Jack never took sick days—ever. So when he stayed home one Tuesday morning, I figured it was serious.
I didn’t expect to find a life-sized clay statue of him on our porch.
It was identical to him—down to the scar on his chin.
He turned pale when he saw it, rushed to drag it inside, and refused to explain.
“Just take the kids to school,” he begged. I was about to argue when my son handed me a note he’d found under the statue. Jack,
I’m returning the statue I made while believing you loved me. Finding out you’re married shattered me.
You owe me $10,000—or your wife sees every message. This is your only warning, — Sally Just like that, everything I thought
I knew about my husband crumbled.
That night, while Jack slept at the kitchen table, I checked his laptop.
His emails to Sally told me everything—he’d been having an affair. Pleading, with her not to tell me.
Claiming he still loved her. I saved every email.
The next day, I messaged Sally. She replied quickly:
He told me he was divorced. We were together for, a year.
I had no idea. When I asked if she’d testify in court, she said yes.
A month later, she did—screenshots, photos, and all. Jack couldn’t deny a thing.
The judge granted me the house, full custody, and ordered Jack to pay Sally for the sculpture he never deserved.
Outside the courthouse, Jack tried to apologize. But it was too late.
He didn’t just lose his secret. He lost his family.
