Revenge On My Husband and His Ex-wife

At my daughter's third birthday bash, we had an unexpected crasher.

She claimed she was my husband's legitimate wife.

I didn't buy it—until she slapped a marriage license right in my face.

Seeing that all-too-familiar face on the license, it hit me—I'd been the other woman for five years.

I tried to clear the air, insisting I was just another victim.

She wouldn't hear it and trashed my daughter's million-dollar fairytale cake and her one-of-a-kind Barbie set.

Still fuming, she threatened to tear up my haute couture gown right there.

"Throwing a birthday bash for a homewrecker's kid? Seriously, get real!"

"You squandered the money my husband and I scraped together, and you're going to pay back every cent!"

I gave her a taste of her own medicine with a slap.

Apparently, she forgot that she was wearing the hand-me-downs she once begged me to give her at the thrift market.

If she wanted to settle the score, I was all in.

***

"Mommy, are you the mistress?"

Cooling our heels backstage, my daughter blurted out the question.

Taken aback, I asked, "Why would you think Mommy's the mistress? Who said that?"

Blinking her big, innocent eyes, she replied, "Then why did my teacher say I was the mistress's kid?"

I furrowed my brow and pulled out my phone to get to the bottom of it.

Just as I opened WhatsApp, a status update caught my eye.

[What do I do? Turns out my husband has a secret family, and the kid's practically a kindergartener! Hearing that little twerp call my husband 'daddy'—my world's crumbling!]

Driven by curiosity, I tapped through to her profile.

Two fresh statuses popped up.

[Appreciate the love, folks. He fessed up—he turned down a chick who threw herself at him. But she didn't take no for an answer, got him drunk, and the rest is history!]

[My hubby's a catch and a softie, not a saint. Can't blame him; blame that bed-hopper who used her kid to snag him!]

[I pinch pennies buying used clothes to save for us, but this hussy throws a lavish party with my husband's earnings! What a laugh—like she has any right to celebrate!]

[Tune in for my live teardown of this hussy's party today. Don't miss it!]

Recognizing the profile picture, I realized it was Savannah Beck—the same mom who had wanted my daughter's outgrown clothes.

I planned to donate them, but after connecting on WhatsApp, she played the sympathy card non-stop, pushing me to send more clothes for adults.

Without much thought, I included some adult clothes too.

After getting the clothes, she complained they were filthy, claimed they caused a rash, and conned me out of some cash. Nearly drove me nuts.

Savannah's last update was a link to her live stream.

I clicked it and saw a woman in my cast-offs broadcasting live.

With over 30,000 watching, the chat was bursting with insults towards mistresses.

There was Savannah, leading a live mob scene.

"Folks, this mistress splurged over a million on a cake for her brat. I only found out when I saw the bill on my husband's phone!"

"She prattles about love having no order, the unloved being the real homewrecker. More like she's scheming for my husband's wallet!"

"She dipped into our joint funds—I can stomach her sleeping with my husband, but blowing my money? That's a step too far!"

"Today, I'm reclaiming what's mine!"

Her words knotted my brow.

I'd splurged on a similar cake for today.

My husband thought it was too much, but nothing's too good for my girl.

Cheating's never just one person's fault.

Blaming only the other woman while letting the man off didn't sit right with me.

Just then, my daughter in her tiny dress chimed in, "Isn't that Auntie Savannah, my teacher's sister?"

"She said Auntie Savannah and Daddy were old schoolmates."

With that, I dialed my husband, Dan Simmons.

I hoped I could help somehow.

No answer, so I messaged: [Emma's birthday's kicking off. Can you make it? BTW, know someone named Savannah Beck? Emma's teacher mentioned she's your classmate, seems she's in trouble. Might need a hand.]

As I set my phone down, a racket came from outside.

I made sure Emma was okay, then stepped out to see the fuss.

The moment I exited the lounge room, the door to the dining hall flew open.

A crowd stormed in.

Savannah was at the forefront, yelling that she'd teach the homewrecker some lessons.

She held her phone high, live-streaming the three-meter-tall cake at the center of the hall.

"Look, this pathetic cake cost my husband over a million! She must have duped a lot of money out of him for this. Watch me put an end to this sham!"

As she approached the cake, I yelled, "Wrong place! This is Simmons' birthday party, not some mistress's setup. Leave. Now."

The room was packed with the guests.

I had invited Emma's entire preschool class and their families to make her day special.

I didn't want this mix-up to spoil it.

But before I could say more, she slapped me.

"So, you're the mistress?"

"Wrong place? I came here for you, you snake!"

She thrust the camera in my face, "Look everyone, here's the slut who seduced my drunken husband!"

"Throwing a bash for your brat, really? The nerve!"

"Let's show everyone how a real wife handles a homewrecker!"

I contained my rage, clarifying, "You're confused! My husband is Dan Simmons, and I am no mistress!"

"Please leave my daughter's party now, or things will get ugly!"

Undeterred, Savannah whipped out a marriage certificate and flung it at me.

"Really? Since when is Dan Simmons your husband? He's mine!"

"I've got legal proof. What do you have, bitch?"