I TYPE ‘AMANDA TUCKER’ in the search engine, and just as I’d expected, pictures pop up, and also a Wikipedia entry. It doesn’t take me long to find her. I click on her Wikipedia photo. She’s nothing like I’d expected. I was picturing a skinny blonde, dressed like a hooker, but she looks so conservative. She actually kind of looks like me; long thick dark hair with auburn accents, olive complexion and brown eyes. She wears a tasteful black blazer, but even in the conservative outfit, you can tell that she’s an attractive, sensual woman. She has that sweet innocent look that some women have, like she could do no wrong.

Innocent, my ass. Home wrecking bitch.

I obsessively stalk her, not taking in the information fast enough, tapping feverishly on Google entries. She’s also a NYT Bestselling author. Of course. My husband couldn’t just step out on me with an ordinary woman. He had to do it with a famous, successful beauty.

She’s thirty-one (four years younger than me). She’s divorced, and has a five year old. Who goes out, and fucks other men with a five year old at home? In addition to writing, she rides horses, and loves mountain climbing.

I quickly move on to Twitter, her Facebook page, blog interviews, and finally, the most heartbreaking one of all, Instagram. It’s full of quirky selfies, and the tips of her auburn locks are light purple, and in one photo, I spot two tattoos, and in another, nails painted in a rainbow of colors. She has pigtails in another photo, and wears a huge mood ring. Now I see the wild playful side of her. I can totally see the attraction. I want to vomit all over my phone.

I won’t get over this. I know I won’t. There is no way in hell that I can stand by him every day, knowing he’s done this, knowing he’s been with this woman. It’s impossible for me to pretend nothing’s wrong. Even if he breaks it off with her, I’ll always wonder if he’s still with her, riding a horse, or climbing a mountain, or slapping her ass as he fucks her from behind. There’s no fucking way he’s getting away with this, with no repercussions, no consequences.

No fucking way.

The man needs to pay for his sins.

I throw my phone on the floor, and I resolve to never stalk her ever again because it’s a total waste of time, and also, it makes me want to kill myself.

No, I’m not going to sulk and cry in my pillow, obsessing over how she’s younger, prettier, more successful, and more fun than me. I’m not going to ponder how they must have so much in common since they’re both writers. I’m not going to imagine what their interactions might be like. I’m not going to picture them together, or ever think about her again. I don’t need to know any more. I don’t care how many times they’ve fucked, or how exactly they first met. She doesn’t exist, as far as I’m concerned.

No, I’m taking a completely different approach, and I have a feeling that it will keep my mind quite occupied. And the last thing we’ll both be thinking about is Amanda Tucker.

I slip into something more comfortable, one of my favorite silk nightgowns, the one John really likes. I brush my teeth and my long hair as I ponder how exactly I’m going to go about it. I go over the words I’ll say… this needs to be done perfectly. I need to ace this, or our marriage might just completely fall apart.

I check the clock by my bed before I head down – it’s already one o’clock in the morning.

I pad quietly down the stairs. My pulse races, and my throat is dry. As I carefully open the French door leading to his office, John looks up from his laptop, and seems surprised to see me.

He’s a wreck. His eyes are blood-shot, and he looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I was just writing you a letter,” he tells me.

I take a seat next to him. “You don’t need to,” I say quietly.

“I want to.”

Silence fills his den as neither one of us seems to know what to say.

“You look really nice,” he says. “You know how I’ve always loved your hair… I love it when you wear it down.”

I smirk. “Well, Amanda has pretty nice hair too,” I say. “Looks a lot like mine, except for the purple tips, because she’s way cooler than me.”

He lets out a long sigh. “You didn’t… Gabbie, don’t—”

“I know,” I’m quick to say. “I got it out of my system… satisfied my curiosity. I’m not stalking her anymore.”

“Good,” he says. “I’m also working on a letter for her,” he tells me. “You can read it if you…” his words trail off. He’s ashamed. He’s ashamed of what he’s done. “I’ll also give you full access to all my social media accounts, my phone, my email… everything.”

I clear my throat. That’s some serious stuff.

“I mean it, Gabbie,” he says. “It’s over. I’m an open book from here on, and I want you to have faith in me. No more events for the next year, and if there are events in the future, you can come with me. My parents can look after the kids.”

He’s trying really hard, and I do appreciate it. But… he doesn’t get to just have his jollies, and everything goes back to normal. He doesn’t get to have his cake and eat it too.

He needs to pay.

“Yes, John,” I start slowly. “I appreciate that—”

He cuts me off. “So you think we can get past this?” he asks eagerly. “Can you forgive me?”

I wince. “Well, not so quickly,” I tell him. “I do appreciate you telling me the truth and not trying to deny the affair, so you definitely get points for that,” I tell him. “And I also appreciate you trying so hard right now, but…”

His face falls, and he looks so vulnerable, like his life hangs on my words, which it sort of does, in a way. The kids and I are the most important thing in his life. I still believe that.

“How long has this affair been going on?” I ask, “I mean, since the first time you’ve slept together.”

He stills for a few seconds. “Almost five months,” he finally says.

“Five months.”

“Yes, five months,” he says. “Since October.”

I draw a breath, determined to keep my composure. “So you’ve been cheating on me for five months, lying to me, spending time away from your family to be with her, and you think that I should just simply forgive you? That there should be no consequences?”

He’s speechless.

“There will be consequences,” I start. My words are even and business-like — it’s like I’m heading a board meeting. I’m the one with all the power. I’m in charge, and I make the decisions. “I like your plan,” I continue, and he listens quietly. “You end this with her. And no more events without me, and complete access to all your communications.”

He nods obediently, like a dog. He thinks this is where it ends, but he hasn’t seen anything yet.

“You’ll move to the guest room for the time being, and slowly, we’ll see.”

He nods again.

“As far as the kids are concerned, we’re one big happy family.”

“Yes,” he says enthusiastically. “I completely agree.”

“There’s no reason your stupid whoring-around should affect them.”

He nods and stares down at the floor again. “You’re right.”

Silence fills the room once more. He seems hopeful, like it will all be okay. It might be. It might not. I just don’t know how this will all work out.

“Now is my turn to make a confession,” I start, and instantly, he perks up. Worry and concern line his brow, and the creases below his nose seem more pronounced.

“You’re not the only one who’s been unfaithful,” I say.

His mouth drops, and his face blanches. “What?!”

“Well, it was nothing like your affair,” I’m quick to explain. “I met this guy on Instagram a few months ago, in November, and we became friends, and we… we used to chat a lot.”

“Oh…” He lets out a breath. “That’s all. You’ve never met him in real life?”

I smile. “No, he lives in Copenhagen. That would be kinda tricky.”

He cocks a brow. “Did you ever sext?”

I shake my head. “Uh… no. Nothing like that.”

“Oh, so you were just friends?” he asks. “What happened?”

“Well, sort of,” I tell him. “I ended the friendship because I thought we were getting too close, and well, unlike you, I care about our marriage.”

He reaches for my hand. “I care too, Gabbie. I was just so fucking stupid… I was just being a man.”

I tear my hand away. “Don’t give me that ‘boys will be boys’ shit. Not all men cheat on their wives.”

“I know… I’m sorry,” he says, and after a beat. “So I guess, we’re square.”

What?!

“We’re not square! You’ve had an actual affair for five months, and I just chatted with some guy I’ve never even met a few times, and also, I ended the friendship. No, we’re not square!”

“So why are you telling me this?” he asks, confused. “Why tell me about it at all?”

I reach for my phone, and scroll through my photos. This is going to hurt him, but I want to destroy him. This photo is like a knife, and I plan to stick it right into his heart. I click on my favorite photo of Eli, the one with his dog, the one where you can see how amazing his eyes are, how sweet his smile is, and the tattoo covering his arm. The one where he looks like a freakin’ model.

I show him the photo. “This is Eli.”

His face falls. I got him right in the heart. He must feel exactly the same way I felt when I saw those Instagram photos – absolutely crushed. I feel vindicated, but I also feel sorry that it’s come to this. I’m playing a wicked game, and it’s bound to hurt every single one of us. But I tell myself that he’s the one who started it.

He turns to me, and the pain in his eyes catches me off guard. “You’re not friends anymore?” he asks, wanting to confirm that Eli is no longer in my life.

“No,” I tell him. “I ended the friendship a few weeks ago.”

His face visibly lights up.

“But…” I go on. “I haven’t stopped thinking about him,” I confess. “I was never going to contact him again, but now…”

“Now what?!” John scoffs.

“Now things have changed, haven’t they?”