When the Wife Disappeared

My tenth wedding anniversary, but the simmering lobster bisque couldn't mask the acrid taste of my husband's lies. Mike, the man I'd built a life with, was openly having an affair with a twenty-something influencer, Skyler, her perfectly curated Instagram a brazen display of my unraveling world. The real agony began when our young son, Leo, innocently spoke of "Aunt Sky," recounting secret adventures and sugary treats, blissfully unaware he was a pawn in his father's cruel game. Mike's betrayal deepened into an insidious wound as he used our child, poisoning Leo against me, while claiming he was saving a vintage champagne for "a special occasion" that he'd uncork for Skyler on *our* anniversary. But the final, gut-wrenching blow came when Skyler sent a text: a picture of her draped provocatively across *my* bed, wearing *my* husband's shirt, flaunting her conquest with a chilling message: "#Upgrade." My life, my home, my dignity, shattered into a million pieces, while he, completely oblivious, hummed about a "surprise" he had planned for my birthday. The pain, the humiliation, the sheer audacity of it all was suffocating; divorce felt too clean, too easy for him, as if he could simply walk away unscathed. My heart splintered further when Leo, confused and innocent, asked if "Aunt Sky" would be his new mommy, a question Mike himself had evidently planted. There was no turning back, no hope for repair; in that moment of absolute despair and righteous fury, I knew Ellie Hayes had to die. And Mike Hayes, the man who had stolen my future and poisoned my son, would watch his entire world burn down around him, ensuring he would finally pay the true, devastating price for his betrayal.