I – the silent wife – silently reviewed the dash cam every time my husband returned from his ambiguous ‘business’ trips. I knew he had a “little sister” – a young girl who sneaked into his car in the dark, with undeniable looks and gestures. But I didn’t make a fuss, didn’t catch him red-handed. I waited… Waited for the right moment. And then, the day he eagerly went to the class reunion – a reunion full of memories and flaws – I appeared. Quietly but coldly, carrying evidence, broken trust, and a decisive blow that left him with no way back…
I am Liza, 34 years old, working as an accountant in an interior design company in Makati. My husband – Ernesto – is the sales manager of a large technology corporation in Quezon City. He is always busy, often having to “go on business trips”. At first, I trusted him absolutely. We fell in love in college, got married when we both had nothing. I used to think that love built on hard times would last forever. But maybe I was wrong.

It all started about half a year ago. His business trips became more frequent, and strangely, they didn’t have a clear schedule. When I asked, he always answered vaguely: “The client is urgent”, “The partner in Cebu made a sudden appointment”, or “The boss gave me an urgent assignment, don’t ask.” I tried not to doubt it, but the feeling of unease kept burning in my heart.

One day, while cleaning my husband’s car, I accidentally discovered that it had a new type of dash cam installed, which recorded both images and sounds. I thought: “If he has nothing to hide, then it’s okay for me to watch it.” And so, after each business trip, I quietly waited for my husband to fall asleep, took out the memory card from the camera and plugged it into my laptop.

At first, there was nothing. Directions to the NLEX highway, gas stations, and a few roadside eateries. But then one day, I saw him stop at a coffee shop outside Angeles, and a young girl got in. She was in her 20s, dressed stylishly. I noticed the way he looked at her, and the way his hand lightly touched her shoulder when he opened the door – things I hadn’t seen in a long time.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t get angry. I just sat there silently, watching the clip over and over again. The next day, I still cooked breakfast, still saw him off to work as usual. Because I knew, if I asked him now, he would deny it. To me, that look was already a betrayal.

From that day on, I continued to watch the camera after each trip. The girl – I called her “rainy sister” – kept appearing regularly. One day we went to eat hotpot at Manila Bay, another day we had coffee at BGC, another day we went to Subic beach. He always turned the car around to find a secluded spot, but the camera still recorded everything.

One time, in his wallet, there was a restaurant bill under the name “Tricia”. I quietly searched Facebook, and as expected, I found that girl – a hot girl from the countryside, with photos full of branded items and luxurious restaurants. I created a secondary account to follow her, and saw that the check-in photos matched the places his car had been to.

I wanted to make a fuss, but stopped. I chose to wait for the right moment. Not because I was weak, but because I wanted to end everything with an undeniable blow.

The time came – Ernesto’s college reunion, held at a resort in Tagaytay. He was eagerly preparing, even sending his car for maintenance, choosing a new perfume. I kept quiet, just smiled and wished him a good time. But he didn’t know – this time, I would also “go to the reunion.”

That night, I drove behind, keeping my distance. An acquaintance who worked as a receptionist at the resort helped me book a room right next to his and “her” rooms. I also installed a mini camera from the balcony facing their room.

Around 8pm, Ernesto and Tricia entered the resort. Tricia wore a tight dress, holding my husband’s arm as if he were hers. All on camera.

I wasn’t in a hurry. I waited.

They clinked their glasses of wine, then hugged and kissed. For me, that was enough. I stood up, holding the USB containing all the dash cam videos from the past six months – irrefutable evidence.

I knocked on their door. Three cold knocks – like an alarm clock.

Ernesto opened the door, his face pale. Tricia startled and pulled at her skirt.

– Liza… you… why are you here?

I handed him the USB:

– This is everything I did in the past six months.

He was stunned. I turned to Tricia:

– Hello. He is my husband, legally, properly married, with two children. Did you know?

She stammered:

– I… I thought… we were just getting to know each other…

I looked straight at Ernesto:

– You hid it carefully, but you forgot that any cover will eventually break, if you keep using it to cover up dirty things.

He walked out into the hallway, his voice trembling:

– I’m sorry… but what are you doing here?

I calmly said:

– I came to close the deal. I emailed you the divorce papers. I’m not fighting over the property, nor do I need an explanation. I just need you to sign and disappear from my life with my children.

Ernesto stammered:

– Liza, don’t be angry for a moment…

I interrupted:

– I’m not angry. I’ve been silent for 6 months, giving you enough time to choose. And today, I’ve chosen.

I turned my back and left. No tears. No regrets.

Three months later, my two children and I moved to a small apartment in Makati. Peace and freedom. Ernesto tried to contact me, but I blocked them all. One time, his mother came to the house crying:

– Ernesto knows his mistake, my child…

I just smiled:

– You know your mistake too. It’s my fault for trusting too much, enduring too long, and loving too blindly.

I don’t hate you. Because a traitor is not worth shedding another tear. I only regret the years I lived forgetting myself.

But now, I have found peace again – something no one else can bring, but myself.

I don’t need to win. I just need to retreat at the right time. And sometimes, that is the most decisive blow.

Part 2: When the Children Speak

After signing the divorce papers, Ernesto thought that time would make me calm down, that I would remember the years we were married, and then soften my heart and give him a chance. But he was wrong. And that mistake only made the price he had to pay even higher.

Three months later, my two children – Alyssa (12 years old) and Miguel (9 years old) – and I lived in a small apartment in Makati. Life was simpler, less prosperous than before, but peaceful. In the morning I took my children to school, in the afternoon I went to work, and in the evening the three of us gathered to eat dinner. For the first time in many years, I saw my children smile truly at ease, no longer forced smiles in the face of the tense family atmosphere.

But Ernesto was the opposite. After I left, Tricia disappeared without a trace, deleted her phone number, blocked her Facebook, as if she had never existed. Colleagues in the company gradually distanced themselves, people whispered about “the department head who was abandoned by his wife because he had an affair with a young girl”. Friends were afraid to invite him anywhere, for fear of the ironic looks from others. He fell into a lonely void, and finally, found his way back.

One weekend night, when I had just finished cooking dinner, there was a knock on the door. I opened it. Ernesto stood there, skinny, with a scraggly beard, his shirt wrinkled. His eyes were red:

– Liza… let me in to talk for a moment. Please.

I stood blocking the door, before I could react, Alyssa ran out, seeing her father. She stood straight, her eyes colder than her 12 years:

– Papa, why are you here? Mama doesn’t need Papa anymore. We don’t need Papa anymore either.

Ernesto bent down, trying to smile:

– Alyssa, Papa is sorry. Papa was wrong. Papa wants to go back to his family.

Miguel also ran out, his voice blunt:

– If Papa loved Mama, Papa wouldn’t have left Mama to cry alone. If Papa loved us, Papa wouldn’t have gone with someone else. Papa, go home.

I was stunned. The two children, who used to be so close to their father, now stood in front of me like two small shields.

Ernesto reached out and touched his son’s shoulder with a trembling hand:

– Miguel, Papa regrets it. Papa swears…

But Miguel waved his hand away, shouting:

– What did Papa swear? Papa swore to love Mama, then Papa left Mama. Papa swore to take care of us, then Papa made us cry every night. Papa go, don’t make Mama sad anymore!

Ernesto was stunned, stepping back. I saw his shoulders shaking, tears falling. He knelt down right in front of the door, his voice choked:

– Liza, I’ve lost everything. I lost my job, I lost my friends, and now… I’m about to lose you and the children. I’m sorry. I just ask you for a chance to start over, I will change.

I stood still, my heart wavering for a moment. For years, I had dreamed of him saying sorry like this. But now, when it came true, I saw… it was too late.

Alyssa walked over, took my hand, and said loudly:

– Mama, don’t believe Papa anymore. Mama has suffered enough. My brother and I will take care of Mama, we don’t need Papa.

Her words were like a knife but also powerful. I looked down at the two children, then at Ernesto who was kneeling. Finally, I said softly:

– Ernesto, stand up. I forgive you, to ease my heart. But forgiveness doesn’t mean going back. This family… no longer has a place for you.

He looked up, his eyes desperate. I gently closed the door.

Outside, the knocking gradually faded and then disappeared. Inside, I held my two children tightly to my chest. For the first time, I felt that I was no longer alone – because it was the children, with their strength, who stood up to protect their mother.

That night, I wrote in my diary:

“Betrayal kills marriage, but it is the love of children that saves me. From now on, we are a family – no need for that man anymore.”