It had been another one of Benjamin’s long business trips. He’d been traveling so much lately, and I was starting to get used to doing things on my own. But I hated it.

I hated feeling like I had to fix everything myself. The little things like tightening a loose screw or unclogging the sink were easy enough. But this time, I was in over my head.

On the third day of Benjamin’s absence, I planned a relaxing evening. Our daughter, Alice, was staying with her grandma and I was looking forward to a quiet bath. But around noon, I noticed a small drip coming from a dark green pipe behind the sink. By evening, it had turned into a steady stream, with water pooling on the floor.

I tried everything I could think of. “YouTube says tie it up with a cloth,” I muttered to myself. So, I grabbed an old bedsheet and wrapped it around the pipe. The water only soaked through faster.

Panic set in as I checked the time. Midnight. I reached for my phone and called Benjamin.

“Come on, pick up,” I whispered, pacing the hallway. The call rang and rang. No answer. “Of course,” I sighed, hanging up and staring at the puddle forming under the sink.

This was his thing. He fixed everything. I hated how lost I felt without him. But he wasn’t there, and something had to be done.

I opened the building chat and typed out a desperate message: Anyone awake? I have a leaking pipe, and I don’t know what to do.

Seconds later, a response popped up.

“Jake here. Oh, I had a burst pipe myself not too long ago. I can take a look.”

Jake? I knew the name but didn’t know much about him. I’d seen him in the stairwell a few times — a tall, broad-shouldered guy. He lived a few floors down, always nodding a polite hello when we passed.

Relief washed over me.

“Thank you! The pipe is leaking in the bathroom. I’ll be here.”

About ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find Jake standing there, toolbox in hand, looking every bit the calm and collected type. He smiled warmly.

“Looks like you’ve got quite the mess,” he said, glancing at the water dripping down the pipe.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admitted, feeling embarrassed.

“No worries. Let me take a look.”

Jake knelt down, examined the pipe, and got to work. I stood off to the side, watching as he handled the situation like a pro. Within minutes, he had clamped the pipe, and the leak was under control.

“Thank you,” I said, genuinely relieved. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’ve been there myself,” he said, packing up his tools.

The next day, the clamps that Jake had installed were still in place, and there was no sign of any leak. On the floor near the bathroom lay Jake’s forgotten pliers. “He must have left them,” I muttered under my breath as I threw a jacket over my shoulders.

I raised my hand to knock again when the door suddenly opened. My breath caught in my throat. Standing in the doorway wasn’t just Jake. It was Benjamin.

My heart pounded in my chest, and for a second, I thought I might faint. “What — what are you doing here?” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.

Benjamin stood there, shirtless, his eyes wide in shock. He looked as if he’d been caught in the act. Jake shifted uncomfortably beside him, scratching the back of his neck.

“Cleo, listen,” Benjamin started, but the words stuck in his throat.

I couldn’t process what I was seeing. My husband — who was supposed to be halfway across the country — was here. In Jake’s apartment.

“What is this?” I whispered, stepping back, my head spinning. I could feel my legs trembling. None of it made sense. The business trips, the late-night phone calls, his distant behavior…

Jake stepped forward, his voice low. “It’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think?” I repeated, my voice growing louder. “Then what is it?”

Benjamin reached out to me, but I jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”

I glanced past them into the apartment. The unmade bed. Two glasses on the nightstand. My mind was racing, trying to put the pieces together.

I took a shaky step forward, pushing past Benjamin. “I need to see,” I said, my voice trembling, but I was determined.

“Cleo, wait—” Benjamin protested, his voice thin, but I ignored him. I walked straight into the apartment, my eyes darting around, taking in the scene. The unmade bed with rumpled sheets. Two half-full wine glasses sitting on the nightstand. The air smelled faintly of cologne, the same one Benjamin wore.

It all clicked in an instant. The unanswered calls, the missed messages, the never-ending business trips. He wasn’t working late. He wasn’t in another city. He was right here, with Jake.

I turned to face them, my heart pounding in my chest. “How long?” I demanded, my voice a low growl. Benjamin looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, while Jake stood awkwardly in the corner, avoiding my gaze.

“Cleo, please, it’s not—” Benjamin started, stepping toward me, but I cut him off.

“Not what I think?” I spat. “So, what is it, Benjamin? You were just hanging out, drinking wine in bed? With Jake?” My hands trembled as I spoke, my voice growing louder with each word. “You lied to me. All those nights I waited for you to call. All those trips… and this is what you were doing?”

He stammered, trying to form a response, but nothing came out.

Jake, looking more uncomfortable by the second, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His usual confidence was gone.

I could feel my anger building, my chest tightening. “You know what? I’m done.” I grabbed the pliers I had come to return and hurled them onto the bed. “You’ll be needing those,” I said, my voice cold, distant. It wasn’t just about the pliers. It was about all of it—the lies, the betrayal, the years of trust he’d shattered in an instant.

Benjamin’s eyes widened as he realized what I was doing. “Cleo, don’t—”

But I didn’t stop. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the bed, the wine glasses, and Benjamin standing there, shirtless and ashamed. “You want to explain this to everyone?” I asked, my voice steady now, cold and sharp. “Because I’m going to make sure they all know.”

I turned on my heel and walked out of the apartment without another word, leaving Benjamin and Jake standing there in stunned silence. The door slammed behind me, echoing down the hallway.

Back in my apartment, I locked the door and leaned against it, my breath coming in sharp bursts. I grabbed my phone and scrolled to my lawyer’s number, the one I never thought I’d need. “Laura? It’s Cleo,” I said when she answered. “I need to file for divorce. Tonight.”

She paused for a second, probably stunned by my directness, then responded, “Of course, Cleo. Let’s set up a meeting tomorrow.”

I hung up and sank onto the couch, my thoughts racing. Our daughter. How was I going to explain this to her? She was only five. How do you tell a child that her father is gone, that her family is breaking apart?

The next morning, I opened the building chat. My finger hovered over the “send” button, the pictures of Benjamin and Jake ready to be shared. My heart pounded in my chest as I thought about the fallout.

But this was my chance to take control of the situation, to show him that I wasn’t going to be silent or ashamed. He’d humiliated me, betrayed me, and now it was time for him to face the consequences.

I hit send.

Almost immediately, my phone blew up with messages. Shock, confusion, and sympathy filled the chat. Neighbors were stunned, and a few even texted me privately, offering their support.

Then came the call. Benjamin.

“Cleo, take the photos down. Please,” his voice was frantic, desperate. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Oh, I do,” I said calmly. “You didn’t think twice about betraying me. I’m not deleting anything.”

“Please, Cleo,” he begged, “this could ruin me.”

“I don’t care anymore, Benjamin,” I replied, my voice steady. “You made your choices. Now you’ll live with them.”

There was a long pause on the line. “I’ll see you in court,” I added, and then I hung up.