The only reason I ever considered going to my husband’s office party was to see her—the woman he had been hiding. I never expected what would come next.
It all started when I saw an unexpected email on Oliver’s laptop. We were watching a movie when he got up to use the bathroom, leaving his laptop open and pinging on the coffee table.
I glanced at the screen.
Dear Mr. Oliver,
We’re thrilled to invite you to our upcoming New Year’s White Party! You may bring a guest—your wife. Address follows…
I froze. His company had always banned plus-ones. So why now? And more importantly—why hadn’t he told me?
When Oliver returned, I tried to sound casual. “So, your office is having a New Year’s party?”
“Yeah, nothing big. Just the usual year-end thing,” he shrugged.
“Can I come?” I asked sweetly.
He didn’t hesitate. “No guests allowed. Strictly work.”
“But the email said—”
“They don’t, Jen. Trust me.” His tone was sharp. “Besides, I’ll just be working late. No big deal.”
That was the moment my suspicion took root.
On New Year’s Eve, while Oliver kissed me goodbye and said, “Happy New Year,” I stood silently, watching him leave. As the door clicked shut, I grabbed my purse and followed.
The hotel looked stunning, glowing against the night sky. My heart pounded as I stepped into the lobby.
“Name, please?” asked the host at the check-in desk, smiling politely.
“Jennifer. I’m Oliver’s wife.”
He scanned the list, then chuckled awkwardly. “Good one.”
“I am his wife,” I insisted.
His expression changed. “Oh… Uh, ma’am, maybe there’s some confusion. Mr. Oliver already checked in—with his wife.”
My breath caught. “Excuse me?”
“They arrived about half an hour ago. They attend every event together,” he added, visibly uncomfortable.
“I am his wife,” I repeated, my voice steady now.
Before he could respond, I looked past him—and saw them. Oliver and a woman with long, dark hair, her arm draped over his shoulder. They were laughing, close, familiar.
The host’s voice cut in gently, “Ma’am?”
I didn’t flinch. “No need to check. I see him.”
I had no plan, no script. But one thing was certain—Oliver would pay for this.
The Next Morning
While making my coffee, the phone rang. I considered letting it go to voicemail, but something urged me to pick up.
“Is this Mrs. Oliver?” a calm voice asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Mercy Hospital. Your husband was in a car accident early this morning. He’s stable, but you need to come in.”
My heart dropped. “What happened? Is he okay?”
“He has a head injury and a broken arm. We’ll explain more when you arrive.”
The hospital’s sterile scent greeted me as I entered the waiting room.
“Jennifer?” a doctor called out.
“Yes—how is Oliver?”
“He’s stable,” the doctor replied. “But we have a problem. His arm needs immediate surgery or it may not heal properly. Unfortunately, his insurance lapsed last month. As his spouse, you can authorize the surgery—and the payment.”
I blinked. “His insurance ran out? Why didn’t he renew it?”
The doctor shook his head. “I can’t say. But we need your decision.”
I eventually walked into Oliver’s room. He looked frail, pale, nothing like the man from last night.
“Jen,” he rasped.
I stood still.
“I know you’re angry, but please—what you saw isn’t what it looked like,” he pleaded.
My voice was ice. “I know what I saw. You lied to me. You brought her to the party.”
He blanched. “Let me explain—”
“No. The doctor says you need surgery. Sounds like something your ‘real’ wife should handle.”
His voice broke. “Please, Jen. I messed up. Just sign the papers.”
“No,” I said firmly. “You made your choice. Now live with it.”
I turned and walked out without looking back.
Days Later
The hospital called again. This time, it was Oliver.
“Jen, please,” he whispered. “She didn’t come. I’m alone. I need you.”
I didn’t respond.
“Jen?” he begged again.
“You chose her, Oliver,” I said. “Now face the consequences.”
I hung up and blocked his number.
In the weeks that followed, the truth unraveled. Word of the affair spread around his office. His job teetered on the edge. Everything he tried to keep hidden was now exposed.
But I didn’t feel sorry for him.
For too long, I was “Jennifer—the perfect wife.”
Not anymore.
Now, I was just Jen—strong, free, and never looking back.
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