He broke my heart, so I shattered his illusions. The moment I discovered his affair, something inside me cracked. The pain was unbearable, a suffocating weight that made it hard to breathe. Nights became sleepless, haunted by images of him with her—laughing, touching, sharing moments that were meant to be ours. He thought I would cry, beg, and plead for his love. He thought I would simply accept my fate as the betrayed wife.

But he underestimated me.

I let the sorrow burn away, leaving behind something sharper—determination. If he could cheat without consequence, then why should I remain loyal to a man who had already abandoned me in every way that mattered? So, I turned the tables. I played by his own rules.

It didn’t take long to find someone who saw me, who appreciated the woman I was, not just the wife I had become. It started as a distraction, but soon, it became something else—freedom. I rediscovered passion, excitement, and the thrill of knowing I was desired again.

When he finally found out, his world crumbled. The certainty he had in my devotion vanished, replaced by disbelief and anger. “You did this to me?” he whispered, as if he had never done the same.

I met his gaze, unflinching. “No,” I said, my voice steady. “You did this to yourself.”

He shattered my heart. I simply returned the favor.