I found a love letter from my husband that ended our marriage.

I was collecting his clothes for the laundry when a letter fell out of his jacket pocket:
“Happy anniversary babe! These 7 years were the best of my life. Meet me at Obélix on Wednesday at 8 p.m. Wear red.”

I immediately felt nauseous. It wasn’t for me… We’ve been together for 18 YEARS! After a few minutes, I put the letter back as a perfect plan came to my mind. On day X, I hired a nanny and wore a red dress and high heels.

I came earlier than the planned time and took a table next to hers. She was already there, looking stunning in a red dress, her eyes scanning the room with anticipation. I felt a surge of anger and sadness, but I kept my composure, determined to see this through.

When he finally appeared, he smiled at her. But the very next moment his eyes found mine and he froze. The color drained from his face as he stood there, caught in the act. The woman, noticing his sudden change in demeanor, turned to see what had stopped him in his tracks. Her eyes widened in shock when she saw me sitting there, glaring at them both.

“Good evening,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Quite the coincidence, isn’t it?”

My husband stammered, trying to form words, but nothing coherent came out. The woman, realizing the gravity of the situation, started to gather her things, but I stopped her with a raised hand.

“No, stay,” I said. “I’d like to hear about these ‘best seven years’ of your life.”

She hesitated, looking to my husband for guidance, but he was useless, still standing there, mouth agape. I stood up and walked over to their table, feeling a strange sense of empowerment.

“I’ve been with this man for 18 years,” I began, my voice steady. “We have built a life together, raised children, shared dreams and disappointments. And yet, here we are.”

My husband finally found his voice. “Lisa, I can explain—”

“Save it,” I interrupted. “I don’t need your explanations. I just need to understand why.”

He looked down, unable to meet my eyes. The woman, still visibly shaken, spoke up. “I didn’t know he was married. He told me he was single.”

I laughed bitterly. “Of course he did. That’s how these things always go, isn’t it?”

I turned back to my husband. “Do you love her?”

He looked up, his eyes pleading. “Lisa, it was just a mistake. A terrible mistake.”

“A seven-year mistake?” I scoffed. “That’s not a mistake, Owen. That’s a choice. Repeated over and over again.”

The woman stood up, tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I’ll leave.”

I nodded, my heart aching but resolute. “You should.”

She hurried out of the restaurant, leaving me alone with my husband. The silence between us was deafening. I could see the regret in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to heal the wound he had inflicted.

“I’ll be filing for divorce,” I said finally, my voice firm. “This is the end, Owen.”

He reached out to me, desperation in his eyes. “Please, Lisa, don’t do this. We can work through this.”

I shook my head, stepping back. “No, we can’t. You’ve shattered my trust. There is no coming back from this.”

I turned and walked out of the restaurant, feeling a mix of sorrow and relief. As I stepped into the cool night air, I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past 18 years lift off my shoulders. It was the end of an era, but also the beginning of a new one. One where I would no longer be deceived or taken for granted.

And as I walked away, I vowed to rebuild my life, stronger and wiser, knowing that I deserved better than a husband who could betray me so deeply.