I packed my bags and stayed with my best friend, Layla Smith, for a couple of nights.

On day three, Francis rang me up, all high and mighty.

"Your money? I gave it to Chloe. Since you're so set on splitting, that's fine by me!"

I countered calmly, "We're married, Francis. I'm legally entitled to half of that forty-five grand you handed over. If we're calling it quits, she'll have to return my twenty-two thousand and five hundred dollars."

Francis yelled into the phone, "No way you're seeing that money again! It's Chloe's now. Dream on!"

I ended the call, totally stunned.

The guy did not even finish high school, so him not getting the legal stuff was no surprise.

Layla had been eavesdropping and after a long think, she smelled a rat.

She mused, "Brianna, doesn't your husband seem off to you? Even if he's Mr. Generosity, would he really fork over forty-five grand to an old flame, let alone be cool with funding someone else's kid? Mr. Tightwad? No chance."

She knew just how cheap Francis could be. At our wedding, while others splurged on bridesmaid gifts, he handed out cheap knick-knacks.

The guests got boxed lunches minus the meat—just bread. The guest shuttle was a rickety old bus from his backwater hometown. That wedding was one for the books.

However, that was exactly why her point hit home. Mr. Big Shot, footing the bill for someone else's wife and kid? No way.

We locked eyes, both floored by the revelation.

Unless that kid was his.

Ever since we tied the knot, he had been on my case about having kids.

Back then, my career was skyrocketing, and I was not in the best of health, so I turned him down.

He would gripe at me every few days for not wanting kids, but out of the blue, he stopped his nagging in our second year of marriage.

I figured he had gotten over it and felt a bit of relief.

However, what if he had fathered a son?

'Chloe's little boy is turning two this year!' I thought.

The timing could not be more spot-on.

Layla let out a contemptuous laugh, her voice filled with righteous anger. "I mean, why else would he fork over forty-five grand to his old sweetheart? Clearly, he's been playing away from home!"

She paused, a spark of realization in her eyes.

"Brianna, if you can dig up proof of his cheating while you were married, you could take him to the cleaners!"

I nodded, my mind racing with thoughts.

Francis mentioned Chloe walked away from her divorce empty-handed. She probably got caught in the act.

For someone as materialistic as Chloe, who ditched Francis for money back in the day, she would never get divorced without taking a penny.

Francis's affair was a done deal.

However, I was clueless without proof.

I went home the next day.

Francis was out, so I checked my phone and saw the picture he posted for all our friends to see, along with the caption he wrote.

[I've met a lot of people, but in the end, you're still my favorite.]

The photo showed just a glimpse of a woman's blue dress.

He was trying to be all poetic. I was not about to hold back—I hit 'like' and left a comment.

[Some creatures chow down on loads of meat but end up realizing they just love the taste of garbage.]

The comment section was full of our mutual friends.

They all thought the woman in his post was me, dropping comments like [Francis and Brianna are couple goals.]

The moment my comment hit the screen, anyone with half a brain could tell things were off.

The comments had been wiped out completely.

Then, my comment was the only one left, sticking out like a sore thumb.

I snapped my phone shut, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction, and headed to the study to boot up his computer.

I had always been big on privacy, never once snooping through his study, his phone, or his computer. I trusted Francis completely.

What a joke.

With a self-deprecating chuckle, I typed in Chloe's birthday at the login screen, and bingo, I was in.

His messenger was still logged in, right there on the screen. I clicked the icon and his chats with Chloe popped up, but there was nothing but voice messages.

I could not be bothered to listen to each one, so I hit the 'text-to-speech’ button..

Chloe had said, [My husband's onto us. He wants a divorce and is kicking me out with nothing.]

Francis replied, [Babe, how did he catch on? Relax, I've got you covered.]

Chloe sent back a pitiful little cat emoticon.

[I'm out on the street with our son with nowhere to go.]

[I can handle tough times, but our son? How's he supposed to live like this?]

Without missing a beat, Francis sent over the 45,000 dollars we had saved and boasted, [Babe, go and buy a house. This is for the down payment. It'll be in your name, and I'll handle the mortgage.]

Chloe took the money, still playing innocent.

[Oh? What about your wife? Won't she be mad?]

[Brianna doesn't dare to get mad at me. I keep her in line.]

[So, when are you dumping her? We can't have our son be illegitimate, can we?]

My blood boiled as the conversation went on, feeling sick to my stomach.

That was why Francis was so quick to agree to a divorce. He was in a rush to play house with his lover and kid on the side.

I scrolled through the transaction history between them, and it was littered with transfers.

I snapped photos of each transaction, leaving no stone unturned.

To make sure no one could cry wolf, I shot a video too, capturing the voice messages as I played each one back.

My phone was bursting with evidence, and I left feeling triumphant.

Francis called the moment I settled into the cab.

I picked up and heard his voice, panicked and angry.

"Are you out of your mind, posting that garbage on my feed? Take it down now!"

I could not help but laugh. "Garbage? I'm just telling everyone the truth."

Then, I heard a woman's soft crying in the background.

It clicked. He was tearing into me because Chloe was there, sobbing her heart out.

"What truth? You're just bitter because I gave Chloe forty-five thousand dollars. You can't stand her!"

His accusation nearly left me speechless.

Chloe got 45,000 dollars, half of which was mine. Why would I be okay with that?

No woman liked her husband's mistress.

I was done arguing, but I tried to give him one last piece of advice, for old times' sake.

"Francis, you should really get that money back, or else—"

I did not even get to finish. He cut me off, clearly annoyed.

"I've already told you, it's not easy for Chloe with the kid. Can't you show a little compassion? The money I gave Chloe is hers to keep. If you're so unhappy, then let's just get a divorce!"

Before I could get another word in, he slammed the phone down.

I nearly burst into laughter.

Francis could play the saint, the merciful one.

In the end, it was him with lung cancer, not me.