In hindsight, the clues were there all along.
Unfamiliar perfume, late-night errands for things we never used, and sudden showers before work.
I brushed off the suspicion — until I saw a shadow move in the basement while he was “out.”
Uneasy but determined, I waited for his next late-night trip.
When he left, I crept downstairs… and there it was again. Her laugh.
Then her voice: “She’s clueless. She should’ve figured it out by now.”
That’s when the rage settled in. I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I formed a plan.
The next day, I bought twenty feeder rats.
That night, as laughter echoed from below, I opened the cage and let nature take its course.
Then I shut the basement door — and locked it.
By morning, Evan burst out in a panic, sweaty and enraged.
But I was already done.
I handed him divorce papers I’d kept from a previous low point in our marriage.
He started to apologize.
I didn’t say a word. I just left.
Now I live in a quiet neighborhood, in a house that’s entirely mine.
No whispers. No lies. Just calm.
And this time, the only voice in the house… is mine.
