Chapter 1
My husband picked up a bowl of boiling hot soup and hurled it at me in front of his mistress.
I didn't duck. I didn't cry. I walked straight up to both of them and slapped them so hard the whole restaurant went silent.
It was supposed to be our anniversary dinner.
I'd dressed up. Put on the earrings he'd given me for our fifth anniversary. Even booked the fancy restaurant downtown—the one with the white tablecloths and the waiters in black ties.
I was so excited.
Eight years of marriage. Two beautiful children. I thought we were happy. I thought we had something real.
When I walked in, I didn't find him alone.
He was sitting at our table with another woman.
Young. Beautiful. Her hand resting on his arm like she belonged there.
My husband Mark.
The man I'd loved since college.
The father of my two children.
The man who'd promised to love and cherish me until death do us part.
I stood frozen in the doorway, my heart dropping through the floor.
He looked up and saw me.
He didn't even look guilty.
He looked annoyed.
Like I was the one who had crashed something.
"What are you doing here?" he said, his voice cold.
The woman smiled at me, smug and satisfied.
I walked slowly toward the table. My legs felt like they were made of lead.
"Mark," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "What is this?"
"This is Lisa," he said, not even trying to deny it. Not even trying to apologize. "And I think it's time you knew the truth. I'm leaving you."
I stared at him, unable to breathe.
Eight years.
Two children.
A house. A life. A future we'd planned together.
Gone.
Just like that.
Lisa laughed, a cold sharp sound that cut through me.
"Don't look so surprised," she said, running her fingers up his arm. "He hasn't loved you in years. He just stayed for the kids."
That was when Mark snapped.
Not at her.
At me.
Because I was still standing there.
Because I was ruining his perfect little reveal.
He grabbed the bowl of hot soup in front of him.
The one that had just been brought to the table, steam still rising from it.
"Just leave!" he shouted.
And he threw it.
Directly at me.
I didn't move.
I didn't flinch.
I didn't duck.
The hot liquid splashed across my chest and arms.
Pain burned through my skin.
But I barely felt it.
The pain in my heart was so much worse.
The restaurant went silent.
Other diners gasped.
Waiters froze.
Mark stood up, breathing heavily, like he'd just won some kind of victory.
Lisa smirked, watching me, waiting for me to break down crying.
"Now will you go?" Mark said coldly.
I slowly wiped soup from my face.
I looked at the man I had loved.
I looked at the woman who had destroyed my family.
And I stepped forward.
I walked right up to Lisa first.
I slapped her.
Hard.
The sound echoed through the silent restaurant.
Her head snapped sideways. She stumbled back, clutching her cheek, her smug smile gone.
Before Mark could react, I turned to him.
And I slapped him even harder.
His head snapped back. He stumbled into his chair.
The restaurant erupted in whispers.
Mark stared at me, his hand on his red cheek, his eyes wide with shock.
"You..." he whispered.
"I did love you once," I said, my voice steady despite the burning in my chest and on my skin. "I gave you everything. My youth. My body. My heart. The best years of my life."
I leaned closer, so only he could hear.
"And now I'm going to take everything back."
I pulled out my phone.
I didn't call the police.
I called his boss.
The one who thought Mark was the perfect family man.
The one who was sitting at the next table over, staring at us with his mouth open.
Mark followed my gaze.
His face went white when he saw his boss.
And then he saw who else was in the restaurant.
His mother.
His father.
His sister.
All sitting at the back, watching.
I had invited them.
For our anniversary.
Because I'd wanted it to be special.
And now they had all seen everything.
Mark opened his mouth to speak.
But before he could say a word, Lisa did something unexpected.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a stack of papers.
She threw them down on the table.
Bank statements.
Credit card bills.
Hotel receipts.
"While you two were playing happy family," she said coldly, looking at Mark, "he was borrowing money from me. A lot of money."
She looked at me now.
"Over two hundred thousand dollars," she said. "And he told me his wife was dying of cancer so I'd feel sorry for him."
I stared at the papers.
Then I looked at Mark.
The man I had married.
The man who had just thrown hot soup at me.
The man who had told his mistress I was dying.
And as the police arrived—someone in the restaurant had called them—I realized something.
This wasn't just about a divorce anymore.
This was about fraud.
May you like
And I was going to make sure he lost everything.
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