Natalie thought her life was perfect until she saw her husband’s favorite clothes in their neighbor’s washing basket. Fearing theft, she confronted the woman and discovered a heartbreaking secret that wrecked her world.
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Natalie here, everyone. Someone who believes in eternal love? Seven years married to Ryan, my high school sweetheart? My ideal existence vanished faster than a loose thread in a washing machine. The story started simply on wash day…
Basement laundry is shared in our apartment building. Grimy, with mismatched machines rumbling like they’re ready to launch. But it works, right?
There, I met Lauren, a young woman from a few stories below. She felt odd, like a misfit sock in a clean pile.
Every time we met, she gave me strange stares and swiftly turned away when I tried to be pleasant. Really gave me chills.
After a few weeks, I’m folding clothes in my mind when I see something that stops me. Lauren’s laundry basket holds Ryan’s favorite blue and orange t-shirts.
Not just any tees. “NR” was stitched in the corner, a charming touch I gave Ryan when we were dating.
My head spun. A laundry mix-up? Ryan’s green sweater emerged from Lauren’s laundry. My stomach sank. Clothing theft? Really?
I rushed to Lauren without thinking.
“Hey!” Perhaps I snapped too loudly, as a couple folding sheets close stared at me. “I’ve been looking for those all week! The clothing are my husband’s. How did you get them?
Lauren looked up, her eyes glinting indecipherably.
“Oh,” she said, too casually. “He probably left them in the machine. No problem, take them.” She gave me the clothing with a concealed smile.
Something was off. Ryan never did laundry, so I checked the machines before leaving. This smelled worse than forgotten gym clothing. I dug deeper.
Laundry room security cameras were a blessing. I went straight to Mr. Carter, the crusty security guard.
“Mr. Carter,” I replied, attempting to speak against the knot in my stomach, “could you check last week’s laundry room footage? Someone may have mistakenly taken my husband’s clothes.”
Carter squinted at me. “Missing some socks, eh?” he hissed, his voice like sandpaper.
“No, sir,” I said. “Shirts and sweatshirt.”
He shuffled to the security monitors after muttering about laundry border violations. The fluorescent lights buzzed like insects while I waited.
A few minutes later, Mr. Carter waved me to a chair. The footage from last week is here.”
My pulse raced as the television came on. I saw Lauren loading laundry. The next thing hit me like a gut punch.
What the…” Gasping, tears sting in my eyes. The screen showed a terrible fact that stuck with me.
“Mr. Carter, rewind that?” I whispered.
He didn’t inquire. The tape was rewound, and I watched again, sobbing.
I saw Ryan with Lauren. More than talking or folding clothes. But…
“Oh my gosh,” I said, crying. This is impossible. Not the lifelong love I wanted.
Mr. Carter swallowed. You okay, ma’am?
Tears blurred my vision. “I… I need to see that again,” I gasped. “Please rewind.”
He didn’t argue. One flick replayed the scene, deepening the treachery.
Ryan was laughing with Lauren, hands grazing. Suddenly, they leaned in and saw a kiss.
“Oh my gosh,” I exclaimed, crying again. This cannot happen.
Mr. Carter shifted awkwardly. “Do you want to keep watching, ma’am? It looks rough.”
I wiped my eyes with shaky hands. I need proof, Mr. Carter. Proof of what’s happening under my nose.”
He nodded slowly. “Fair enough. Unfortunately, this footage is unclear. Is it sufficient?
“It has to,” I responded. «I can’t let him get away with this»
Mr. Carter stopped pushing. He looped the footage again before stopping.
Rage and pain inspired a bold thought. I asked Mr. Carter, “How much for a copy of this footage?”
Though doubtful, he raised an eyebrow. You want a copy? Of your husband’s small meeting?
“Yes,” I answered. However, no one will know it was yours. No Ryan, no one.”
Thinking, he stroked his chin. “Well, ma’am, sharing security footage isn’t my job.”
“I get it,” I begged. But this is serious. Will pay. Set your price.”
Mr. Carter suggested a ridiculously high price for hazy film. Justice was worth it to me. I found a crisp $100 bill in my bag.
“Here,” I responded, placing the money on the desk. Is this enough?
He examined the bill, then me, then it again. His smile was slow. Alright, ma’am. Your deal.”
After adjusting cords, a grainy copy of the footage was on my phone. I ran out of the security room, my heart beating, saying thanks and swearing to secrecy.
The silence in my apartment was oppressive. My pain was mocked by Ryan’s empty spaces.
I grabbed my laptop and downloaded the footage shakily.
My basic editing skills enabled me to create a devastating montage of Ryan and Lauren’s affair: the stolen kiss, their hands touching, and their secret laundry room meeting.
I wrote a note. No longer a love letter. An impulsive blackmail note to make him pay.
“Your secret affair comes with a cost,” I wrote anonymously. I wanted a large payment and told them to leave it somewhere quiet.
I slipped the note and printed montage inside an envelope with shaking fingers. Now came the hardest. Waiting for Ryan.
Hours crawled like stains. My heart raced with every floor creak and car door slam. Finally, Ryan’s key in the lock shocked me.
I’m back, babe! He called cheerfully.
I welcomed him with a false smile, feeling strange. He noticed nothing unusual. Whistling, he went to the kitchen.
I had my moment. I placed the envelope under the door to make it stand out while he searched the fridge.
Ryan left the kitchen smelling food, unaware of my trap.
“What’s for dinner, love?” He inquired, beaming.
I acted innocently and gasped. “What’s that envelope by the door? Was mail delivered today? Please get that for me, hon.
He smiled less as he picked up the letter in an unfamiliar script. Opening it made him little frightened.
Photos sapped his face of color. When I inquired, he lied about confidential work.
Panicked, he ran to the bedroom. I knew he was reading my placed anonymous blackmail note:
“Your secret affair costs $10,000, first payment. LEAVE IT IN A BROWN ENVELOPE AT THE PARK OWL STATUE BY 5 PM TODAY. SILENCE IS GOLD.”
My plan worked well. Ryan ran out after reading.
I carefully followed him as he placed a substantial cash in a brown envelope by the park’s owl statue. He crouched behind a bush, expecting his mystery blackmailer.
Ryan gave up after a desperate wait and went home.
I ran to the owl statue with a triumphant smile when he disappeared. The envelope in hand, I ran home the fastest way I knew.
The next three days were hectic. I gradually increased the blackmail demands with each note.
With my rising money, I stealthily leased a new flat, preparing for my final revenge.
Ryan received the divorce papers last week from my lawyer.
What’s it about? He mumbled, confused, as I left, sniffing my suitcase.
I gripped the “mystery envelope” to my chest with a convincing gasp.
Imagine my terror when I found this beneath the door,” I shouted, wavering (not really). “How could you hurt me?”
Recognizing the photographs, Ryan’s mind raced. My righteous rage sparked the legal battle. Even a little detail like missing laundry room clothing revealed a network of falsehoods.
I regretted nothing. Ryan and other cheaters deserved worse than my financial hit.
Lauren, the neighbor who had her affair, can keep wondering who anonymously posted photographs of her kissing my soon-to-be-ex online! It was reasonable to give her her own medicine. BetrayalUnraveled #KarmaServed
