She didn't need to know what I was thinking. Not yet. "Oh, fine, whatever," I said finally, keeping my tone neutral. "If that's what you want to do, go ahead." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Just like that? What happened to all the yelling and the threats of divorce?" I shrugged, feigning indifference. "If it's such a big deal for you, do whatever you want. Go record it if that's what makes you feel better. I won't stop you."
She stared at me, her expression unreadable, before nodding slowly. "Fine, I'll go. Don't worry about me, Tom. I'll have fun without you." I didn't bother responding as she walked out of the room. I felt a strange sense of calm settle over me.
That night, as I lay in bed, her words echoed in my mind. Record the whole thing. I couldn't wrap my head around it. Not only was she eager to sleep with another man, but she had the audacity to suggest recording it like it was some casual, harmless favor. The sheer boldness of it left me reeling.
If Lisa was so eager to throw away our marriage for a night of so-called fun, I'd make sure she owned every consequence of that decision. The night of the party, Lisa was practically glowing as she got ready. She wore a black dress that clung to her figure, paired with heels she hadn't touched in years. She barely looked at me as she grabbed her purse. "I'll be back late," she said, heading for the door.
"Don't forget your camera," I muttered, unable to resist the jab. She shot me a glare but didn't say anything, and then she was gone. As soon as the door closed, I sprang into action. I called my mom and explained the situation in vague terms, asking if she could take Emma and Ben for the weekend. She didn't ask too many questions, thankfully.
I packed the kids' bags, dropping them off at her house within the hour. Back at home, I poured myself a stiff drink and sat in silence, imagining what Lisa was doing. Anger and betrayal churned in my gut, but I forced myself to stay calm. This was a temporary situation. Tomorrow, I'd have the proof I needed, and I'd start the process of cutting her out of my life.
The next morning, Lisa strolled into the house around 10:00 a.m., looking smug despite her disheveled appearance. Her hair was messy, her makeup smudged, and her dress wrinkled from a long night at the neighbors', but there was a satisfied, almost victorious look in her eyes that turned my stomach. She dropped her purse on the counter and leaned against it, grinning at me like she hadn't just blown up our marriage. "Well?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. I looked at her, my expression flat.
"Well, what?" She smirked and pulled her phone from her bag. "I recorded it just like I said I would," she said, holding it up like some kind of prize. "All the proof you need that it wasn't a big deal. Go ahead. Take a look."