I thought my husband was dying. Turns out, he was just lying.
For months, Matt had me convinced he was battling cancer. He faked doctor’s notes, claimed chemotherapy left him too weak to work, and even had me sending monthly payments to a “specialist.” Meanwhile, he was renovating a love nest with his girlfriend.
I discovered the truth by accident. After my office chair broke, a coworker took me to a furniture store—where I spotted Matt holding hands with a blonde, picking out throw pillows for their shared home.
Instead of confronting him, I played along. That night, I found proof on his laptop: forged medical documents, a secret apartment lease, and a spreadsheet tracking the money I’d sent for his “treatment.”
My revenge? A surprise open house.
I invited everyone—his boss, his pastor, his mother—to tour Matt and Lexie’s love nest. When they arrived, the walls told the whole story: vacation photos, shared bills, even a calendar marked with romantic dates.
The fallout was instant. His boss demanded repayment for fraudulent sick leave. His mother sobbed. Lexie fled out the back door.
By the time Matt showed up at our house begging for forgiveness, I’d already filed for divorce. The last thing I said to him? “Enjoy your new home. Alone.”
