Divorcing the Husband Who Betrayed Me

"Okay. We don't need him anymore."

I stumbled back home and started packing.

Then, out of nowhere, my phone screen lit up. A new post from Hubert on his social media feed.

In the photo, Roberta was leaning against his shoulder, Kevin sitting on his lap, the three of them beaming like a warm, perfect little family.

The caption read: 【With me to back you up, no one will ever push you around.】

I swiped past it, my face blank, and tossed the phone aside.

I looked at the suitcase holding everything my daughter and I owned. It was barely half full.

I laughed at myself.

Seven years of this marriage, and it turned out the whole thing had rotted through long ago. Nothing left but a hollow shell.

I opened a rental app.

I wanted to find a place close to Westfield Elementary.

Cynthia was about to start first grade, and no matter how hard things got, I would never let her suffer even one more slight.

Just then, my phone rang. The admissions office.

The voice on the other end didn't carry a trace of warmth.

"Ms. Matthews, I'm sorry to inform you that we've received a signed report stating you have a criminal record."

"That doesn't meet our enrollment requirements. Cynthia's enrollment slot has been revoked."

"What?"

My heart dropped like a stone, and I raced to the admissions office like a woman gone mad.

I pushed open the office door. Hubert was sitting inside, chatting and laughing easily with several school administrators.

"You reported us?"

I rushed up to him, my voice shaking as I demanded an answer.

There wasn't a flicker of guilt on his face. If anything, he looked stern, all business.

"I only stated the facts."

"The school has its rules. I can't ask for special treatment just because she's my daughter."

I looked at that sanctimonious face of his, and my stomach churned.

The next second, he picked up a stack of documents and pushed them toward me, his tone as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

"Cynthia can't get in this year anyway, so the extra slot might as well go to Kevin."

"You owe them, after all."

He looked at me without a shred of shame. "Call it compensation for beating Kevin."

"As for Cynthia, there'll be a transfer slot next year. I'll take care of it for her personally."

So that was it.

He'd gone through all of this, destroyed his own daughter's enrollment.

Just to pave the way for Roberta's son.

Looking at his smug, self-satisfied face, I suddenly felt that even arguing was a waste of breath.

I took the stack of documents and nodded calmly.

"Fine. I agree."

Hubert blinked, clearly not expecting me to agree so readily.

Then he smiled, thoroughly pleased. "Now you're being sensible. We're all family from now on. Don't be so dramatic about everything."

After we both signed as parents.

I looked at him, long and hard.

He had no idea I'd slipped a divorce agreement in among those documents.

From this day on, my daughter and I would have nothing more to do with him.

Hubert signed without reading a word.

He was in a hurry to take Roberta and her son abroad, a vacation to celebrate Kevin getting into school.

At the door, he suddenly noticed my suitcase.

His brow furrowed with suspicion.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"If you're feeling low and want to get away, you can come along on the trip abroad. I'll cover your ticket."

I took my daughter's hand and left without answering him.

Without looking back.

I'd booked the earliest flight home to our hometown.

In the moment before boarding.

I opened my email and gathered up Hubert's spending records from these past few years, along with the screenshots of Roberta's social media posts.

Packaged them all together and hit send.

The recipient was the review board at his university.

Along with his parents and relatives, and the official account of Roberta's company.

Then I pressed the power button and shut off my phone.

Holding Cynthia's small hand, I boarded the plane.

Hubert Delgado. Roberta Simmons.

The two of you owe me and my daughter, and it's time to pay.

The reckoning you have coming has only just begun.