? Samuel asked. I don’t know yet, I admitted. Your mother and I are going to separate. Probably divorce. But that doesn’t change anything between you kids and us. Sierra doesn’t know yet, does she? Samuel asked. No, and I’d rather tell her together with your mother when the time is right. Samuel picked up one of my tools, turning it over in his hands. I’m not surprised, you know, about mom. That caught me off guard.

What do you mean? She’s been different the last year or so, Samuel explained.

happy in a way that didn’t include us, if that makes sense. Like she had some secret that made her smile. My son’s observation stung because it was so accurate. Monica had been glowing lately, and I’d been fool enough to think it was because she was content with our life. Are you okay? I asked Samuel. He shrugged. I’m 17, Dad. I’ll be going to college next year anyway, but Sierra is going to be messed up about this. We’ll help her through it. I said, “Yeah.” Samuel agreed. Then he looked at me directly. For what it’s worth, Dad, I don’t blame you. I’ve seen how hard you work for us. Coming from my son, those words meant more than any apology Monica could offer. Monica moved back in with her parents, but that didn’t stop her from trying to manipulate the situation. She called constantly, sent lengthy text messages explaining how sorry she was, and even showed up in my office twice trying to convince me to give her another chance.

What you didn’t know was that I’d hired a private investigator. Tony Marceli came recommended by Richard, my attorney. Former police detective, specialized in adultery cases. Within a week, he’d uncovered more than I bargain for. Your wife’s been busy, Tony said, sitting across from my desk with a thick folder in his hands. This Nash character, his full name, is Damen Cross. He’s 38, divorced, works in medical equipment sales. How do they meet? I asked. Online dating site, Tony replied. She created a profile 2 and 1/2 years ago using her maiden name. 2 and 1/2 years. Even longer than I’d thought.

There’s more. Tony continued, opening the folder. Bank record shows she opened a separate checking account 18 months ago. She’s been funneling money from your joint account. Small amounts, but consistent. About 2,000 a month. 2,000.

I felt my blood pressure rising. What you been using it for? Hotels, restaurants, clothes, gifts for him, Tony said. And there’s something else you need to see. He handed me a photograph that made my stomach drop.

Monica and Damen Cross at some restaurant looking cozy and intimate.

But that wasn’t what shocked me. It was the time stamp. The photo was taken 3 weeks ago after I’d already caught her and thrown her out. She’s still seeing him. I asked. Never stopped. Tony confirmed. They met twice this week alone. I stared at the photo, feeling any remaining sympathy I had from Monica evaporate completely. She’d been begging me for forgiveness while continuing to see her lover behind my back. There’s one more thing, Tony said. Cross has been married twice before. Both marriages ended due to his affairs. Your wife is in his first rodeo. That evening, I sat Samuel and Sierra down for the conversation I’ve been dreading.

Your mother and I are getting divorced, I said gently. Sierra, my 14-year-old, started crying immediately. Is it because of us? No, sweetheart, I said, pulling her close. This is nothing to do with you. Or Samuel. Sometimes adults make choices that hurt the people they love. Samuel, who already knew the truth, put his arm around his sister.

Mom made some bad decisions, Sierra.

Dad’s not the one who messed up. Can’t you fix it? Sierra asked through her tears. “Some things can’t be fixed,” I said, my heartbreaking for her. But what won’t change is how much your mother and I love you both. The next day, Monica showed up at the house while I was at work and the kids were at school. When I got home, I found her going to my home office. What are you doing? I demanded.

Monica spun around holding some of my business files. I have a right to know about our finances. Our finances? I took the files from her hands. You mean the finances you’ve been stealing from for 2 years? Her face went pale. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I walked to my desk and pulled out the bank statements Tony had given me. 2,000 a month, Monica. For 2 years. That’s $48,000 you’ve taken from our family to fund your affair. Monica’s composure finally broke. I needed that money. You don’t understand what it’s been like living with you. Living with me? I asked incredulously. I’m not the one who’s been cheating and lying and stealing.

You’re cold, Neil. Monica said, her voice rising. You come home, you eat, you work, you sleep. When’s the last time you told me you love me? When’s the last time you gave me a reason to? I shot back. The worst part about Monica’s betrayal wasn’t just the personal devastation, it was the professional implications. She’d been handling the books for Whitman Industrial Supply for the past 5 years. And now I had to question everything. I spent the weekend going through every financial record, every invoice, every transaction she’d touched. What I found made me sick.

She’d been embezzling from the business, too. Small amounts of first, 500 here, a,000 there, marked as business expenses or supplier payments that never actually happened. Over 3 years, she’d stolen nearly $75,000 from the company. Monday morning, I called Richard immediately.

This changes everything,” Richard said after I’d explained what I discovered.

“Business embezzlement is a felony. She could face serious jail time. I don’t want to destroy her,” I said. “But I can’t let this slide either. You need to protect yourself and your business,” Richard advised. “File police report, document everything. If you don’t take action, you could be seen as complicit.” That afternoon, I had to have the hardest conversation of my life with my father-in-law, Vernon Puit. Vernon was 71 years old, a retired steel worker who’d always treated me like the son he never had. He’d helped me get my first big contract 20 years ago. And I respected him more than almost any man I knew. Vernon, I need to tell you something about Monica, I said when he answered his door. We sat in his living room and I laid out everything. The affair, the stolen money, the lies.

Vernon listened without interrupting, his weathered face growing harder with each revelation. How much did she take?

He asked finally. From the business?

75,000. From our personal accounts?

Another 48,000. Vernon was quiet for a long moment. Then he did something I didn’t expect. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a checkbook. What are you doing? I asked. I’m writing you a check for $125,000.

Vernon said, his voice steady. Vernon, no. I can’t let you dash. You can and you will, he interrupted. My daughter stole from you. That makes it my responsibility to make it right. She’s not your responsibility, I said. Vernon looked up at me with steel in his eyes.

I raised her to be better than this. I failed somewhere along the way, and now you’re paying the price. You didn’t fail, I assured him. Monica made her own choices. Maybe, Vernon said, continuing to write the check. But I won’t let her destroy the business you built. You’ve been more of a son to me than she’s been a daughter. He handed me the check. And I saw his hands were shaking slightly.

There’s one more thing you should know.

Vernon said, “Monica’s mother and I are cutting her out of our will. What she did to you and those kids is unforgivable. The loyalty from my father-in-law meant more to me than he’d ever know.” It also showed me something important. Even Monica’s own father recognized that what she’d done was beyond redemption. Two weeks after filing for divorce, I discovered that Monik and Damen Cross had escalated their relationship in a way that threatened everything I’d built. Tony, my private investigator, called me at work with urgent news. Neil, we have a problem, Tony said. Cross has been taking photos of your financial documents. Someone’s been feeding him inside information about your business.

What kind of information? I asked, feeling a chill run down my spine.

Client lists, supplier contracts, profit margins. The kind of stuff that could destroy your competitive advantage if it fell into the wrong hands. I sat down heavily in my office chair. Monica, that’s my guess, Tony confirmed. She had access to everything before you threw her out. Question is, what’s crossplanning to do with it? I found out the next day when three of my biggest clients called to cancel their contracts. Each one gave the same vague excuse about exploring other options and reassessing their supply chain needs.

But when I pressed Jim Patterson from Midwest Manufacturing, a guy I’ve been doing business with for 15 years, he finally told me the truth. Neil, someone’s been calling our purchasing department. Jim said reluctantly.

They’re offering the same equipment you provide, but at 20% below your prices.

They knew details about our current contracts that only you should know. Who was calling? I asked, though I already suspected the answer. Guy named Cross said he worked for a new distribution company called Superior Industrial Supply. My blood boiled. Damen Cross wasn’t just sleeping with my wife. He was using information she’d given him to destroy my business. I called Richard immediately. This is industrial espionage. Richard said after I explained the situation, “It’s a federal crime. We can not only stop him, but we can sue for damages. Do it, I said without hesitation. Whatever it takes.

That evening, I sat Samuel and Sierra down for another difficult conversation.