“We’re Getting Married”
A few weeks later, they showed up together, like some twisted united front.
I opened the door and saw them standing there, hand in hand.
Diane’s voice was too cheerful. “Sweetheart, we wanted to talk to you about… moving forward.”
Aaron held out a manila envelope.
“We want to make this official,” he said softly. “We didn’t want to hurt you, but we love each other. We’re getting married.”
I stared at them, stunned by their audacity. My mother wore pearls and perfume—my perfume, actually.
“You’re serious,” I said.
“Yes,” Diane said quickly, her fake smile stretched tight. “It’s better this way, honey. We can all find happiness. You’ll understand when you meet someone new.”
Aaron reached for my hand. “No hard feelings?”
I smiled. Slowly. “None at all,” I said. “If this is what you want, go ahead.”
They both blinked like they couldn’t believe it.
“You’re… not upset?” Diane asked, tilting her head.
“I guess I understand,” I said softly. “Love is complicated.”
Aaron looked relieved. Almost proud of himself.
Because I had something they didn’t see coming.
For months, I pretended to move on.
I smiled when they sent smug “just checking in” texts. I acted calm, even cheerful, when Aaron came by to pick up the last of his things.
But every single day, I was building something behind the scenes.
Collecting Receipts
I started small. I bought a discreet home security camera, tucked in the corner of the living room.
I recorded everything.
I collected texts, screenshots, photos, call logs, and voice recordings.
I even set up an audio device near the back door, where Aaron liked to sneak in when I was “at work.”
I got it all.
Diane wearing my robe, sipping wine on my couch. Aaron whispering, “She’ll never find out.”
I documented everything, every smirk, every kiss, every betrayal.
By the time their wedding rolled around, I had enough proof to bury them socially, financially, and emotionally.
But I didn’t want to go to court. I wanted theater.
I wanted them to feel what I had felt: shocked, helpless, exposed.
So I planned my appearance like a scene in a movie.
I wore a sleek navy dress, hair down, simple pearls. Elegant. Untouchable.
When I walked into the venue, whispers rippled. The “ex-wife” had arrived.
Aaron froze when he saw me. Diane’s jaw clenched, but she tried to mask it with a polite smile.
“Claire,” she said tightly. “You look… lovely.”
“Thank you,” I said. “So do you, Mom. White suits you.”
She blinked, unsure how to take that.
I smiled sweetly. “Congratulations.”
Aaron looked nervous. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Oh, I wanted to,” I said. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
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