I put a laxative in my husband’s coffee before he left to see his mistress…

The night wore on, the lights dimming, the crowd thinning. I left the bar with a sense of triumph, the night air crisp against my skin. I walked back to my car, my heels clicking on the pavement, each step a reminder that I was moving forward.

When I finally pulled into the driveway, the house was dark, the windows blackened like empty eyes. I turned the key, the lock clicking, and stepped inside, the familiar  scent of coffee lingering faintly in the hallway.

Home& Garden

 

Return

The house was quiet, too quiet. The upstairs  bathroom  door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. I hesitated, a knot forming in my stomach, then pushed it open.

The room was a mess of water and tiles, a half‑filled toilet bowl, a small puddle spreading across the floor. The mirror was fogged, a smear of something dark across the glass. I stared at the scene, the reality of what had happened settling like dust.

My phone buzzed on the counter. A text from an unknown number:

Countertops

 

Hey, sorry about the mess. I think you should see this.

I opened the attachment. A photo of a hotel suite, the bed neatly made, a bottle of the same expensive perfume that had filled the bedroom that morning perched on the nightstand. On the pillow, a handwritten note:

For you, Caroline.

My breath caught. I turned, heart pounding, and saw a small envelope tucked under the bathroom sink. I pulled it out, my fingers trembling, and unfolded the paper inside.

Bathroom

 

It was a receipt from a boutique boutique perfume shop, dated two days ago, for a bottle of “Eau de Lune”—the same scent he had sprayed that morning. The total was $250, paid with his credit card.

My mind raced. The message from Caroline, the perfume, the secret meeting—all of it snapped into a new shape. He hadn’t just been meeting a secretary; he had been seeing someone who knew his preferences intimately, someone who could order the exact fragrance he loved.