I swapped my cheating husband’s lube for glue… and the firefighters had to pull them apart

I was in the kitchen with a cup of cold coffee in my hand, staring at the skillet of oil that was already on the stove. It was the last step of my plan, a simple smoke trap, but enough to expose the truth. I tied a thin string to the stove’s igniter.

I ran it over to the window and attached it to a heavy object, an old coffee can I found in the cabinet. All I had to do was pull it from a distance and the flame would ignite the oil, creating thick black smoke, enough to alarm the neighbors. I opened the window by the stove a little so the smoke could get out.

Then I tested it once. The smoke rose quickly, forming spirals like a warning. I turned it off immediately, checked everything again, and made sure not to leave any trace that might make Julian suspicious.

I put on a jacket, grabbed my large purse, and pretended to be leaving for my trip. Before I left, I went into the bedroom and gently shook Julian.

— I have to go to the bus station right now, — I said in a calm voice. — I’m going to sign a contract. I’ll probably be back late tonight.

He opened his eyes and in a sleepy voice replied:

— All right. Be careful, Juliet. Call me if you need anything.

Then he buried his face in his pillow and went back to sleep.

I looked at the man I once loved and trusted. Now, lying there, unaware of the trap waiting for him, I turned away, my heart heavy but my legs steady. Instead of going to the station, I went across the street to Mrs. Peterson’s house.

She was my neighbor and my friend. She opened the door and looked at me, worried when she saw my purse.

— Juliet, what are you doing up so early? Is something wrong? — She asked with affection.

I forced a smile.

— Mrs. Peterson, can I stay here for a few hours? I need to watch my house.

She frowned but didn’t say anything else. She poured me a hot cup of coffee and gave me a chair by the window. From there, I could see the entrance to my house where Julian and Allison would enter and where the truth would be revealed.

Around 10 o’clock, a taxi pulled up in front of the house. Allison got out wearing a light floral dress and dark sunglasses as if she were afraid someone would recognize her. Julian opened the door, looked around in a hurry, and quickly ushered her inside.

I gripped my coffee cup tightly, my heart pounding in my chest.

— It’s time, — I murmured.

I turned on the app on my phone connected to the hidden recorder I had left in the bedroom. The sound started coming through my headphones: Allison’s laughter, the clinking of glasses, heavy footsteps. Then I heard Julian’s deep voice:

— All right, we don’t have to hide in a hotel anymore.

Allison laughed.

— You really know how to pick your moments. The old hag is gone, right?

I bit my lips, holding back the rage as I listened to her call me «the old hag» with so much contempt. Then the bed started to creak, along with other sounds I didn’t want to keep listening to. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and told myself: «Just a little longer, Juliet, just a little longer.»

A few minutes later, suddenly Allison screamed:

— What the hell is this? We’re stuck!

Her voice was filled with panic, almost sobbing.

Julian growled:

— Shut up. Wait, let me see.

I smiled. I barely touched my phone and activated the smoke trap remotely. The string pulled hard. The stove ignited.

The skillet of oil caught fire. Black smoke billowed out of the kitchen window in thick spirals, spreading outside like an alarm signal.

Mrs. Peterson gasped.

— Juliet, your house is on fire.

I pretended to be scared, but inside I felt strangely calm. Neighbors started coming out into their yards, shouting.

— Juliet’s house is on fire! Call the firefighters!

A man nearby, Mr. Miller, quickly took out his phone and called the city fire department.

I stayed there, holding my coffee cup tightly, my eyes fixed on my house. Everything was going according to plan. In my headphones, Allison’s voice sounded more and more desperate.

— Julian, do something. I can’t move.

Julian’s voice roared:

— Don’t scream. I’m trying.

But I knew they couldn’t do anything. The industrial super glue I had swapped was already at work, leaving them trapped at their most humiliating moment.

I imagined them struggling, scared, and a part of me felt satisfied. Not because I was cruel, but because they had pushed me to this. They wanted to take my bakery, my family, even my honor. Now I would make them pay.

I looked out the window. The smoke continued to rise, getting thicker. The neighbors were crowding together, yelling in a panic.

— What’s going on? — someone asked.

— Where’s Juliet?

— She went out of town for work. That’s what I heard, — another replied.

Mrs. Peterson, standing next to me, looked at me with suspicious eyes, but didn’t say anything. She just squeezed my hand gently. I knew she had a hunch, but I didn’t need to give her an explanation. The truth was about to explode, and I was ready.

Just 10 minutes later, the siren of a fire truck sounded at the end of the street like a death knell. The red vehicle sped up and skidded to a stop in front of my house. I saw Daniel jump out of the driver’s seat in his fire chief uniform, his face tense.

My son shouted in a firm voice:

— Get the equipment ready, quick! There might be people inside.

I looked at him and felt a sharp pain, my son always so proud of his family and his parents. Now he was about to face the cruelest truth. I wanted to run and hug him and say, «I’m sorry, Daniel.»

But I had no other choice. I stayed still, letting everything take its course. The smoke from the kitchen continued to rise thickly, making Daniel and his team believe there was a serious fire.

My son led the way with a sledgehammer breaking down the front door. The sound of splintering wood echoed in the air. His teammates followed him with hoses and extinguishers.

I listened to the commotion coming from the bedroom. Julian’s desperate shouts mixed with Allison’s sobs.

— Do something, Julian, I can’t move!

Julian growled:

— Shut up, don’t scream!

I bit my lips, squeezing the phone where the app was still transmitting the audio from the hidden microphone. They were trapped, helpless, just as I had calculated.

Daniel entered the bedroom, and I could imagine what he found: his own father and his wife, naked, stuck to each other on the bed, their faces pale with pain and panic. I wasn’t there, but through my headphones, I heard Daniel’s voice falter.

— What… what is this?

A firefighter behind him murmured in surprise:

— Oh my God.

Another couldn’t hold back and let out a nervous laugh, but Daniel immediately shouted:

— Silence!

I knew that cry wasn’t just to maintain order, but my son’s last attempt to hide his pain. The humiliation was now exposed, not just to Daniel, but to the entire fire team and the whole neighborhood.