My wife, Hannah, and I had been married for nearly four years. She was gentle, soft-spoken, and always calm. I once bragged to everyone at work:

“I’m lucky. My wife isn’t the type to ever betray me.”

That morning, she texted me:

“I’m feeling horrible… fever and chills. I’m staying home today.”

I told her I’d come home after my meeting. She told me not to worry.
I believed her.

At noon, unable to focus on work, I bought ingredients for chicken soup and headed home early.

The first wrong sign came instantly—the front door wasn’t fully closed.

My heart tightened.

“Hannah? I’m home!” I called out.

Silence.

I stepped inside. The living room looked normal. Too normal.
But when I reached the hallway, I heard it—

Running water.
And then… a man’s muffled laughter.

The sound came from the bathroom.

My whole body froze.
My ears rang.
My hands shook uncontrollably.

I approached the bathroom door.
A woman’s giggle followed—the kind Hannah hadn’t given me in months.

Something inside me broke.

I shoved the bathroom door open.

The steam rushed out first—then the truth.

Hannah was pressed against the tiled wall, her hair dripping, her body covered only by soap suds.

In front of her, also wet, half-naked, was Adam—my coworker, my “friend,” the man who sat next to me in the office every day.

Both of them turned toward me, stunned.

Hannah screamed, “Michael—wait—this isn’t—”
Adam scrambled for a towel, slipping and almost falling.

I stared at them, my voice shaking:

“How long?”

Hannah burst into tears.
Adam stared at the floor, guilt written all over his face.

I left before rage consumed me completely.

But the nightmare didn’t end there.

Two weeks passed. Hannah begged me to meet. She looked pale, thinner, desperate.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

The world tilted.

I asked, “Is it mine?”

Her silence was the answer.

Then the twist came—brutal and sudden.

Right in front of me, she clutched her stomach, gasped, and collapsed. I carried her to the hospital. After hours of waiting, the doctor came out with a serious expression.

“She lost the baby,” he said.
“And due to stress, she might have trouble conceiving in the future.”

A harsh fate.
A cruel karma.

But not mine.

When we returned home, she fell to her knees, sobbing:

“Please… don’t leave me. I made a mistake. I’m sorry…”

I looked down at her—the woman I once adored—and felt nothing but emptiness.

“I didn’t destroy this marriage,” I said slowly. “You did.”

I packed my things.

As I stepped out, I saw Adam in the hallway, red-faced, furious.
Apparently, Hannah had convinced him the baby was his.
Now that the truth shattered, he screamed at her, calling her a liar, accusing her of ruining his life.

Their screams echoed through the building.

For the first time in weeks, I felt peace.

Hannah lost everything—her marriage, her affair, her unborn child, her future.
It was the perfect storm she created herself.

And me?

I walked away from the wreckage, finally free.