Happy Birthday, He Cheated

Derrick walked out of the bathroom, towel slung around his neck, and flopped down next to me. "What are you spacing out for?"

I blinked up at him.

At thirty, he looked even better—sharper, more put-together.

People used to envy us.

"Audrey, how'd you score a guy like Derrick?"

I used to think I was lucky too.

Lucky to have someone who loved me like that.

But now I knew—the guy who always put me first, who handed over company shares like it was nothing, could still cheat.

"It's nothing," I said. "Someone called you earlier. I picked up, but they didn't say anything. Local number. Maybe a friend? Here."

I handed him the phone, eyes locked on him.

He took it like it was no big deal. "Probably a wrong number. Don't stress."

But I saw it—that little finger twitch on the screen.

I knew that move.

He was lying.

"Babe, why don't you go rest?" he said. "I just remembered a file at work I forgot to finish."

"Right now?"

"Yeah. It's urgent."

He was already set on leaving. I just nodded. Told him to be careful.

Derrick grabbed his coat and bolted.

I dropped onto the couch, eyes glued to the door.

What kind of urgent document needs the CEO at midnight? He didn't even try to make it believable.

A bitter smile crept in.

Maybe he thought I loved him too much to ever catch on.

I bit my lip, grabbed my phone, and called a friend—a private investigator. Asked him to tail Derrick.

That night, just like I feared, Derrick never came home.

***

Next morning, eyes sore and puffy, I grabbed my phone.

A string of messages from my friend lit up the screen:

[Take a look at this, Audrey.]

[If this isn't a misunderstanding, you'll wanna keep this.]

Pain shot through my chest.

There was a video attached.

My breath caught. Hands started to shake.

That video felt like Pandora's box—one tap and everything would fall apart.

Hands shaking, I hit play.

Derrick's car was parked on the curb. A woman slid into the passenger seat.

Sabrina.

The camera zoomed in.

Inside, they were all over each other—kissing, gasping, totally wrapped up in it.

The audio made it worse. Every sound stabbed me.

Felt like my heart was being shredded.

I don't even know how long it went on, but eventually, they climbed out.

Sabrina latched onto Derrick's hand, smirking. "Mr. Stratton, you finally showed. Not getting any at home? That desperate, huh?"

His voice dropped, thick with lust. "I haven't touched my wife."

He grabbed her by the neck, whispering, "She's nothing compared to you. You're naughty."

Sabrina looked thrilled—didn't even flinch at the insult. Just pressed closer. "Well then, Mr. Stratton, you're all mine."

"Don't cry tonight," he said.

Then they slipped into the apartment building.

The video cut off.

And me?

I felt nothing.

No tears. No heartbreak.

I yanked open the cabinet, grabbed a bottle, and took a long swig.

Burned all the way down—made my eyes sting.

I sank to the floor, trying to make sense of it. Why would Derrick do this?

I didn't have an answer.

But one thing was clear—this marriage was done.