But cracks have a way of becoming chasms. The anniversary party had been my last-ditch effort to resurrect something that was already dead. I spent weeks planning every detail: the orchestra, the flowers, the menu that featured all of Hayes’s favorites. I even bought the dress, a stunning white gown that echoed our wedding day, hoping to remind him of the promises we had made. Instead, I watched him make new promises to someone else.
Tiffany Riker. His twenty-eight-year-old marketing coordinator. Blonde, ambitious, and apparently patient enough to wait for the perfect moment to claim her prize publicly.
The ride home from the anniversary party was silent except for the sound of Danielle’s angry breathing beside me in the passenger seat. I had driven us to the event in my own car. Thank God for small favors. At least I didn’t have to endure Hayes and his mistress in my space.
«Are you okay, Mom?» Danielle asked as we pulled into our driveway.
I looked at our house. The house that had sheltered our family, hosted birthday parties and Christmas mornings, and witnessed bedtime stories and first-day-of-school photos. It stood there in the moonlight like a beautiful lie.
«I will be,» I said, and for the first time in months, I meant it.
We climbed the front steps together. I unlocked the door with hands that weren’t shaking anymore. The fury had crystallized into something harder, colder, more dangerous: purpose.
«What are we going to do?» Danielle asked.
I looked at my daughter, my brilliant, fierce, fearless daughter who had inherited the best parts of both Hayes and me. She deserved better than growing up watching her mother be humiliated. She deserved to see what real strength looked like.
«We’re going to pack,» I said. «And then we’re going to show your father exactly what he’s lost.»
The first call I made was to Kristen Austin, the real estate agent. «Kristen, it’s Gladys Kingston.» I glanced at the clock: 11:47 p.m. «I need you to list my house tonight.»
«Gladys, is everything… Wait, did you say tonight?»
«Yes. The sooner the better. I want it on the market by morning.»
There was a pause. «Honey, are you sure about this? It’s awfully sudden.»
«I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.»
While Danielle packed her room, I moved through our home with military precision. Seventeen years of marriage yields a lot of possessions, but I was surprisingly selective. I took my grandmother’s jewelry, my books, my photographs with Danielle, and my personal documents. Everything else could rot for all I cared.
The hardest part was our bedroom. The king-size bed where I had slept alone more nights than together in recent months. The walk-in closet where Hayes’s expensive suits hung beside my conservative dresses. The dresser where our wedding portrait sat, mocking me with its frozen happiness.
I took the portrait and walked downstairs to the kitchen. The gas stove lit with a soft whoosh. I held the photograph over the flame and watched our younger selves curl and blacken at the edges. Hayes’s face disappeared first, consumed by fire until only my smiling image remained. How appropriate.
The second call was to my bank’s emergency line for valued customers. «Mrs. Kingston, how can I help you at this hour?»
«I need to move money from my joint account to my personal account. All of it.»
«That’s quite a large sum, ma’am. Are you certain?»
«Completely certain. And I need to freeze the joint account immediately after.»
My grandmother’s inheritance hadn’t just bought our house. It had seeded Hayes’s business ventures, funded his dreams, and bankrolled our lifestyle. Legally, that money was as much mine as his. Morally, it was mine alone. He had forfeited his claim the moment he put his hands on another woman.
By 2 a.m., Danielle and I had loaded my car with everything that mattered. The house felt hollow around us, like a beautiful shell with its soul extracted. «Mom, look at this,» Danielle said, holding up her phone.
The screen showed a shaky video of the anniversary party, specifically the moment I slapped Tiffany. The caption read: «Wife slaps husband’s mistress at anniversary party. #dramaalert #justice #karmawoman.» It had already been viewed fifty thousand times.
«Great,» I muttered. «I’m going viral for all the wrong reasons.»
«Are you kidding?» Danielle grinned. «Mom, you’re a legend. Look at these comments.» She scrolled through hundreds of responses. «‘Queen behavior.’ ‘This is what happens when you mess with the wrong woman.’ ‘That slap was personal and I’m here for it.’ ‘Find someone who defends their kids like this mom.'»
Despite everything, I felt a smile tug at my lips. Maybe going viral wasn’t so bad after all.
The third call was to Mrs. Melinda Jasper, the most ruthless divorce attorney in the state. I had met her at charity events: a sharp-eyed woman with silver hair and a reputation for leaving unfaithful husbands financially and socially decimated.
«Mrs. Jasper, this is Gladys Kingston. I need your help.»
«Mrs. Kingston, I saw the video. Quite the right hook you have there.»
«It was a slap.»
«Even better. More elegant. What can I do for you?»
«I want a divorce. Fast, thorough, and devastating.»
«My specialty. I’ll have papers drawn up within hours. Do you have grounds?»
I thought of Tiffany’s hands on my husband’s chest, of their intimate laughter, of the way he had looked at her like she was the only woman in the room. «Oh, Mrs. Jasper, I have grounds.»
«Excellent. We’ll destroy him legally and leave him grateful for the privilege.»
By dawn, Danielle and I were checked into the Fairmont Hotel downtown, in a beautiful suite with a view of the city Hayes thought he owned. We ordered room service and watched the sunrise paint the skyline in shades of gold and pink. My phone buzzed constantly: text messages from concerned friends, missed calls from Hayes, notifications from social media. I ignored them all except one.
It was from Kristen Austin: «House listed. Already have three interested buyers. This is going to sell fast.»
I smiled and poured myself another cup of coffee. Hayes Kingston was about to learn that actions have consequences. And I was just getting started.
Hayes must have arrived home around 3 a.m., probably expecting to find me waiting with tears and recriminations. Instead, he found Kristen’s «For Sale» sign stabbed into our front lawn like a sword through his heart. I know this because Danielle was monitoring his social media accounts from our hotel suite.
Hayes had posted a series of increasingly frantic status updates. «2:47 a.m.: Coming home to sort things out. Love always wins.» «3:23 a.m.: What the hell is happening?» «3:25 a.m.: Gladys, if you’re reading this, call me NOW.» «3:31 a.m.:» followed by a photo of the «For Sale» sign. «This has to be a mistake.» Then, nothing for six hours.
At 9:30 a.m. sharp, Mrs. Melinda’s process server knocked on what used to be our front door. Hayes answered in yesterday’s wrinkled tuxedo, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. According to the server, whom I had specifically requested to be a woman, Hayes went paper-white when he saw the divorce documents.
«These are some serious allegations,» the server told me later. «Adultery, emotional abuse, financial infidelity. You’ve got grounds to take him for everything.»
«That’s the plan,» I replied.
Hayes tried calling me seventeen times that morning. I let each call go to voicemail, then deleted them without listening. There was nothing he could say that would matter now.
I met with Mrs. Melinda to review our strategy. I called my grandmother’s financial advisor to secure my assets. I researched apartments and schools in different districts—anywhere but here, anywhere Hayes’s shadow couldn’t reach us.
«The beauty of your situation,» Mrs. Melinda explained over lunch at the country club, «is that you hold all the cards. The house is in your name—inheritance property. The business was funded with your money. You’ve been the model wife and mother while he’s been publicly unfaithful. A judge will take one look at this case and hand you everything.»
«What about Danielle?»
«Full custody. No judge awards joint custody to a man who brings his mistress to his anniversary party. He’ll be lucky to get supervised visitation.»
The afternoon brought new developments. Kristen called to inform me that all three interested buyers had submitted offers above the asking price. A bidding war was developing. Then Danielle burst into our suite with news that made my day complete.
«Mom, you have to see this!» She was practically bouncing with excitement. «Tiffany got fired!»
She showed me her phone screen, a leaked video from inside Hayes’s company. Apparently, Tiffany’s boss, Mr. Graham, had been at our anniversary party. He had witnessed the entire spectacle, and Monday morning brought swift corporate justice.
«Miss Riker,» his voice was ice-cold on the recording. «Conduct unbecoming. Moral turpitude. Disruption of workplace harmony. Clean out your desk. Security will escort you out.» The video showed Tiffany’s face crumpling as she realized her career was over. She had traded her job, her reputation, and her future for a man who was about to lose everything. Poetic justice at its finest.
