My husband was stroking my best friend's hair, his voice thick with worry. "It's been weeks, and I still don't have anything solid on her affair. The cameras are out of the picture now—it's only gonna get tougher from here."
"Relax, will you?"
My so-called best friend didn't seem bothered at all. She spoke in a calm, almost bored tone, "Julian took the money. He'll deliver. We just have to be patient."
So that was it.
A cold shock rushed through me, followed by a sick, sinking feeling. Julian had been their plant.
Their little pawn, set up to lure me into a mistake.
No wonder my husband kept nudging—sometimes outright pushing—me to see Julian for lactation support. The whole thing was a setup.
For a second, I felt a flicker of relief. At least I hadn't taken the bait.
But then—why hadn't Julian pushed harder?
Back then, if he had really wanted to, I wouldn't have stood a chance.
The thought didn't make me feel grateful. If anything, it pissed me off.
Whatever his reasons were, I hated being someone's puppet.
I didn't waste another day. As soon as I had all the evidence, I went to a lawyer and had the divorce papers drawn up.
Julian tried texting me. I read the messages, ignored every one, then blocked him for good.
When I finally confronted my husband with the divorce papers, he broke down instantly. He dropped to his knees, pleading. "Baby, I messed up—I'm sorry! I swear it'll never happen again!"
"It was her—she came on to me! I'll cut her off, I promise! We have a kid… please, just give me another chance—"
I didn't say a word.
But then the door flew open. My best friend stormed in and slapped him hard across the face.
"Who was it who said he didn't love her anymore? Who begged me to help dig up dirt on her?" she snarled. "Now that you're busted, you're going to blame me? You're disgusting!"
She had a temper, and she wasn't holding back. Her words were sharp, meant to cut.
My husband wasn't having it. "You're the one who started this! If it weren't for you—"
She laughed coldly. "You can't keep it in your pants and now it's my fault? How pathetic."
And with that, she turned and walked out.
My husband crumpled to the floor, shaking—too angry to speak, too ashamed to look at me.
I stood there, watching them destroy each other, and didn't say a thing.
A mistake is a mistake. There's no rewriting it.
He refused to sign the papers, so I took the evidence to court.
With proof of his infidelity, I was awarded full custody of our child and two-thirds of our shared assets.
This city held nothing for me anymore. Once everything was finalized, I decided to take my child and my mom and just leave. Start over somewhere new.
But right before my flight, at the airport, I saw someone I didn't expect.
Julian.
He looked rough—hair a mess, beard grown out, dark circles under his eyes. He looked tired and full of regret.
"You know everything now…"
He forced a weak smile when he saw my cold stare. "I let you down."
"Should I thank you?" I replied, voice flat. "If it weren't for your 'mercy,' I'd probably be the one begging right now."
"Don't say that. This is on me."
He looked genuinely torn up, but I was done.
"We're even. Stay out of my life."