My Husband And His Mistress Mocked Me In German To My Face. They Called Me A “walking Atm” And Planned My Replacement. They Didn’t Realize I Understood Every Word. What Should My First Move Be?
The Decision
So in his eyes, that’s all I was: a tool, a money-making machine. Three years of marriage, of shared vows and life. I had poured my heart and soul, my intellect and connections, into pulling his family’s company back from the brink of bankruptcy.
I had sacrificed my youth, my personal hobbies, to be a good wife and a beautiful daughter-in-law. I had even secretly studied German late into the night, long after he had fallen into a drunken sleep. I remembered those long nights sitting alone under the glow of a desk lamp, painstakingly looking up words, listening to conversational tapes.
I learned German because I wanted to help him translate technical import documents to share his workload, to give him a surprise on our wedding anniversary. And now that very language had become the means by which I heard the death sentence of my own marriage.
I looked at them, two people drowning in a counterfeit happiness built on deceit. David was still smiling. The smile I once adored now looked twisted and repulsive. He was plotting to strip away everything I had built and offer it to his mistress and their illegitimate child.
I took a deep breath, swallowing the tears that threatened to fall. No, I couldn’t cry. Crying now would only make me look pathetic and weak in their eyes.
I am Catherine, the Chief Financial Officer, the one who holds the lifeblood of the entire corporation. I would not allow anyone to trample on my self-respect. The wine in my glass was gone, but my heart was overflowing with calculation and resentment.
I curled my lips into a chillingly cold smile. They wanted to play a language game? Fine. I would show them that the price of betrayal sometimes needs no words.
I placed the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray. The sound of the stem hitting the metal tray was sharp and final, just like the decision forming in my mind. The party hall was still buzzing with noise. The clinking of glasses, the toasts to a long and happy life, congratulations on the healthy baby boy echoed all around.
But to me, it was all a silent, meaningless film. I didn’t look back at David and Lisa again. Their presence now only tainted my vision.
Severing Ties
I walked swiftly out of the restaurant. The night air from the river was cool and damp, but it couldn’t quell the searing heat of the anger suppressed in my chest. I went straight to the parking garage, opened the door, and slid into my familiar car.
The space inside was dark and silent, a stark contrast to the fake upbeat atmosphere I had just left. I sat still as a statue, hands gripping the steering wheel, staring into the void ahead. 10 minutes passed, or maybe it was an eternity; I couldn’t tell.
I only knew that in those 10 minutes, my heart underwent surgery without anesthesia, enduring excruciating pain before turning numb. I took out my phone. The screen lit up, displaying a background photo of David and me from our trip to Napa Valley last year.
In the picture, he was smiling brightly, his arm wrapped affectionately around my waist. Looking at it now, it was nothing but a bitter irony. My fingers slid across the screen, cold and decisive.
I selected every photo that included his face. One by one, I hit delete permanently. After wiping everything clean, I removed the phone case and used a pin to eject the SIM card.
The tiny chip fell into my palm. This was the number David had bought for me when we first started dating, a matching pair with his. I looked at it one last time, then used two fingers to snap the fragile piece of plastic in half.
A small click echoed in the silence, severing all contact, all ties to the past. But I wasn’t just running away. I am a CFO; I manage risk for an entire corporation, and I know how to manage risk for my own life.
Clause One Risk Protocol
I took my backup phone from the glove compartment and dialed a number I had long since memorized. The person on the other end answered after two rings. The steady voice of Mark, a branch manager at our bank, came through.
“Catherine, what’s up? Why are you calling so late?”
I took a deep breath, my voice becoming sharp and professional, devoid of any personal emotion.
“Mark, I need you to do something for me urgently. Activate the Clause One risk protocol on the joint accounts I share with David. I suspect illegal asset diversion.”
Mark hesitated, likely surprised by my sudden request.
“Catherine, are you sure? If we activate this clause, all assets will be frozen. You won’t be able to withdraw anything either. Besides, this requires a signed authorization.”
I cut him off, my voice firm.
“I already signed the authorization and sent it to your assistant last week. Check your email. I want it frozen immediately, as soon as possible. Trust is good, but risk control is eternal. You remember me saying that, don’t you?”
The line was silent for a few seconds, then I heard the clicking of a keyboard. Mark sighed.
“All right, for the sake of our long friendship, I’ll do it now. But Catherine, whatever is happening, please handle it calmly.”
“Thank you,” I said, and hung up, a slight smirk on my lips.
David, you want to use my money to support your mistress, to build an empire for your son? Dream on.
