Last Monday, I was sorting mail in my classroom when I found a plain envelope with my name and a chilling note: “From your husband’s mistress.”
Shaken, I waited until I could open it in private — inside a gas station restroom. The letter claimed my husband, Mark, had been having an eight-month affair with the mother of one of my students. But it wasn’t just a confession — it was blackmail. She threatened to expose everything unless I paid $5,000 in cash.
Horrified, I withdrew the money and dropped it off where the letter instructed. But something didn’t sit right. The tone felt off, and the threats too calculated.
Suspicious, I checked a nearby security camera. What I saw made my blood run cold: it was Mark picking up the envelope.
I confronted him, but he denied everything — until I showed him the footage. That’s when I called the police.
Mark finally confessed: there was no mistress. He’d faked the letter to scam me, all to pay off gambling debts I never knew he had.
I filed for divorce immediately. The worst betrayal wasn’t infidelity — it was the deliberate manipulation by someone I trusted most. He didn’t just lie. He broke my reality.
