I never thought I’d be the kind of woman who installs hidden cameras on her own property. But when my husband’s frequent “business trips” started feeling suspicious—and an old neighbor mentioned seeing a stranger at my inherited lake house—I trusted my gut.Luke and I had what looked like the perfect marriage. For seven years, we moved in sync, supporting careers and dreaming of kids “someday.”

I was too, busy with my work as a senior editor to notice how convenient my distraction was for him.When Mr. Jensen, my grandma’s old neighbor, called to say he saw a tall man unlocking my lake house—one Luke never had a key to—I knew something was off. Luke claimed he was in Philadelphia that weekend.The next time he left on a trip, I drove to the lake house. What I found there shattered me: lipstick on a wine glass, blonde hair in the drain, and takeout for two. I didn’t confront him.

I installed hidden cameras, Days later, the footage came in. Luke, unlocking the door. A blonde woman by his side. “Welcome back to paradise, babe,” he said.I didn’t cry. I planned.When he mentioned another trip, I suggested a romantic weekend at the lake house instead. He hesitated, but I had already “confirmed” with his coworker that he was free. Checkmate.At the lake,

after lunch, I told him I had a surprise. I played the footage on the TV. His face went pale.”You spied on me?!” he yelled. Gaslighting.I handed him divorce papers. “You have until Monday to sign. Or the footage goes to your boss. And her husband.”He left that day.That night, wrapped in my grandmother’s quilt, I watched the sun