I gave up everything to keep Kevin’s secrets spotless. But when I followed him to catch him cheating, I found out I wasn’t the only one watching.

Kevin liked life a certain way.

The way only I knew how to maintain.

I kept a list so I wouldn’t slip up:

KEVIN’S RULES

1. No onions — ever

2. Steak: medium rare, thick cut

3. Garden: roses, always blooming

4. Shirts: collars stiff, perfectly ironed

5. Bedsheets: hotel crisp

6. Kitchen: no crumbs

7. Tea set polished every Sunday

8. Herbs: fresh, not dried

I lived by it. Recorded reminders like lullabies for obedient wives.

Eventually, my voice notes changed. My own voice started appearing—not as Kevin’s servant, but as someone trying to be heard.

[Monday, 6:12 a.m.] Recording 487:
“First run in five years. Feels like I’m running from myself.”

Earlier that morning, I was ironing at 5 a.m. Again. My library, once full of dreams and articles, now stored linens. Kevin liked me home. And I stayed.

[7:15 a.m.] Recording 488:
“Kevin left. No eye contact. Ordered steak and lemon tart for dinner. Must get lilies.”

But something broke in me.

I didn’t reach for the recipe book. I reached for my sneakers.

No makeup. No plan. Just running, like I wanted to escape.

And then… I saw his car. Parked two blocks down. Engine off.

I hid like an idiot. Then watched him step out—no briefcase, no laptop—and head to the subway.

[7:38 a.m.] Recording 489:
“He said he drives straight to the office. Why lie about the train?”

Hours later, I stood in our perfect kitchen and realized something chilling.

This wasn’t my home. It was my post.

I was the unpaid maid. The invisible one.

[8:03 a.m.] Recording 490:
“Tomorrow — disguise. Hat, sunglasses, hoodie. Time to see who he’s really kissing goodbye.”

Next morning, I followed him.

Same car. Same spot. He smiled at his phone. Not for me.

[Tuesday, 6:57 a.m.] Recording 492:
“He’s waiting. That smile isn’t mine.”

On the subway platform—her. Backpack. College-age. She leaned into him.

[7:18 a.m.] Recording 493:
“She’s soft, young. Not the woman folding his sheets.”

I followed from a distance. They entered a café. I stayed across the street.

But I wasn’t the only one watching.

A tall man in a tan jacket. Focused on her.

Eyes hard. Jaw tense.

[7:32 a.m.] Recording 494:
“The stranger’s watching her. Who is he?”

At a table near theirs, pretending to read an upside-down paper. We locked eyes.

He mouthed: “Wife?”

I mouthed: “Father.”

[7:42 a.m.] Recording 495:
“He’s here to see who’s wasting his daughter’s life. I’m here to see who’s wasting mine.”

We huddled behind a fake palm. Half-hidden.

“She’s twenty-two,” he said.

“Kevin’s forty,” I replied.

“I’m Mark,” he said.

“Rachel.”

He glanced at the recorder in my sleeve.

“For the divorce,” I explained.

He nodded. “Good. Judges love timestamps.”

His reason? Proof his daughter wasn’t some angel. He wanted her to see real consequences.

We scribbled a plan on a napkin.

• Record every lie

• Take photos

• Catch every promise

[7:55 a.m.] Recording 496:

Kevin: “I’ll leave her for you. Soon.”

Her: “Come over tomorrow — Mom’s away. You’ll love our big house.”

Click. One photo. Her spoon still in hand, kissing him.

Mark leaned in. “You have a plan?”

“I will. But you’ll have to help me.”

He nodded. “Let’s meet my ex-wife.”

[Wednesday, 6:58 p.m.] Recording 498:
“This isn’t my home. But maybe it’s where I get my life back.”

Laura opened the door. Confused, then furious.

“You brought his wife?”

I stepped forward. “You need to hear what your daughter’s been doing.”

She scoffed—until she saw the photo. Heard the audio.

“Tomorrow night—Mom’s away…”

She covered her mouth, stunned. “I was giving her college money next week… She was going to run away with him?”

Then she turned on me. “How did you let him—”

“I was no one,” I said. “Just the cook. The laundry. That’s all.”

Laura’s face hardened. “Then let’s punish them both.”

We waited. Lights off. Anger thick in the air.

[7:48 p.m.] Recording 499:
“They think they’re coming home to romance. We’ve got something better.”

Keys. Laughter. A hush. Then—light.

Laura stood. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Kevin froze. Laura unleashed fury. I added my part—voice notes, prenup, adultery clause.

His face went pale.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would. Ten grand, monthly. From your savings.”

Laura turned to her daughter.

“No more college fund. Go live with your ‘grown-up boyfriend.’ See how long that lasts.”

Mark just nodded. We walked out.

He bought me cheap coffee. We sat, finally not feeling like ghosts.

[7:59 p.m.] Recording 500:
“Revenge tastes better than lemon tart. Note to self: if you need a partner in crime, pick someone who hates lies as much as you do.”

To be continued…