I found out that my husband was on a dating app. Instead of confronting him, I created a fake profile and started chatting with him.
Playing along, I invited him to meet up for a night out of town.
That evening, he told me he had been “urgently called to work” and left.
I stayed silent and let him go.
At 5:00 AM, he stumbled into the house, reeking of cologne and guilt.
I sat at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, watching him like a stranger.
He froze when he saw me, eyes wide, face pale.
“Didn’t expect me to be up this early?” I asked calmly.
He scratched the back of his neck. “I… The client meeting ran long. You know how these things go.”
“Oh, I know exactly how things go,” I said, sliding my phone across the table.
On the screen was our entire chat — the fake profile, the messages, and the final invite to the hotel he had just returned from.
He stared at it. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
“You were talking to me, James. The whole time. You said things to a stranger you haven’t said to your wife in years.”
“I—I didn’t know it was you,” he stammered.
“Exactly,” I whispered. “You didn’t even recognize your own wife.”
He dropped into a chair, defeated.
“I wasn’t sure what I’d do when you walked back in,” I said, standing. “But I think I know now.”
I picked up my bag, walked to the door, and before I left, I turned and added, “Good luck finding someone who’ll love the real you… because apparently, not even you do.”
And with that, I was gone.