I Worked Three Jobs To Support My Paralyzed Mother-in-law. I Came Home Early And Found Her Dancing While My Husband Filmed Her. How Should I Get Revenge?

Eyes in the Walls

The wooden door in front of me not only separated me from my home but also from the false illusion of happiness I had painstakingly built over three years. Switch wives, Amber, a grandson—those words danced in my head forming a devastating tornado that wiped out any remaining marital affection.

I took a step back. Hot tears streamed from my eyes, but my heart was as cold as ice. I wanted to storm in, to scream and vent my frustration, to overturn that hypocritical coffee table, to unmask that miserable pair. But the hand that was about to push the door stopped midair. The logic of a director forged over years abruptly brought me back to harsh reality.

If I went in now, they would deny everything. They might even accuse me of being paranoid, or Helen would throw herself on the floor faking a seizure. I had no proof other than my own eyes and ears, and words are carried away by the wind. Who would believe me when, in front of everyone, Kevin always played the part of the model husband and Helen that of a sick, helpless old woman?

I closed the door stealthily, each movement as silent as a thief in her own home. I backed away toward the elevator, walking like a lost soul. I collapsed on the emergency stairs of the building, my whole body trembling uncontrollably. Anger and pain mixed, forming a heavy stone on my chest that made it hard to breathe.

I remembered the times Kevin had hinted at the topic of children, the times he sighed deeply when he saw me bring work home at night. It turned out it was all preparation for a despicable conspiracy. Not only was he unfaithful, but he had a child with another woman, and now he and his mother were planning to replace me, to leave me on the street empty-handed after squeezing every last drop out of me.

“All right, Kevin. You want to act? Then I’ll act with you until the very end,” I muttered, wiping away a tear rolling down my cheek.

I took out my phone and sent a message to my boss asking to be an hour late due to a family emergency. Then I took a cab straight to a tech store around the corner. I chose three tiny spy cameras of the most sophisticated kind that could be hidden in an artificial flower vase, a wall socket, and a portable charger.

Holding those small devices in my hand, I felt a bitter irony. I never thought the day would come when I would have to use these things to spy on the people I called family. But the raw truth I had just discovered had taught me a very expensive lesson: the human heart is the most unpredictable thing there is, and blind trust is a poison you administer to yourself.

I returned home after more than an hour. Before opening the door, I took a deep breath, adjusted my expression, and forced a tired but concerned smile. The door opened. Inside, the country music had been silenced. Helen was lying on the sofa covered with a thin blanket, moaning weakly. Kevin was by her side massaging her legs with an expression of deep concern.

Seeing me, he looked up with a flash of surprise in his eyes that quickly turned into reproach.

“Why are you back at this hour? I forgot my ID card. Mom’s legs are hurting her a lot. I was waiting for you to make her some broth, and you didn’t show up.”

Seeing this clumsy performance, I suppressed the nausea rising in my throat. I walked in, maintaining my usual apologetic tone.

“I’m sorry. I forgot my ID and had to come back. On the way, I bought some vitamins for Mom. Does it hurt a lot? I’ll go to the kitchen right now to make you that broth.”

Helen half-opened one eye to look at me and then closed it again, whispering,

“It hurts, it hurts a lot, dear. I think this leg is going to be completely useless. Hurry up, I’m starving.”

I nodded and went quickly to my room to drop off my purse. Taking advantage of Kevin being busy playing the role of a devoted son in the living room, I quickly installed one of the cameras in the wall socket facing our bed. I cleverly concealed another in the vase on the TV stand in the living room, from where it had the widest viewing angle. The last one I would find an opportunity to install later in Helen’s room.

Dinner that night was suffocating. I watched Kevin tenderly serve his mother food. I watched Helen bring the spoon to her mouth with a trembling hand, and tears almost welled up in my eyes—not from emotion, but from disgust. I felt sick from the food I had prepared myself, sick of this fake atmosphere of family warmth.

That night, lying next to Kevin, I listened to his regular snores. Before, that sound gave me a sense of security, but today it sounded like the hiss of a venomous snake hibernating and waiting for the moment to strike its prey. I huddled at the edge of the bed trying not to let my skin touch his.

In the darkness, I opened my phone and connected to the cameras. The screen showed a dark and silent living room. But I knew that tomorrow, as soon as I walked out the door, that place would become the stage for the worst of farces.