The night I found out about David’s affair, my hands shook as I held his phone, reading the messages between him and his lover. My stomach churned with nausea, and tears blurred my vision, but I wiped them away. Ten years of marriage had led me to this—deception, betrayal, and a broken heart. I wanted to scream, to confront him, to demand answers. But instead, I chose a different path. If he was going to play dirty, then I would, too.

I didn’t confront him immediately. Instead, I pretended like everything was normal. I smiled when he came home late, made dinner like always, and played the role of the perfect wife. But behind that façade, I was planning my next move. I decided to have my own affair. It wasn’t hard to find someone; I’d always had admirers, but I never entertained them. This time, I did. I reconnected with an old friend from college, Michael, who had always had a soft spot for me.

We met for drinks, just to catch up, but soon, the chemistry between us reignited. What started as innocent meetings turned into something more, something physical. Every moment with Michael was a reminder that I wasn’t trapped in David’s world anymore. I could have my own life, my own desires, my own secrets.

When I eventually confronted David about his affair, I didn’t scream or accuse him. I simply let him know that I knew—and that I had been doing the same. His reaction was priceless. He had expected guilt, perhaps tears, maybe even forgiveness. But what he didn’t expect was that I had beaten him at his own game. I wasn’t the victim anymore. I was the one in control, and in the end, I walked away with my head held high.