The Request That Changed Everything
One evening, Sharon pulled me aside.
Her hands were shaking.
“Cassie… could you install cameras?” she asked quietly.
I blinked. “Cameras?”
She nodded, eyes glossy. “Just in case I faint. Or something happens. I’d feel safer.”
Then she lowered her voice: “Please don’t tell Ben.”
That’s when my unease became certainty.
Not certainty of cheating.
Certainty that something in my home was not safe—emotionally, ethically, or otherwise.
I installed discreet cameras in key areas.
Nothing invasive. Nothing in private spaces.
Just enough to protect Sharon… and confirm whether my instincts were lying to me.
What the Footage Showed
When I reviewed it during a work break, I felt physically sick.
Lena barely did her job.
She ignored Sharon.
She spent hours scrolling on her phone.
And once—clear as day—she snapped at Sharon for spilling tea.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was Ben.
He “dropped by” on days I wasn’t home.
Not for Sharon.
For Lena.
They sat close.
They flirted.
They touched like people who weren’t trying very hard to pretend.
Then I saw the moment that ripped the last thread of denial out of me.
They were on the patio, talking like they owned the future.
Ben said: “The beach house will be ours soon.”
Lena asked, smirking: “And your wife?”
Ben answered without hesitation: “Cassie’s clueless.”
That’s when sorrow turned into strategy.
Because once you see the truth clearly, you stop begging for explanations.
You start planning consequences.
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