The Perfect Wife’s Revenge
I gave up everything—my dreams, my career, my voice—just to keep my husband’s secrets hidden and his life flawless. But when I finally chased after him, desperate to catch him in his lies, I discovered something shocking: I wasn’t the only one watching him.
The List That Ruled My Life
My husband, Kevin, had rules. So many rules.
Not just preferences—demands. The kind only I knew how to fulfill perfectly.
So I made a list. A little cheat sheet to keep myself from failing him.
HUBBY’S LIST:
🧅 NO onions—ever. Not in sauces, not in soups, not even if they’re invisible.
🥩 Steak—medium rare, thick cut only. Anything else is an insult.
🌹 Roses in the garden—must bloom year-round. No excuses.
👕 Shirts ironed stiff, collars sharp enough to cut paper.
🛏️ Bedsheets—snow-white, hotel crisp. Not a single wrinkle.
🧽 Kitchen spotless—no crumbs, no stains, ever.
🫖 Tea set polished every Sunday. Fingerprints are a crime.
🌿 Herbs by the window—fresh, never dried. Because dried herbs are for peasants.
I lived in fear of forgetting something. One wrong move, one tiny mistake, and I’d see that look—the one that told me I’d failed.
So I started recording reminders. Little voice notes to myself, played back at night like twisted bedtime stories.
And then, somewhere between folding his socks and scrubbing the floors, I started recording my own thoughts too.
The First Recording That Was Just for Me
[Monday, 6:12 a.m.] Voice recording 487:
“First run in five years. Feels like I’m running away from myself. Maybe I am.”
Fifteen minutes before that, I’d been standing at the ironing board since 5 a.m., pressing yet another stupid pillowcase.
For four years, my little library—the room where I used to write inspiring stories about strong women—had been turned into a linen storage dungeon.
I quit my job at the newspaper because Kevin said I was “needed more at home.”
“With hands like yours? You’re needed here more than anywhere else,” he’d said, satisfied.
And so I stayed. Trapped.
[Monday, 7:15 a.m.] Voice recording 488:
“Kevin left for work. Kissed my cheek. No eye contact. Ordered grilled veggies, steak, and a lemon tart for dinner. Must buy groceries. Note to self: get new fresh lilies.”
But right after that recording, something inside me snapped.
I was done being needed by the vacuum cleaner and the laundry basket—but not by my own husband.
So instead of pulling out dinner recipes, I pulled out my old sneakers.
No makeup. No hairbrush.
Just me, the street, and the cold morning air.
I thought I’d run one block, feel something, and go back to folding towels like a good little wife.
But then—
I saw it.
Kevin’s car. Parked on the corner. Engine off. No movement.
I ducked behind a tree like some kind of pathetic spy.
What was he doing?
A few minutes later, he stepped out—no briefcase, no laptop—and disappeared down the metro stairs.
[Monday, 7:38 a.m.] Voice recording 489:
“Kevin took the Tube. He always said he drives straight to the office. Why lie about a train? Where is he really going?”
The Truth Hits Hard
Hours later, I stood in my prison of a kitchen, staring at the plates I’d washed and the curtains I’d ironed.
And it hit me.
This wasn’t my home.
I wasn’t his wife.
I was the unpaid maid. The ghost who folded his socks.
While he kept real secrets in his pocket.
[Monday, 8:03 a.m.] Voice recording 490:
“Tomorrow—disguise. Found Dad’s old baseball cap, last year’s cheap dark sunglasses, big hoodie. Must blend in. Must not let him see me. Let’s see who he really kisses goodbye.”
The Sting Operation
The next morning, Kevin was already gone when I left.
I found his car in the same spot.
I crouched behind a stinking trash bin (coffee, perfume, and regret) and watched him smile at his phone.
That smile. The one he never gave me anymore.
[Tuesday, 6:57 a.m.] Voice recording 492:
“He’s waiting. Smiles at his phone. Who makes him smile like that?”
Five minutes later, he walked to the Tube like it was his usual routine.
I followed.
Two cars behind. Close enough to see. Not close enough to be seen.
And then—I saw HER.
University backpack. Young. Bright. Smiling up at him like he was her hero.
My heart shattered.
[Tuesday, 7:18 a.m.] Voice recording 493:
“There she is. He has a type: young, soft, bright. Nothing like the woman ironing his sheets at home.”
I slipped into the next train car, head down, phone ready.
Kevin’s hand rested on her knee. She giggled.
I wanted to scream. But I stayed silent.
👀 Mini To-Do List:
✅ Don’t cry.
✅ Record everything.
They got off five stops later. I followed, hiding behind an old man with a cane.
But then—I realized I wasn’t the only one watching.
A tall man in a tan jacket stood nearby. Eyes locked on her.
When she turned, he turned.
When she laughed, his jaw clenched.
[Tuesday, 7:32 a.m.] Voice recording 494:
“The stranger’s watching her. WHO is he?”
The Café Showdown
They went into a cheap café. I stood outside, pretending to scroll my phone. Took a blurry photo—but proof.
The tall man sat at the next table, holding a newspaper upside down.
Our eyes met.
He raised a brow: You too?
I mouthed: “Wife.”
He mouthed back: “Father.”
[Tuesday, 7:42 a.m.] Voice recording 495:
“Her father. Here to see who’s wasting her future. I’m here to see who’s wasting mine.”
We moved behind a fake potted palm, hidden from view.
“She’s twenty-two. He’s…?” I whispered.
“Forty,” the man—Mark—growled.
He rubbed his neck. “I’m Mark.”
“Rachel.”
“Nice to meet you, Rachel. I guess.”
His eyes flicked to the recorder in my sleeve. “Why are you even recording this?”
“For the divorce,” I said coldly. “I want every lie, every promise, every disgusting word on tape.”
He nodded. “Good. Judges love proof.”
Then he looked back at his daughter, laughing in Kevin’s lap.
“Her mother thinks I’m too controlling. Let her see who our daughter really is.”
We both laughed—a bitter, hollow sound.
👀 Shared Plan (scribbled on a napkin):
🎙️ Record every lie.
📸 Take pictures—faces, dates, proof.
☕ Catch every promise they’ll regret.
I hit record again.
[Tuesday, 7:55 a.m.] Voice recording 496:
“Kevin: ‘I’ll leave her for you. Soon. You’re all I want.’
Her: ‘Daddy doesn’t get it. I want you. Come over tomorrow night—Mom’s on a business trip. You’ll love her big fancy house just for us. On my B-day.’”
I snapped another photo—Kevin kissing her, her spoon dangling from her fingers.
Mark watched me. “Do you have a plan?”
“Divorce.”
He shook his head. “That’s not enough. They’ll just keep lying. You need to make sure they never forget this.”
A slow smile spread across my face. “Maybe I do have a plan… but you’ll have to help me.”
Mark’s mouth curved. “Tell me what to do.”
“We need to meet your ex-wife.”
The Birthday Surprise from Hell
[Wednesday, 6:58 p.m.] Voice recording 498:
“I’ve never been here before. I should feel like an intruder. But I don’t. Maybe this is where I get my life back.”
Mark led me into his ex-wife’s house. Laura.
She stared at me, confused, then furious. “You brought his wife here?”
I stepped forward. “I needed you to see what your daughter’s been doing.”
She scoffed. “She’s young, she’d never—”
Then Mark showed her the photo.
And I played the recording.
“Come over tomorrow night—Mom’s on a business trip…”
Laura’s hand flew to her mouth. “I was going to give her the rest of her college money next week. And she was going to run away with… him?”
Then she turned on me, eyes blazing. “This is your husband! How did you let him—”
My voice cracked. “I was no one. Just his housekeeper. His cook. His crisp white sheets.”
Laura’s expression hardened. “Then we punish them both.”
We waited in the dark.
[Wednesday, 7:48 p.m.] Voice recording 499:
“Waiting in the dark. They think they’re coming home to romance. We’ve prepared something better.”
Then—keys in the lock.
Whispers. Laughter.
The lamp flicked on.
Laura stood, voice like ice. “Happy birthday, sweetheart. Hope you’re proud.”
The girl froze. Kevin’s arm dropped like he’d been burned.
“Mom—”
“Don’t.”
Kevin stammered, but Laura cut him off. “You were going to use my house for your little affair? My money to run away?”
I stepped forward. “I have everything on tape, Kevin. Every lie. And our prenup? Adultery means you get nothing.”
His face went white. “You wouldn’t—”
“Oh, I would.”
Laura turned to her daughter. “No college money. No car. Go live with your ‘grown-up boyfriend’—see how long he keeps you when he’s broke.”
Mark and I exchanged a look. One nod.
And then we left.
I didn’t go home—not while Kevin was there, packing his bags like the coward he was.
So Mark bought me coffee. Strong, bitter, and perfect.
[Wednesday, 7:59 p.m.] Voice recording 500:
“Guess revenge does taste better than lemon tart. Note to self: when you ever need a partner in crime, pick someone who hates lies as much as you do.”
To be continued…