What started as a quiet evening alone quickly spiraled into chaos when I discovered a leak in the bathroom. Benjamin had been on yet another business trip, and I was tired of handling everything alone.

As I struggled with the leaking pipe, panic set in. At midnight, I reached out for help in our building chat. Jake, a neighbor I barely knew, responded and arrived quickly with his toolbox. He fixed the leak efficiently, leaving me relieved but still frustrated by my situation.

The next day, I noticed Jake’s pliers on the floor and went to return them. But when I knocked on his door, Benjamin answered—shirtless, looking guilty, standing in Jake’s apartment. My heart raced as I realized he wasn’t where he claimed to be.

“What is this?” I stammered, backing away. I pushed past him, needing to see the truth. The unmade bed, two glasses on the nightstand—it all hit me like a tidal wave. He wasn’t just working late; he was here with Jake.

“How long?” I demanded, feeling betrayal wash over me. Benjamin fumbled for words, while Jake looked awkwardly at the floor.

“I’m done,” I declared, tossing the pliers onto the bed. I snapped a photo for proof, then walked out, leaving them in stunned silence.

Back in my apartment, I called my lawyer. “I need to file for divorce. Tonight.”

The next morning, I shared the photos in our building chat, reclaiming my narrative. Benjamin could face the consequences of his actions.