I tried my best to ignore the haunting feeling that my husband might be cheating on me. We had built a beautiful life together, but in the end, he was willing to stab me in the back. Little did he know I was a few steps ahead.

But recently I have been noticing a few changes in my husband’s behavior, which make me believe he’s cheating. He has just been a bit more secretive whenever he is texting or taking a phone call. Whenever we are sitting together his phone is always faced down.

He’s also been coming home late and having a bit too many work trips or late nights at the office. The other day, when he got back from one of his long nights at the office, I pretended to sleep while he tried to sneak into the house.

From the corner of my eye, I could see that his shirt was unbuttoned, he might have unbuttoned it to get comfortable after work but it’s unlike him to have it completely open with just his vest showing. He’s also usually a morning shower person but this evening, he went straight to the shower and left his clothes in the laundry basket.

I woke up the next morning and the first thing I did was smell the clothes and inspect them for any clues. His shirt had a very fruity and feminine scent and a small stain of red lipstick. Everyday it seemed like i was getting closer to the truth while also being so far.

But I wanted to get to the bottom of this because cheating was the last thing I was willing to settle for in a marriage. I’ve always been someone who values precision and strategy, which is why I insisted on a prenup before marrying Joseph. It was my safety net, one that would entitle me to everything if infidelity ever tainted our marriage.

One day, I came home early to find Joseph and his coworker too close for comfort on our bed. They scrambled to make it seem like nothing had happened, but the seed of doubt had already been planted. He tried really hard to convince me that it was not anything serious, but I knew better than to believe a word coming out of his mouth.

Days later, I caught glimpses of messages on Joseph’s phone from a woman named Amber, each vanishing within seconds of being read. The deceit was like a noose tightening around my neck, suffocating me with each passing day.

I accidentally stumbled upon Amber’s contact information. My heart raced as I dialed her number. “Amber, we need to talk,” I said, trying to mask the tremor in my voice.

We met and I laid out my plan. I couldn’t catch him in the act, but I was certain of his betrayal. I proposed she pretend to be pregnant. It was my way to trap Joseph and retaliate against his gaslighting and mockery.

In the midst of our scheme, I uncovered something more damning. Joseph had forged my signature on documents for his financial gain. This was my breaking point.

With Amber’s help, the pregnancy trap was set in motion. Joseph’s reaction to the news was one of absolute dread, exactly what I had anticipated. He filed for divorce to protect his assets, thinking he could outmove me, but I was ready.

I never thought I would have the strength to face him. But sitting across the table from him, my voice was steady, “Joseph, you have two choices: sign the divorce papers and walk away, or prepare to see me in court, exposing every lie, every deceit.” His face, usually so controlled, twisted with the realization of his predicament.

His signature on those papers was the most satisfying moment of my life. Amber and I later celebrated our cunning victory. However, the sweetness of revenge was fleeting. “We did it, Patricia,” Amber said over the phone, her voice tinged with triumph. “Yes, but it’s not over yet,” I replied, determined. “He can’t just walk away from everything he’s done.”

I pressed charges against him for his illegal activities, and eventually, he was imprisoned. Through this ordeal, I discovered a strength and resolve within myself I never knew existed. I stood up to Joseph, and in doing so, I stood up for my future.

If you enjoyed this, here is another story about a woman who hired a private investigator to catch her cheating husband.

I’m 33, and I’ve been married to my husband, James, 39, for a few years now. Initially, we both decided that children would be in our future — we wanted to move into a house, a big difference from our little apartment, and we wanted to be financially stable.

Which is exactly what we are now.

I’m an Editor at a wildly successful magazine, and James is in cyber security — heading his own team at a large corporate company.

So, now that I’m ready to have a baby, I’ve been waiting for James to get with the program. But recently, I’ve noticed that James has been acting very strangely. He is always on his phone — answering late-night calls, and a different perfume clings to the air around him.

I was devastated at the thought that James might have been cheating on me.

But if I was going to start a family with this man, I needed to know the truth. I decided to hire a private investigator.

“Listen, Alexis,” Benson, the investigator, told me when we met over coffee.

“More often than not, you’re going to find your husband doing exactly what you think he is. So, you need to be prepared for the worst.”

I nodded. I knew what I was getting into, and I knew that at the end of the investigation, my marriage could potentially be over. The thought alone unraveled everything I knew about my life, but I needed to know.

Benson promised he would do what was necessary, and I returned to work — ready to put together the final articles for the magazine’s deadline.

Then, things took a turn.

I met with Benson at the end of the week — he had promised to have enough information for me.

“Eileen,” he said once I sat down at the table. “We need to drop the investigation. It’s time to close this off. Trust me, it’s safer for us because there’s a lot more at hand.”

I was left reeling, my mind racing with the countless possibilities revealing whatever James was doing.

I was shocked by Benson’s reaction. I knew that private investigators saw shady things in their line of work — but I didn’t expect Benson to actually refuse the job after he trailed James.

“Keep the money,” he said. “I don’t want it.”

But I couldn’t just sit back and accept defeat. I refused to be kept in the dark. So, I took matters into my own hands. I planned to install hidden cameras and a voice recorder in James’ car and his study at home.

But as I was setting the cameras up, I found existing hidden cameras already in place. In our home.

Who was the man I married? Was our home a prison under constant surveillance? Panic set in, and I started packing, ready to flee to my parents’ house until I knew more.

That’s when James walked in.

“What are you doing?” he asked, looking at the open suitcase.

“Why are there secret cameras in our house?” I demanded.

James’ response took me by surprise.

“How did you find them? Were you planning to install a camera too?” he asked, with a gentle smile on his face — a smile that definitely didn’t fit the situation. It was as if he was trying to defuse a bomb with kindness.

“I wanted to know if you were cheating on me, James,” I said, suddenly exhausted. “But these cameras are even worse. Are you checking on me? Why are they here? Who are you?”

The questions poured out, each one heavier than the last.

James watched me for a few moments, the clock in the hall ticking away.

“I’ll tell you everything, but you need to try and understand,” he said. “That’s all I ask.”

James revealed he was in security, but not the type he told me.

“I’m an agent, Eileen,” he said. “I couldn’t tell you anything for our own safety, but I couldn’t sit back and do nothing. So, I installed the cameras, and I check them constantly for our protection.”

“What agent?” I asked, feeling stupid at my slow comprehension of what James was trying to say.

“I’m with the Secret Service, Eileen. I provide protection for high levels of the government, and sometimes for diplomats when they come into the country.”

My mind was racing. A secret agent?

“Are you your own version of James Bond?” I asked, trying to laugh at the situation.