Richard Was Convinced His Wife Would Cheat, So He Decided to Teach Her a Lesson—And Was Shocked by What He Discovered

Author Walton MerrittReading 5 minViews 2

Richard is certain that his wife will cheat on him. Determined to set her straight, he decides to take actionand finds himself shocked.

Darling, arent you going to be late? Emily says to her husband while hes on the phone. Your flights in less than two hours.
Oh, didnt I mention? Richard glances at his wife, feigning surprise. The business trips been postponed. Looks like Ill be heading off in a few days instead.
I see, Emily replies quickly, then dashes into the kitchen to fetch her mobile. She sends a message to someone before returning to the lounge. Richard, watching her, feels even more convinced of his suspicions that Emily is seeing someone else. Shes always so relaxed about him meeting up with friends or travelling for work. She never complains about him coming home drunk. His mates have all told him that women like her are a raritytheres no hidden catch. Yet Richard cant shake his doubts.

Hes eight years older than his wife. What if Emilys already met someone younger and no longer finds him interesting?
At least, Richard is wise enough to keep his suspicions to himself; he knows it would be completely unfair to throw accusations around without any hard evidence. He wants to be absolutely sure. So, he cant think of a better solution than to install cameras all around the flat.

He leaves for his business trip in a rotten mood. Even Emily notices how out of sorts he is, offering him some headache tablets as he packs. Richard finds comfort in her concern, and for a moment, he believes maybe everything is fine after all.
He has neither the desire nor the time to watch the live feeds from home. Its only in the evenings that he opens the app briefly and skims through the videos, but after just five minutes, he closes it, pushing the laptop as far from reach as possibleout of temptations way.

The business trip goes by quickly. On the day hes due home, Richard sends Emily off to work, opens his laptop, and begins watching the recordings in earnest. He still feels a sense of dread about what he might find.

He scrolls through the footage: Emily wakes up, has breakfast, cleans the housebusiness as usual. But by mid-afternoon, Richard sees his stylishly dressed wife lounging in his baggy T-shirt and shorts in front of the computer, playing a game. He can hear the voices of other players from her headset. As it turns out, Emily is thoroughly hooked on online gaming.

Thats not exactly ideal, Richard thinks to himself, but everyone has their own way to unwind.
He fast-forwards through the rest of the footage. Nothing suspiciousjust cleaning, gaming, and her usual chores. Most importantly, not a single man has set foot in the flat the whole time hes been away.

Richard closes the laptop with a sigh of relief. All he feels now is guilt for ever doubting his wife. He resolves to buy Emily a huge bouquet of red roses and treat her to a romantic dinner. Even so, he decides to leave the cameras in place for the time being. Little does he know what lies aheadThat evening, when Emily steps through the door, Richard is already waiting, bouquet in hand, an awkward grin on his face. She freezes in surprise, laughter bubbling up when she sees the grand gesture.

For surviving my absence, and for being you, he says, holding out the roses, guilt tightening his throat.

She accepts them, cheeks flushed. You must have missed me more than you let on. Or She peers into his eyes, searching. Everything alright?

He hesitates for a moment, swallowed by a pang of remorse. But when Emily leans in and kisses him, trust shining in her gaze, his doubts dissolve. The details seem so small now: the glances, the messages, the imagined betrayals. He realizes hes wasted so much time seeking proof of a lie, missing the truth that was always thereher easy laughter, her patience, her unspoken loyalty.

As they prepare dinner together, Richard lets the silence hang, then finally confesses, I thought Id lost you to something Id made up in my head. He laughs softly. Turns out, I just needed to find my courage.

Emily pauses, looks at him curiously, but then slips her hand into his. You were always here, she says, squeezing gently. You just had to look.

Later, as they sit side by side, sharing stories and small joys, Richard thinks about the cameras hidden in the corners. Tomorrow, hell take them downno more suspicion, no more fear. In their place, he leaves only trust, and the quiet understanding that, sometimes, love needs to be seen with open eyes, not watched from the shadows.

I’m 46, and if you looked at my life from the outside, you’d probably say everything is fine. I married young—at 24—to a hardworking, responsible Englishman. I had two children in quick succession—at 26 and 28. I left university because the schedules didn’t fit, the kids were small, and I thought “there’s time for all that later.” There were never any big dramas or rows. Everything went the way it was “meant to.” For years, my routine never changed. I’d wake before everyone, make breakfast, leave the house tidy, and head off to work. I’d come back in time to handle the chores, cook, wash, tidy up. Weekends were all about family gatherings, birthday parties, endless obligations. I was always there; I always took care of things. If something was missing, I fixed it. If anyone needed anything, I was always there. It never occurred to me to ask if I wanted something else. My husband has never been a bad person. We’d have dinner, watch TV, and head to bed. He wasn’t especially affectionate, but he wasn’t unkind either. He never asked for much, but he didn’t complain. Our conversations were about bills, the children, jobs to do. Then, on an ordinary Tuesday evening, I sat quietly in the living room and realised I had nothing to do—not because everything was perfect, but because, in that moment, nobody needed me. I looked around and understood that for years I’d kept this household running, but now I had no idea what to do with myself inside it. That day, I opened a drawer of old documents and found diplomas, unfinished courses, ideas scribbled in notebooks, projects put aside “for later.” I looked at photos from when I was young—before I was a wife, before I was a mother, before I became the one who made everything right. I didn’t feel nostalgic. I felt something worse: I realised I’d achieved everything without ever asking if it was what I truly wanted. I started to notice things I used to accept as normal: That nobody asks how I am. That even when I come home exhausted, it’s still me who sorts everything out. If my husband says he doesn’t fancy a family gathering, that’s fine, but if I’m reluctant, it’s still expected I’ll go. My opinion exists, but it doesn’t carry weight. There were no arguments or shouting matches, but there was never any real space for me. One evening at dinner, I mentioned I wanted to restart my education or try something different. My husband looked at me, surprised, and said, “But why now?” He didn’t mean any harm. He just didn’t understand why something that had always worked should change. The children were silent. There was no argument. Nobody forbade me from anything. Yet I realised that my role was so clearly defined that stepping outside it was uncomfortable. I’m still married. I haven’t left, I haven’t packed my bags, I haven’t made any dramatic decisions. But I’ve stopped pretending. I know that for more than twenty years, I’ve kept a family together in a structure where I was essential, but never the main character. How Do You Rebuild Yourself After Living a Life Where You’re Needed—But Never the Main Character?

I’m 41 and the house I live in once belonged to my grandparents. After they passed, my mum stayed here, and when she was gone, the home was left in my name. It’s always been a quiet, tidy, and peaceful place. I work all day and come home alone. Never did I imagine that all of this could be turned upside down by a decision I made “just to help someone.” Two years ago, a distant cousin rang me in tears. She was splitting up, had a little boy, and nowhere else to go. She asked if she could stay with me “just for a few months” until she got on her feet. I agreed—she was family, and I thought it wouldn’t really affect me. At first, it was fine—she took one room, chipped in a bit towards bills, headed out early for work. Her son stayed with a neighbour during the day. Everything was OK. After three months she quit her job, saying it was temporary and that she was looking for something better. She started staying home all day. The little boy didn’t go to the neighbour anymore—he was always here. The house began to change: toys everywhere, noise, unexpected guests. I’d come home exhausted only to find strangers sitting in my living room. When I asked her to give me a heads-up, she said I was overreacting and that “this is her home too, now.” Soon she stopped contributing to bills—first, she said, she couldn’t manage, then she’d “catch up later.” I paid for everything: bills, food, repairs. One day I came back to find she’d rearranged all the furniture to make it “cosier”—without asking. When I protested, she was offended and said I was cold and didn’t know what it meant to live as a family. It got even more tense when she started inviting her ex round—the very man she claimed she was escaping. He’d come by in the evening, stay the night, use the bathroom, eat our food. One day I caught him coming out of my room, having “just grabbed his jacket” without asking. That’s when I said things couldn’t go on like this—there had to be boundaries. She started crying, shouting, reminding me I took her in when she had nowhere to go. Six months ago, I tried to set a deadline for her to move out. She said she couldn’t—she had no money, her son was at school nearby, and how could I throw her out? Now I feel trapped. My home isn’t mine any more. I sneak in quietly so I don’t wake the child, eat dinner in my room to avoid arguments, and spend more time outside than in. I still live here, but it no longer feels like home. She acts like she owns the place—I pay for everything, yet I’m called selfish if I ask for some order. I really need advice.