His Darkest Secret

"You've ruined me! You've destroyed my life!"

The man shouting at me was none other than my husband, Bernard Sampson.

Six months ago, we were still civil, even loving.

Had I not witnessed that scene six months ago, perhaps we would still be living the quiet, simple happiness we once shared.

We had even been planning to have a child. But those plans-and everything else-shattered in an instant.

Along with our plans, our home fell apart.

That day six months ago was seared into my memory. Bernard had left for work at 7 a.m., as usual.

He never cared for the office cafeteria, so I would always prepare his meals, packed neatly in a lunchbox. But that morning, he forgot to take it with him.

Seeing the lonely lunchbox on the table, I called him multiple times, but none of my calls were answered. After a quick tidy-up, I decided to bring it to his office myself.

Since Bernard graduated, he'd been working at a financial firm. I was very familiar with his office.

Just as I reached his office door, I heard a woman moaning inside.

A deep sense of unease gripped me. I hesitated but eventually cracked the door open just a sliver.

The scene inside struck me like a bolt of lightning.

Papers were scattered across the floor, the desk completely cleared. A woman lay pinned on top of it, her face contorted in a mix of pain and ecstasy.

The two of them were tangled together, inseparable.

No matter what, I'd recognize that man anywhere-it was unmistakably my husband.

My hand clenched the door handle so tightly that my knuckles turned white. My tears streamed uncontrollably, like a dam bursting.

Anger and betrayal swirled within me, threatening to consume me whole.

I recognized the woman too. I'd seen her before when I visited his office. She was always by his side.

He had introduced her to me as a freshly graduated intern. Back then, I hadn't thought much of it.

Now, seeing them like this, I felt a surge of fury and despair that I couldn't begin to describe.

I wanted to storm in and destroy them both!

How dare they? How could they?

But then I thought, what would killing them accomplish? I'd only end up ruining my own life, condemned as a murderer.

Yet simply walking away felt unbearable. The injustice, the humiliation, the sheer rage-they were too much to ignore.

With trembling hands, I took out my phone and started recording the most cruel scene of my life.

It was the phone he had gifted me just the day before, the latest model with a high-definition camera-ideal for my love of photography.

He would never have guessed that the first video I'd record with it would be of him and his mistress, tangled together in betrayal.

The high-resolution lens captured every sordid detail-their movements, their expressions, every disgusting twist of their bodies.

They were utterly oblivious, lost in their sordid passion. They even changed positions several times, their shameless actions on full display.

The sight made me sick to my stomach. Disgust overtook the pain in my heart.

On the way home, I felt numb, like a ghost drifting through the streets.

Every breath felt like it was going to kill me.

The image of their intertwined bodies played on a relentless loop in my mind. I collapsed onto the pavement, clutching my head, sobbing uncontrollably.

In that moment, I felt like a stray dog, unwanted and abandoned.

Did I even have a home anymore?

As my phone buzzed incessantly, it shattered my chaotic thoughts. Even the act of answering the call drained every ounce of my energy.

The caller was my friend Amanda, who worked at a hotel and knew her way around checking booking records.

Over the phone, Amanda, unaware of the disaster unfolding in my life, assumed that Bernard and I were still the blissfully loving couple everyone envied. She joked about how romantic it was for us to be booking rooms to spice things up.

I couldn't muster a response. After a long silence, she hung up and sent me a message.

It was a long list of Bernard's hotel bookings. Some of the rooms he'd booked were even sensual-themed ones.

Every one of them was charged to his account.

So that was where he had been going on those weekends when he always had some flimsy excuse to step out. I used to trust him implicitly, never questioning his absences. Now, it all felt like a sick joke.

He cheated on me.

The man I married was filthy, inside and out.

Marriage, I realized, was like a glossy veneer-polished on the surface, but hiding rot underneath.

We had been married for four years, after dating all through college as the couple everyone admired. We tied the knot right after graduation.

Now, looking back, I realized it was nothing but a cruel farce. Gripping my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white, I was overcome with cold, unrelenting rage.

Let them go unpunished? Never.

When Bernard came home that evening, I didn't confront him right away. I acted like nothing was wrong, greeted him warmly, and asked about his day as I usually would.

While he showered, I unlocked his phone and went through his messages with her.

Every word, every sickening exchange was like a fresh blow to my stomach. My nausea threatened to overwhelm me, but I forced myself to record every single text.

Then, I did something reckless. It was the boldest move I'd made in four years!

For once, I didn't hesitate. My mind was consumed with nothing but the thrill of revenge.

Let them pay for what they did. Let them suffer.

I bundled the video I had recorded earlier that day along with the screenshots of their conversations and sent everything to Bernard's company.

As I hit send, I exhaled deeply, feeling like I had finally punctuated the end of my miserable marriage with a bold, satisfying period.

It was over.

Everything was over.

The fallout was immediate. Bernard was suspended from work the very next day, and his mistress-the intern-was fired.

I heard through the grapevine that her departure wasn't quiet. Her belongings were thrown into the trash before she could collect them, leaving her with nothing but a note on the desk strewn with angry, vulgar notes from colleagues.

Apparently, they hadn't liked her either.

Still, I wasn't satisfied.

I wanted out.

I wanted a divorce from the man who betrayed me.

When Bernard found out that I had leaked the evidence, and especially when he heard my demand for divorce, he flew into a fit of rage.

Which led to the scene before me now.

He was furious, his anger boiling over to the point where he seemed ready to lash out, his body shaking with barely contained violence.

The same eyes that once gazed at me with so much love now glared with pure hatred.

There wasn't a hint of remorse.

In his mind, none of this was his fault. He blamed me for everything, even though it was his actions that destroyed our family.

It was laughable. This was the man I had once loved to the point of losing myself.

If only things had stopped there, maybe it would have been a bittersweet ending. Just four years wasted on a failed marriage.

But a week later, the intern jumped from a building. She took her own life.