Catching My Wife in Bed with a Stranger, I Did Something Irreversible to Her Lover

I once had a perfect family—until the fateful day I caught my wife in bed with a strange man. Blinded by rage, I did something irreversible to her lover, and it marked the beginning of the end for the woman who had been deceiving me for years.

And no matter how hard you pinch yourself, the truth remains. What I’m about to share is a nightmare—one that shattered my life into pieces. Right now, I’m sitting in a cold, sterile hospital room. The stench of disinfectant invades my nose—a smell people often associate with life.

But to me, at this moment, it smells like the end.

Just yesterday, around 7:30 in the morning, my wife Tuyết Anh and I got into a horrific accident. I only suffered minor scratches and a few bruises that will heal soon. But Tuyết Anh—my wife—had her shoulder crushed, her collarbone broken, three ribs fractured, and one of her lungs severely damaged.

The doctors say she will make a full recovery, but for now, they’ve had to sedate her with heavy tranquilizers. Typing this on my phone is anything but easy, but I have too much time—and I don’t even know if I have the strength to face it all.

Our marriage was already falling apart; otherwise, I wouldn’t be here pouring out my heart. But never, not even for a single second, did I imagine Tuyết Anh could betray me. My heart is in pieces. It feels like someone has cut a part of me off. And the worst part is—that missing piece is just within arm’s reach.

For the past three months, I’d felt a growing, invisible distance between us. But I couldn’t pinpoint the cause. We’re both 34 years old. Tuyết Anh and I have known each other since we were little kids playing in the rain. We started dating in high school and went through college together. She was the only woman in my life.

Until recently, I still believed that. We got married a year after graduating, and a year later, our son Minh Khôi was born. Three years after that, our daughter Mai Chi came into our lives—a child I’ve spoiled beyond words. I love my children more than life itself. If not for them, I probably wouldn’t be here now. Thank God they weren’t in the car with us on that fateful morning.

They were at their grandparents’ house. Yesterday afternoon, our whole family was supposed to fly to Phú Quốc for a vacation. But my wife decided to go out with her best friend, Bích Trâm, instead. I warned her not to go—it looked like a storm was coming.

But she insisted, saying she just wanted to have a few drinks with Trâm since they wouldn’t see each other for a whole week. I trusted her. I went to bed and slept soundly until about 5:00 a.m. I woke up, looked out the window, and didn’t see her car. It had rained heavily the night before. I figured she and Trâm must’ve been too drunk to drive and stayed over at her friend’s house. That’s what I thought as I quickly got dressed and climbed into my seven-seater car…

Before leaving, I even carefully texted Tuyết Anh: “Don’t drive back, okay? It’s raining heavily and the roads are slippery. I’ll come pick you up.” That message… it still sits there, unread. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve asked myself—what if she had read that message? How would things have turned out? Maybe I would still be living in denial, still haunted by unease and confusion… but I surely wouldn’t be suffering this unbearable pain now.

I drove to the high-end condo complex where Bích Trâm lives. I checked my phone again—still unread. I hoped my wife had seen the message and would be waiting outside. But no. I had no choice but to go inside and wake her up myself. The front door was unlocked. I stepped in and glanced at the living room to the right. No one was sleeping on the sofa. Bích Trâm’s bedroom was on the lower floor.

Not wanting to disturb her, I headed straight upstairs to the guest room. I opened the door… and that’s when my life ended.

I remember stepping into the room and seeing two heads moving beneath a thick blanket. I remember leaning over, my hand trembling as I pulled the blanket toward me. I even remember, crystal clear, the sight of my wife—my Tuyết Anh—resting her head on the bare chest of some unknown man.

The next thing I recall is Bích Trâm, Tuyết Anh, and that stranger frantically trying to pull me off him. Maybe I should thank them, because if they hadn’t, I might be sitting in a police station right now. But truthfully, I don’t remember what I did. Right or wrong, I no longer feel guilt about it.

When I came to, the guy said he would take his friend to the hospital himself. Tuyết Anh was sobbing hysterically while Bích Trâm and I were shouting in each other’s faces. I told both of them that I was going home and that my wife had exactly five minutes to be in my car—or she should never come home again. She showed up after three.

Driving in a rage through pouring rain is never a good idea. But it wasn’t my fault. Another car swerved into our lane, forcing us through the barricades. The vehicle rolled several times. Thank God for airbags. We survived.

The kids still don’t know about the accident. I haven’t called anyone. Maybe I should.

But this isn’t just a car crash. This is the wreckage of my entire life. I’m trying to assess the damage before dragging anyone else into this mess. I feel numb, yet the pain keeps clawing at my soul. A pain that doesn’t come from physical wounds.

I don’t even recognize the woman lying in that hospital bed anymore. I want to ask her a thousand questions, but I’m terrified of the answers. Clearly, she doesn’t love me anymore. No one with a soul could betray someone they love like that. I wonder—did she ever really love me? And now that she’s betrayed me, do I even want her love anymore—if it’s still even possible? I don’t know when exactly she started lying to me, but in my mind, the moment she did… our marriage ended. The vows were broken. She ended it. We’re no longer husband and wife.

I don’t need a divorce lawyer to tell me that.

So I’m no longer bound by those vows I once made. A part of me just wants to walk out of this room and never look back. I want to call her parents, tell them what their daughter has done, what happened, and that after all these years—she’s their problem now. We once vowed to stay together for better or worse. I upheld that vow. But we’re not married anymore.

Another part of me wants to leave her a note—something cruel and cutting, something that says: “You got what you deserved. Something worse came after you started a new relationship.”

The only thing keeping me in this godforsaken room are my children.

I want to see them so badly, but there are scratches on my face and neck. They’ll know something’s wrong. Even though I feel like my wife has tainted both herself and our family, the kids still need her. I once believed I had a life partner, and no matter how awful she may be now, our children still need a mother.

There will be conversations I’m not qualified to have—wounds that need a mother’s kiss, not a father’s tough words. I’m a good father, but I can’t be a mother. God, someone help me.

How am I supposed to sit here and take care of the person who stabbed me so viciously in the back? Should I call her parents to come? What would I even say to them? I really don’t want to be here—especially not with them around. But if I don’t tell them what she did, they’ll see I’m angry. And dear God—what am I supposed to say to our kids?

Sure, I can tell them we had an accident, but I’m not someone who can fake emotions. Clearly, my wife can do that easily, but when I love or hate someone, it shows on my face. The kids will know I’m angry at their mom.

Dear God, how did my life end up like this?

After a long, torturous night at the hospital, I decided to stay one more night. Tuyết Anh is still unconscious from the tranquilizers.

The lights in the room are off, with only a faint glow from the medical machines casting shadows on the ceiling. I lean back in a folding chair, eyes staring into the void, listening to the steady beeping of the monitors.

That sound—it’s like a countdown clock, ticking off the final moments of the life I used to have.

I lay there wondering—why? Why had my life come to this? A part of me felt like I was granting her an undeserved mercy by simply being in the same room. But another part—a weak and foolish part—still loved her. I didn’t want to feel that love. It made me feel pathetic.

The thought kept circling in my head: that nothing could be salvaged anymore. It was like a terrible storm had swept through and destroyed everything we had built together. I cried. I cried like a man who had never been allowed to cry. I cried for a beautiful chapter of my life that had ended forever.

The next morning, when the nurse came in to draw blood, I made an excuse to step out. Just as Tuyết Anh regained consciousness and saw me heading for the door, she called my name—but I pretended not to hear her. I went out, looking for something to eat, though I had no appetite. I tried to kill time scrolling through my phone. There was a message from Bích Trâm asking where Tuyết Anh was. I left it on unread.

At 7:00 a.m., I decided it was time to knock on my in-laws’ door. My father-in-law always gets up early. I planned to speak with him first. I saw smoke rising from the small woodworking shop behind the house, so I headed straight there. The moment he saw me, he noticed the scratches on my neck and the bruise on my cheek. I told him there had been an accident, that Tuyết Anh was hurt more seriously, and that we needed to talk.

He probably thought I wanted to talk about the accident, so he went inside to wake my mother-in-law. We sat in the kitchen. I began telling a rehearsed version of the story—how a car coming from the opposite direction veered into our lane at a curve. Even though my car was heavier and had two axles, I couldn’t avoid crashing through the barricades. The passenger side—where Tuyết Anh was sitting—hit a concrete post.

Even with airbags, the impact was brutal. I described her injuries but reassured them she was stable and the doctors said she would fully recover. Both of them cried upon hearing how much pain their daughter had endured, but were grateful she was still alive. Just as they started saying they would be there to help me care for her—I interrupted.

I told them the accident wasn’t the real reason I was there. They looked at me, puzzled. Then I told them everything.

I told them how I had woken up early that morning, worried, and drove through the storm to make sure my wife was safe. I told them how I entered Bích Trâm’s apartment and caught their daughter with another man. I told them how I lost control and attacked him.

They were both speechless.

Then I told them which hospital room she was in. I said I’d always wanted them to be part of their grandchildren’s lives, and I hoped we could still maintain a good relationship. I told them my father was looking after the kids, but that I would be divorcing their daughter—because she had broken our vows. She was no longer my wife.

I said, “I’m leaving here to go to my parents’ house and tell the kids about the accident. And I’ll also tell them that their parents won’t be living together anymore. I won’t tell them their mother is a cheater.” I told what were now my former in-laws that even though things ended this way, at least I could say with pride that I wasn’t the one who destroyed our marriage and our family.

They tried to convince me not to make such a rushed decision, saying she had just made a mistake—and offered the usual weak excuses. I just smiled and said it had been a pleasure having them as in-laws all these years, then turned around and walked away.

When I got to my parents’ house, I had so much I needed to let out. I walked into the kitchen and saw my dad having his morning coffee. The only thing he knew was that by now, I should have been on a cruise ship far out at sea. He stood up and asked what I was doing there.

I didn’t say anything. I just rushed into his arms and cried like a child.

It was the kind of embrace where he knew I needed to cry it all out before he could ask a single question. He gently led me to the living room, helped me onto the couch, and went to call my mother.

The moment she saw me sitting there alone so early in the morning, she knew something terrible had happened. I told them everything. First, about Tuyết Anh’s affair. How I caught her, then stormed out of Bích Trâm’s house. Then, I told them about the accident—how bad it was. I told them about her injuries and that I had already informed her parents so they could visit her.

My parents were stunned.

Finally, my mother asked, “What do you plan to do now?” Both of them cried when I said my only choice left was to divorce Tuyết Anh and be the best father I could be to my children.

Our conversation was nearing its end when I suddenly heard my daughter, little Mai Chi, screaming “Daddy!” as she ran down the stairs toward me. That shout woke up her older brother, Minh Khôi, who was also downstairs…

It had been so long since I’d last seen them. I just hugged both of my children tightly, overwhelmed with happiness. After a while, they noticed the scratches on my face. I told them about the accident—that their mother was in the hospital, but she would be okay. I said their grandparents would take them to visit her later, and I left it at that.

I spent the entire day playing, talking, cuddling, and laughing with my kids. They were the reason I wanted to keep going. To be honest, up until that point, the thought of continuing to live was a fifty-fifty for me. But them—they deserved for me to live, to protect them, and to love them.

Tuyết Anh’s phone had been destroyed in the accident, so no one had heard from her for days. That evening, I started receiving messages from my mother-in-law’s phone. I knew it was Tuyết Anh for sure. I ignored them. The messages kept coming sporadically throughout the night. I turned off notifications.

The next day, I spoke with three law firms about filing for divorce.

I can’t say I wanted or needed a legal divorce—but it would help settle property division and custody. What she did with anyone else was no longer my concern. Friends, after those first stormy days, I found myself a very competent lawyer—Ms. Nga. Her firm is known for representing men in divorce cases, and luckily, she took on mine personally. Everyone at her office was kind and understanding.

I felt like they genuinely cared—not just about the money. After we signed the agreement, Ms. Nga gave me a long list of tasks and documents to gather. I had to declare assets, provide banking details, and estimate the incomes of both me and Tuyết Anh. I told her about the accident, and what I had witnessed just before it.

She asked me if I’d gotten tested for STDs. I said yes, and all results were clean. Then she asked if I had taken any photos or videos as evidence of the affair. I shook my head. My mind wasn’t clear enough to think about that at the time. Among the listed tasks, there was one item Ms. Nga kept emphasizing: getting DNA tests for both children.

It sounded strange at first, but she explained that while Vietnamese law doesn’t require it, having proof of infidelity—and even DNA results—can be a massive advantage in court, especially when it comes to asset division and custody.

At the time, I thought it was just a legal formality, albeit a slightly excessive one.

I had never—even for a fleeting second—doubted the paternity of my children. To me, it was as certain as the sun rising in the east. That evening, after they’d finished dinner, I called them over. I told them it was just a little game, a small health check. Minh Khôi, being older, understood and sat quietly as I took the sample.

But little Mai Chi was just six years old. She kept giggling because the cotton swab tickled her. I looked at her, and my heart twisted with overwhelming love. My sweet little girl—my tiny angel. I carefully sealed each of their samples into two separate envelopes, properly labeled, and took them to the post office the next morning.

With that done, I sighed in relief and pushed the whole thing out of my mind so I could focus on the other chaos in my life.

Two days later, on a Friday afternoon, I was at the office when I got a notification for a new email. I glanced at it—it was from the testing center. My heart didn’t skip a beat. I calmly sat down at my desk with a cup of still-hot coffee in hand.

I opened the first email and clicked on the link. A line of text appeared on the screen: The DNA test result confirms that Đỗ Minh Khôi and Mr. Đỗ Duy Khoa have a biological father-son relationship. I nodded. Of course. A fleeting sense of relief passed over me, though I knew it was utterly meaningless.

Then I opened the second email, the one from Mai Chi. I clicked the link and read the text:
The DNA test result confirms that Hoàng Mai Chi and Mr. Đỗ Duy Khoa do not have a biological father-daughter relationship.

I read it again. And again.

The whole world around me seemed to stop. The sound of typing, of people chatting, the hum of the air conditioner—all of it vanished. Only that line remained. It danced. It screamed in front of my eyes.

I couldn’t say anything. I just shook my head violently, as if that motion could erase the horrifying truth before me. I knew I had to leave the office immediately before I collapsed, but my limbs no longer obeyed me. With what little sense I had left, I took screenshots of both results and shakily sent them to myself, then to Attorney Nga.

I rushed to the car, slammed the door shut—and then I broke down. I collapsed onto the steering wheel, crying out like a wounded animal. This pain… it was far worse than catching her in bed with another man. It was like someone had ripped my heart out, crushed it, and shoved it back into my chest.

It felt as if my very soul had been stolen.

I opened the car door and threw up until there was nothing left inside me—just dry, wrenching spasms. Right then, my phone rang. It was Attorney Nga.

“Khoa, where are you?” Her voice was sharp and cold.

“At the office.” That was all I could say.

“Stay there. I’ll send someone to get you now.”

Not long after, a young assistant from her law office came to pick me up.

When I arrived, Attorney Nga was still in a meeting. The moment she was done, she took me straight to a private room. The first thing she said was that sometimes DNA results could be inaccurate. She said she understood how shocked I was, but we had to remain calm. We needed to take Mai Chi to a different center for another test—just to make sure there had been no error or mix-up.

God… I had never even considered the possibility that my wife might have been unfaithful. And now, I had to face the reality that she might have been pregnant with another man’s child. If that were true—then who was the woman I had married? I couldn’t even confront Tuyết Anh, even if I wanted to. I still didn’t have irrefutable proof.

The next day, I made arrangements to pick up Mai Chi for a few hours. We did the second DNA test in a sterile environment, with trained medical staff. There was no way there could be a mistake this time.

And yet this result… it was even more devastating than the first. Because it extinguished the last flicker of hope—no matter how faint it was.

I cried. I cried even harder.

And I silently thanked the heavens that Mai Chi wasn’t there to witness the breakdown of a grown man—the one she had always called “Dad.”

I sent the results to Attorney Nga. She called to comfort me and urged me to reach out to my family—to not carry the pain alone.

I got in the car and drove straight to my parents’ house, tears streaming down my face the entire way.

As soon as I got home, my mother could immediately sense something was wrong. But she couldn’t get a word out of me. In the end, I could only manage one broken sentence:
“Mom… Mai Chi… she’s not my daughter.”
My mother froze. She asked again, “What did you say?”
But she already knew she’d heard it right. I had no strength left to repeat those words.

Thirty seconds of dreadful silence passed—just the sound of my sobbing filled the room. My mother stood up, hands trembling, and called my father:
“Come home now. But drive carefully. Khoa… he’s going through something terrible.”

Dad came back about twenty minutes later. The three of us spent the entire afternoon crying until we were empty. My father consoled my mother, my mother consoled me, and then they consoled each other. There was no way for us to ease the pain.

They asked about Minh Khôi, and I assured them—he is their grandson.
They both sighed in relief… and then immediately felt guilty—for feeling relieved that it was only one child we lost.

They asked what I was going to do next.
I said, “I don’t know.”

But honestly, after the earth-shattering shock about Mai Chi, I knew I couldn’t just sit there and suffer silently anymore. I needed answers.
I needed to face that woman—to see what she would say, what kind of explanation she could possibly give for the unthinkable betrayal she’d committed.

Attorney Nga arranged a three-party meeting at her office.
It took everything in me to survive the days leading up to it. I couldn’t eat anything. Whatever I tried to swallow just came back up.

That afternoon, I left work early, driving to the law office with a stomach twisted in knots. I arrived early on purpose.
I wanted to be there first. I wanted her to be the one walking in, having to sit far from me—somewhere she couldn’t come close.

I sat in the cold meeting room, scrolling through old family photos on my phone.
There we were at the park—Khôi smiling brightly.
There I was giving Mai Chi a piggyback ride on our vacation last year.
A perfect family.
A perfect family that had never really existed.

Then she walked in.
She still needed assistance and had her arm in a cast from the accident.
I was afraid she might try to hug me—but thank God, she didn’t.

For a moment, I wondered if she was playing the victim for sympathy.
But no—the accident had been real.

I just wanted her to sit down so we could begin this… trial.

Once we were settled, Attorney Nga asked if we minded the meeting being recorded.
She agreed.

The moment the record button was pressed, Tuyết Anh began sniffling, trying to apologize.
I cut her off immediately—my voice ice cold, void of emotion:
“I’m not here for an apology. Answer me: since Khôi was born, how many other men have you slept with?”

The way I framed it—so specific—caught her off guard for a second.
Then she tried to act clueless, like she didn’t understand what I meant.
She still thought this was some kind of game.

I was running out of patience.

Nga placed a hand on my shoulder, gently guiding me to sit back down. Then she turned to Tuyết Anh and calmly asked:
“Ms. Tuyết Anh, do you believe Khoa is a good father?”
She nodded quickly, showering me with compliments, saying she couldn’t have asked for a better father for her children.

When she said “her children”, I wanted to flip the entire table.

Then Nga followed up with a dagger of a question:
“And the father of your other child—would you say he’s a good father too?”
“Other child?” Tuyết Anh repeated blankly.

At that moment, Nga slid the DNA result of Mai Chi across the table.

Despite how much I had hated my life since discovering the truth, I knew I had to be there—to see her reaction with my own eyes.
Her face changed color—
From confusion, to shock, to complete collapse.

She tried denying it. Claimed I was the real father of Mai Chi, because I had raised her.
I shut that down immediately.
“Then who is her real father?” I growled.

She lowered her head, shame flickering briefly in her eyes. And then she said something that shattered me all over again:
“I’m not sure who the father is.”

This time it was me who collapsed.
I couldn’t hold it in anymore—I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably right there.

Tuyết Anh cried too, but her tears were crocodile tears.
She begged to explain.
She brought up postpartum depression.

After giving birth to Minh Khôi, she said I had done everything—taking care of our son so she could have time for herself.
There were days she couldn’t even get out of bed, and I had to carry the weight of the entire family.

But I did it out of love—because I believed in our family.
I once foolishly thought that going through those hard times together would make our relationship stronger.

I never imagined…

She didn’t blame Bích Châm directly, but said her “best friend” had invited her to join girls’ nights out.
At first, I’d been glad—they had been close friends for years.

But the second time they went out, Tuyết Anh got very drunk.
She let a man grope her while she…
performed oral sex on him.

She said she had felt guilty for months, but that guilt gradually turned into resentment — resentment that she hadn’t been able to live a youthful, free life, to sleep with whoever she wanted. She started sleeping with men she met on nights out with Bích Châm. She insisted she never got emotionally involved, always used protection, and never slept with the same man more than three times. She claimed all she wanted was sex.

I was thunderstruck. The woman I had loved with all my heart turned out to be a depraved, chaotic mess. My life felt like a reality show I had never signed up for. I wanted to scream at her, but I was too busy trying to calculate how many men she’d slept with over the years.

Ms. Nga asked if she remembered who might be Mai Chi’s biological father. She swore she had always believed the child was mine. My lawyer pointed out that clearly something had gone wrong — perhaps a condom had torn. My wife admitted that had indeed happened, several times, with several men.

I lost it. I screamed, “Who are you? I don’t know the person sitting in front of me.” I asked her when she had started to hate me, and why. What had I done to deserve this? How could she treat her own daughter like that?

After everything she had just confessed, divorce was inevitable. Our marriage had become scorched, barren earth. All that was left was to tally up the losses. I lost a wife and a daughter. A wife lost a husband. A daughter lost a father. A son now had a half-sister. And both sides of the family — hers and mine — were devastated. Tuyết Anh had destroyed two families.

She admitted to dating men through hookup apps with Bích Châm. She swore she never intended to hurt me and truly believed Mai Chi was my daughter. I believed her on that point — because I had believed it too. But DNA doesn’t lie.

I asked her why she hadn’t just divorced me from the start. Her answer was blunt: “Because I didn’t want to lose the safety and stability you gave me.” All these words were spoken through tears, but I knew my face showed only contempt. I felt used, humiliated, stripped of all dignity as a man. I felt like a complete failure.

Friends, after that harrowing confrontation, I returned home hollowed out. Tuyết Anh’s confessions echoed in my head, every word, every detail, stabbing into my heart like a thousand needles.

But amid the ruins, a thought began to form — a cold, clear resolve. That thought was about Mai Chi. The child was blameless. Both she and I were victims of Tuyết Anh’s web of lies. Tuyết Anh had robbed me of my right to the truth, my right to choose. She had also robbed Mai Chi — of the right to know her real father, the right to grow up in a family not built on deception.

I couldn’t let her keep living under that shadow. Legally, ethically, I had every right to cut all ties. I could have walked away, leaving behind both Tuyết Anh and Mai Chi — neither of whom, in a sense, had ever truly been mine. But I couldn’t. My heart as a father, even one betrayed, wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t let Mai Chi suffer more, especially financially, just because of her mother’s cruelty.

After many sleepless nights, I made a decision. A decision that many might call foolish — even heartless. But to me, it was the only way to restore justice for both me and my daughter.

The next day, when my name was officially removed from Mai Chi’s birth certificate, Ms. Nga filed another petition on my behalf. It was a petition to legally adopt her.

Yes, you heard that right. I erased the father-daughter relationship built on lies, only to reestablish it with my own free will — based on truth and choice.

Before doing this, I had to be sure of one thing: that when I saw her, I wouldn’t see betrayal anymore. And I had my answer the moment I saw her after the truth came out. Her hug, her smile — she was still my little angel. If seeing her had felt like a slap in the face, I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it.

Many people might say I’m weak — that a man should be strong. But how can you be strong when your entire world was built on a lie?

This is my plan: One day, when Mai Chi is old enough to understand, I want her to know the full story. I want her to know that legally, I could have abandoned her — but I didn’t. I gave myself the right to choose, and I chose her.

I want her, when the judge asks, “Do you agree to let Mr. Đỗ Duy Khoa adopt you as his child?” — to say “Yes” without hesitation. Only years later will she fully grasp what that answer meant — that she had chosen me as her father, too. Our relationship will no longer be dictated by fate or lies, but by mutual choice.

In that way, I believe our bond will be even stronger than blood. While the legal proceedings regarding Mai Chi were underway, I didn’t let Tuyết Anh rest easy. On the very day I submitted the adoption papers for Mai Chi, I launched my counterattack.

Exactly at 12 noon, a bailiff showed up at my in-laws’ house to serve Tuyết Anh a court summons for divorce. Ten minutes later, another bailiff arrived — this time with a summons for a civil lawsuit I had filed, demanding that she compensate me for all expenses incurred in raising a child who was not biologically mine for the past six years. It was a carefully calculated one-two punch.

I didn’t do it for the money. Even if I won, the chances of actually recovering the full amount were slim. But I wanted every paycheck she earned from then on to be docked to repay me. I wanted it to be a bitter reminder, an ongoing punishment for what she had done. And even if I lost the case, she would still have to spend a significant sum hiring a lawyer to defend herself — and that, too, was a victory.

My phone began ringing nonstop — calls and messages from my in-laws’ number, which I knew were from Tuyết Anh. I ignored them all. Any calls to Ms. Nga’s law office were answered with just one sentence: “Please hire your own lawyer for further communication.” I was later told that Tuyết Anh had screamed and cursed at my law firm’s staff.

Eventually, Ms. Nga had to step in and make it clear to her: whether she liked it or not, the divorce proceedings would go ahead, and any further harassment would be dealt with seriously. Part of me felt a little regret — if she had kept acting out, maybe I’d have gotten to see her in an orange jumpsuit.

What she did should have been considered a crime. Over a week later, Tuyết Anh’s lawyer finally contacted Ms. Nga. They had their first conversation. He asked if we were truly serious about the civil suit. Ms. Nga firmly confirmed: we would be seeking every cent for the deceit involved in the paternity fraud.

She didn’t tell him that money wasn’t my true objective. He mentioned he understood that most of the assets, including the house, had belonged to me before the marriage. But he argued that we couldn’t expect to win custody of both children, receive financial compensation, and still avoid providing any support for her after such a serious accident.

Ms. Nga simply replied, “Your client had been unfaithful long before the accident. She just chose the wrong time to get caught.” The battle had only just begun. I had lost everything I thought was mine. Now, I would fight to reclaim what truly belonged to me — in my own way.

Dear friends, my life in the following months became a relentless struggle, both legally and emotionally.

But then something unexpected happened — a turning point, on a weekend like any other. That day, I happened to run into Thụy An, Tuyết Anh’s older sister, at the supermarket. She embraced me tightly and repeatedly apologized for her sister’s foolishness and immorality.

I had always held affection for An and her husband Đức. So even though many might say I should have kept my distance from her family, I invited them over for the weekend. I wanted to preserve what little family bond remained, for the sake of my children.

The gathering went well. While Đức watched over the kids and grilled meat, I had the chance to sit and talk privately with An.

She told me that the whole family already knew Tuyết Anh had cheated with more than one person, but everything they knew had been sugarcoated by her to lessen the guilt. She told her parents that she had only had a few short-term affairs after giving birth to Khôi — until she got caught by me. That’s what An said.

Hearing that, I calmly asked, “How many is a few, exactly?”
An replied, “Maybe two or three.”
I didn’t say anything. I quietly went into the house, took out a folder — not filled with photos, but with printed pages of text messages between Tuyết Anh and various men, recovered by the private investigators I had hired.

I handed it to An.
“Chị An, these are the verified findings from our investigation. There are 47 different men that Tuyết Anh has been involved with since Khôi was born. And let me emphasize, this is just the tip of the iceberg. We know she’s also had frequent one-night stands through dating apps.”

An was speechless. She didn’t know what to say when she heard that number. She wanted to immediately call their parents and give her sister a piece of her mind. The sheer deception about the number of lovers was already enough to send shockwaves through her family.

But then I realized something even worse — they still didn’t know the truth about Mai Chi. I didn’t know who was more furious in that moment — An or me. Đức had to stop grilling and rush over to comfort his wife as she couldn’t hold back tears of anger and shame.

An hugged me tightly and repeatedly apologized. Once Đức made sure his wife had calmed down, he patted me on the shoulder in sympathy. I told them the whole story — how I discovered the truth about Mai Chi’s paternity, and my plan to adopt her.

An was stunned.
She told me she had never liked Bích Châm since they were kids. She said Bích Châm was always a troublemaker and manipulative, and she had warned Tuyết Anh many times — but she never listened.

An had no idea Tuyết Anh had once considered making Bích Châm the maid of honor at our wedding.

When I recounted the twisted reasoning Tuyết Anh used to justify her actions, An was even more shocked. She told me their parents had never raised them to be that way, and that Tuyết Anh had always insisted, even before high school, that she would never marry anyone but me.

I don’t know if Tuyết Anh had been lying to herself from a young age or if her feelings had changed later. All I knew was this: no one truly in love could give their body so easily to someone else.

About an hour after An’s family left, my phone started blowing up with calls and texts — from my in-laws and a few unknown numbers. Then An called. I picked up.

I could hear her voice, but also shouting, screaming, and things being thrown and broken in the background. She stepped outside to avoid the noise and told me she had just revealed everything to her parents.

My father-in-law was in a rage, throwing all of Tuyết Anh’s belongings into her car. My mother-in-law was crying while berating her, saying she was ashamed to have raised such a daughter.

I could even faintly hear her call Tuyết Anh a… well, friends, when your own mother calls you that, you’ve clearly gone too far.

I could hear Tuyết Anh sobbing, begging, saying she had nowhere to go.

Instead of feeling satisfaction that she was finally paying the price, what came to mind were images of our two children. I had no issue with Minh Khôi and Mai Chi staying at their grandparents’ house.

But if Tuyết Anh were kicked out, where would she go?

If she moved in with Bích Châm, I absolutely couldn’t allow my kids to go near that shameless woman. Even if she rented a small apartment, I didn’t trust her not to bring strange men home.

I was glad her family finally knew the truth, but I also knew it would bring complications when it came to child visitation.

If she didn’t have a stable and safe living environment, the court would never allow her to see the children without supervision.

As An and I were still talking, I heard Tuyết Anh’s voice on the other end — asking if I was the one on the call.

An asked me what I wanted her to say.

Maybe I shouldn’t have told the truth, because right after that, Tuyết Anh snatched the phone from her sister.

“Why? Why are you trying to destroy my life like this?” she screamed into the phone.
I replied coldly, “Because you destroyed mine.”

She then started her usual pleading, saying I could still have my life back if only I would forgive her.

I said that life was already dead, and it had never truly existed because of her lies. She dared to swear that she loved me. I said straight into the phone that the only thing she ever loved in this world was herself and the filthy thing between her legs.

She asked why I had told everything to her sister and her parents.
I asked her back: why hadn’t she been honest with them from the beginning, especially about the fact that I wasn’t Mai Chi’s father?

She cursed at me, insisting that I was the father.
I roared that I am Mai Chi’s father and will always be. But at the very least, she had to tell her family the truth.

She said her parents were kicking her out, disowning her.
I said I had heard, and I was glad to hear it — and that I would do everything in my power to make things even worse for her.

Then she said, “I love you,” and asked how I could be so cruel to someone who loved me like that.
I told her she should have asked herself that question six years ago.

I said I knew she regretted it — but only regretted losing everything and because people were finally starting to know the truth.
For what she had done, she deserved to be shunned and cursed.
What she was going through with her own family was the price she had to pay.

Ladies and gentlemen, that’s how the legal battle came to a close.

A few days after that explosive phone call, Tuyet Anh’s lawyer contacted Ms. Nga again, requesting another meeting.

I didn’t want to see her face, but I knew I had to go — because her current homeless situation would definitely affect the court’s decision about child custody.

We met again in that cold classroom inside Ms. Nga’s office.
As soon as we sat down, her lawyer informed us that Tuyet Anh had been living in her car ever since she was kicked out by her parents.

I asked bluntly, “Why don’t you go live with Bích Châm? She’s the one who helped you end up in this mess.” Tuyết Anh didn’t answer. She looked at me, her sunken eyes pleading.

“Could you please let me come home?” she asked. “Or maybe… maybe we could try marriage counseling together?”

I looked at her, a wave of revulsion rising in my chest.

This woman before me?
So thin, so haggard, her hair chopped unevenly and greasy, her clothes crumpled and worn. In just a few months, from a beautiful woman she had turned into a wreck.
My voice was ice cold.
“You should go ask your parents if they’ll let you come back home.

As for the house where my children and I are living, it doesn’t welcome cheaters or women without decency. You and Bích Châm should stay far away from it.”

As for counseling, I told her she was free to try it with whatever foolish man she wanted to marry.
But one thing I was certain of: after living like a wild animal for so long, she would never be able to stay loyal to anyone again.

Her lawyer objected to my language.
I looked him straight in the eye and told him he was nothing more than a money-grubber for representing someone like her.
Then I asked how she was paying his fees—perhaps with her “natural assets”?

The air grew tense.
Ms. Nga put her hand on my shoulder to signal me to calm down.
She suggested we take a 20-minute break. I stepped outside to breathe.

I looked over at Tuyết Anh’s car parked nearby. It was full of clothes and empty fast food boxes.
Living in a nightmare.
That’s what she had done to her life—and mine.

I tried not to hate her anymore. But how could I not, when faced with someone so rotten to the core?

When we resumed, Ms. Nga surprised everyone by offering a proposal:
“If Mr. Khoa agrees to cover the cost, would Ms. Tuyết Anh be willing to attend a few solo therapy sessions?”

I snapped my head toward Ms. Nga, thinking I’d misheard.
But she nudged my leg under the table—her sign for me to stay silent and trust her.

Tuyết Anh’s lawyer immediately agreed, on the condition that she got to choose her therapist.
Ms. Nga said that wasn’t an issue.

At the time, I didn’t understand what Ms. Nga was calculating.
But after the meeting, she explained:
“That move will make you look compassionate and noble in front of the court.
But more importantly—Tuyết Anh is clearly mentally unstable.

If a psychologist concludes after just a few sessions that she needs hospitalization because she might harm herself or others, that would be a massive advantage in the custody battle.

It’s a high-level and ruthless play,” she said, “but I feel no guilt.
She deceived you for six years.
You owe her no honesty about your intentions.”

Tuyết Anh asked me,
“What did I ever do to make you treat me this cruelly?”

I just answered,
“You should ask yourself what you did to deserve this.”

She began sobbing again—but her tears no longer moved me.

The meeting ended with her despair, and my coldness.

---

Ladies and gentlemen, my life now revolves around my two children.
Little Minh Khôi is playing striker on his school football team.
Next week I’m taking him and Mr. Đức’s two sons to watch the national team play.

My daughter Mai Chi is still as beautiful and sweet as an angel.
She loves swimming, and I often invite friends to bring their kids over to play with her.
I want to raise both of them to be busy with real life—not stuck with their eyes glued to a screen.

I know I have to let go of the hate.
I’ve started therapy—and fortunately, I’ve found a very good psychologist.
She told me I have every reason to resent Tuyết Anh, and strangely enough, that helped me.

She’s helping me learn to release it. To let go.

Tuyết Anh’s betrayal changed me forever.
It didn’t just change how I see women.
It changed how I see humanity.
I became skeptical, always doubting the sincerity of others.
I lost interest in any relationship.
My physical desire is completely dead.

I feel tainted, defiled, for ever having touched her.

But then, every time I see Minh Khôi’s smile or feel Mai Chi’s embrace,
I know I must keep living.

My life used to be a beautiful play—but now the velvet curtain has dropped, revealing a broken stage.
My mission now is to clear the debris and build a new life for the three of us.

A life that may never be perfect—but will be built on truth, unconditional love, and choice.

This will probably be the last time I tell this story.
I need to close the door to the past to step forward.