Off The Record
My Husband Cheated With My Best Friend—And Their Wedding Invitation Inspired The Perfect Revenge
It appears that Sarah chooses grace over disaster when she receives an invitation to her ex-husband and ex-best friend’s wedding. One woman offers a gift that nobody anticipated in a tale of treachery, resiliency, and the strength of silent truth. and nobody will forget it.
I definitely would have laughed if someone had told me five years ago that I would eventually watch my ex-husband’s wedding to my best friend. or sobbed.
Perhaps both.
However, I couldn’t have predicted how softly it would all start, so I wouldn’t have done it. And how commonplace everything would initially appear.
The reveal was hardly spectacular. Her trademark lipstick was not on his collar. No late-night phone calls took place. It was simply the gradual breakdown of confidence, one minor thing at a time.
I was married to Mark for nearly a decade. Emily, age eight, and Jacob, age five, were our two beautiful children. From the outside, our lives appeared to be just as they should have been.
steady. Known. and based on love.
We certainly had our share of arguments and battles over laundry, bills, and forgotten groceries. However, nothing ever caused me to doubt the basis of anything we had established. We were strong.
That’s what I thought for years, anyway.
However, like most betrayals, the fissures began quietly.
Mark started work later than normal. Sometimes he slept with his phone beneath his pillow, its screen slanted away from mine, but it never seemed to leave his side. He pretended that I was unreasonable and that I was dreaming when I asked him questions.
He had told me, “Don’t overthink it, Sarah,” when I had first questioned him about it. “My phone is under my pillow because when the alarm goes off, I have no choice but to wake up. Come on, now.”
And perhaps I wanted to assume that I was overanalysing or dreaming. Because the truth has a way of trembling the ground beneath your feet, even when it whispers.
I then used Mark’s laptop to pay the electricity bill one evening. Anybody might see his communications. I only needed to log into the bank; I wasn’t searching for anything. However, my stomach turned the moment I saw her name.
They were there. Hundreds, not dozens, of messages.
They weren’t from a stranger, of course. They weren’t from a woman he casually flirted with or met at work.
They came from Lena.
My childhood best pal. The fourth-grade girl who shared my peanut butter sandwiches. The person who held my infants, sat behind me at all significant life events, and once murmured that I had the kind of marriage she aspired to find one day.
They were intimate, seductive, and flirtatious in message after message. Screenshots of shared secrets were present. Hotel rooms were in the works.
I was never able to unsee some things.
My entire world fell apart that night. The confrontation was violent, of course.
My voice was hoarse when I asked my spouse, “How long?”
Mark responded, “It wasn’t supposed to happen, Sarah,” avoiding eye contact.
“You’ve been cheating on me with my best friend, Mark. You’ve been sleeping with Lena, of all people! You don’t trip and fall into something like that!”
The next thing I could do was to face Lena. “I didn’t mean for things to get this far,” she sobbed.
“It started with conversations, Sarah. Deep conversations,” Lena remarked while loudly blowing her nose. “And then the late-night coffee dates began at the 24-hour diner. We connected in a way that I didn’t expect —”
“Connected?!” I yelled. “You’ve sat at my kitchen table, Lena. You were the first person to see my children other than Mark and our parents. You’ve hugged me after every fight Mark and I ever had. Heck, you bought me my honeymoon lingerie. And you were sleeping with him the whole time?!”
“It wasn’t just about that, Sarah,” she sulked under her breath.
“Right, you two were too busy connecting.”
After that, there was no turning back. For such behaviour, there was no apology large enough in the world.
Naturally, Mark moved out the next week because he was finally confident enough to tell the truth. He vowed to love Lena and to have more than “some affair.”
I wanted to take Mark for everything he had, even if the divorce was unpleasant and draining. Our solicitors kept hurling numbers at one another like darts, the back-and-forth court dates were tiresome and mediation was pointless.
Then, before the ink on our documents dried, he moved in with Lena.
The images appeared on social media after that.
pictures of Lena grinning while wearing Mark’s sweatshirts and hoodies. Pictures of him, just as he used to do to me, stroking a lock of hair behind her ear. At brunch, there were pictures of them holding hands. Additionally, there were pictures of them having fun on a beach that was once ours.
I made an effort to keep my head down for the children. I convinced myself that dignity would take precedence over correctness.
Even though it was challenging, six months went by.
On a calm Saturday morning, someone knocked on the door.
Mark was waiting for me when I answered the door because he had made plans to pick up the kids for a day of films and ice cream. He wasn’t alone, though.
Beside him, Lena held a box of chocolates as if she were delivering cookies to a neighbour.
My eyes stung from staring at them.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I yelled.
“Hi, Sarah,” Lena said with a smile. “Don’t look so shocked, you know that Mark and I are living together.”
“Of course I knew that,” I said. “You post your entire lives on social media like you’re a teenager.”
Lena ignored me, saying, “Anyway,” “We thought it would be nice to talk in person.”
Her smile had a hint of smugness hidden in the corners. As if to make up for the mess she and Mark had left behind, she held out the box of chocolates.
“In person?” I asked again, trying to figure out what in the world they might want from me. “About what? You already talked and did plenty behind my back.”
Mark moved next to her. He gave me that phoney, neutral expression, the one he used when he knew he was wrong but was too shy to admit it. It was cool and collected.
He said, “Come on, Sarah,” in a tone that suggested we were the only people in the room. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. We just wanted to tell you face to face… we’re getting married.”
I gazed at him. It’s not that I didn’t hear it, but rather that I did. Each syllable fell into my gut like a stone.
“We’re tired of people assuming that our relationship was a nasty affair. It’s been more than that. We mean something to each other. We’re in love. And we want to do it the right way,” Mark stated. “So, we’re going all in.”
“Let me get this straight,” I replied, resting my head against the door. “You brought your fiancée — my ex-best friend, no less — to my home to tell me that you’re getting married? And less than a year after our divorce?”
Lena folded her arms and gave a breathy scoff. I noticed the enormous engagement ring she was wearing at that point. The ring belonged to Mark’s grandmother. He had given it to me on our fifth anniversary, but I never wore it as it was too difficult to wear while doing housework.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic, Sar,” Lena remarked. “This isn’t a confrontation, doll. It’s a conversation. We’d really love for you to come. But we have to insist on the kids being there. It would show everyone that there are no hard feelings.”
Before I could stop it, a sour laugh escaped.
“No hard feelings? You tore my family apart, Lena. And now you want me to clap for you like this is some kind of twisted fairy tale?”
“Sarah, look,” Mark muttered, clenching his jaw. “You can’t control who you fall in love with.”
“No?” I asked him, squinting. “But you can try controlling your zipper next time.”
Lena gasped, and her confidence began to waver for the first time.
She responded, “You don’t have to be so cruel,” and shook her head. “This wasn’t planned, Sarah. I told you the truth. It just… happened. We’re happy now. And I’d like to believe that you’d want that for us.”
I silently gazed at her. She desired my approval. It was obvious. After betraying me, my former best buddy was standing at my doorway pleading for forgiveness.
She was also foolish enough to assume that I would say yes.
The children raced outdoors before any of us could continue our conversation. After giving them a firm embrace and advising them to enjoy their time with their father, I watched them go. Before he got into his car, Mark turned around and gave me a quick glance.
There was a deafening hush after the door closed.
The phone rang that evening as I was waiting for Mark to drop my kids off while sipping a cup of tea. It was Mark’s mother, Patricia.
“Sarah,” she said in a hurried tone. “I heard that you were exceptionally rude this morning.”
I waited without saying anything.
“Whatever your feelings are,” she went on, “the children must attend their father’s wedding. Don’t make a scene. It wouldn’t look good for you.”
I gripped the phone more tightly. My blood pressure was starting to rise.
“Maybe your son should have thought about the kids before he cheated on their mother, Patricia.”
She let out a sigh as though I were the one causing trouble and shattering our family.
Patricia remarked, “It’s time to move on, dear,” “Go meet someone. Live your life. As for the wedding, everyone will be there. You don’t want to embarrass yourself, do you?”
I didn’t even try to respond. I ended the call.
I sat by myself at the kitchen table the following morning. The children were still asleep, and the home was silent. The pancake batter felt overly runny, and the coffee had cooled in my mug. I glanced at the photos on the refrigerator, including the one of the four of us on the beach last summer, Jacob’s school shot, and Emily’s sketch of a dinosaur.
Prior to everything collapsing.
That’s when I knew I was no longer angry. I had six more months to control my anger. This is not how I could waste my life. For my children, though, I would go if they asked me to. I wouldn’t leave softly, though. And I wouldn’t leave without anything.
Bright and frosty, the wedding day finally arrived. I donned a navy dress; I didn’t wear anything particularly eye-catching or distinctive. I neatly twisted my hair back into place. I was only dressing for myself.
I smiled for the children’s sake because they were excited.
I must say that the location was stunning. Everywhere was golden light and white roses. Throughout, a string quartet played a gentle, romantic tune. As I entered, eyes followed me. Of course, I heard the whispers.
“That’s her!”
“That’s Sarah, Mark’s ex-wife.”
Lena looked stunning in her dress. As if it had all been earned, Mark stood next to her, his chest out, his hand constantly grazing hers.
I was gasping for air as I sat through the ceremony. They made vacuous vows that made me think of generic pictures from Pinterest.
Lena moved towards me at the reception, her outfit shimmering in the candlelight and fairy lights.
“I’m so glad you came, Sar,” she remarked, her usual sweetness. “I couldn’t imagine getting married without you here. See? Everything has worked out for the best.”
“Of course,” I grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it. Actually, I brought a gift, too. It’s something special, you are my best friend, after all.”
Her eyes glowed as she exclaimed, “How thoughtful!”
“Would it be alright if I said a few words before you open it?” I asked quietly. “You said you wanted everyone to know this wasn’t just an… affair.”
Someone clinked their glass behind her.
“A toast!”
I half expected my knees to shake as I approached the microphone, but to my surprise, they didn’t. I had been dreaming about this moment for weeks: how it would feel to be here, how I would look in their eyes when I told them the truth.
And I felt at ease now that I was upright.
“I just want to say how happy I am for Mark and Lena,” I said while clutching my glass. “It takes real courage to follow your heart. Especially when it already belongs to someone else.”
Some of the guests laughed uneasily. Patricia shifted in her chair, and I watched her down a glass of champagne. Mark cocked his head as if he wasn’t sure if I was kidding, and Lena’s smile wavered.
“I spent a long time thinking about what to get you,” I said. “It wasn’t easy. I mean, how do you shop for a couple who already has everything? My husband. My best friend. And, apparently, no shame.”
There was silence in the room. The DJ even turned off the background music. The change, the turning of focus, was palpable to me.
“So,” I softly said, “I went with something sentimental. Something to remind you both of how it all began.”
I went to the gift table, opened a red box, and took out the frame that I had wrapped with care two nights before.
“This is for you.”
I raised it so everyone in the room could see.
It was a montage of pictures of Mark and me grinning in the park, arm in arm with Lena. At my kitchen table, Lena was giggling while placing her hand on Mark’s shoulder. Standing directly behind the children, one of her is decorating our Christmas tree. And in the middle is our wedding picture, which shows Mark and me as young, innocent, and deeply in love.
I said plainly, “This is for your new beginning,” “A beginning that was built on the ruins of mine.”
The room was filled with gasps. Lena’s face had lost its colour, and she was already crying. His hand was on Mark’s head.
As I raised my glass, I exclaimed, “Cheers, darlings,” “To true love, however you define it.”
“Come, kids,” I turned to face my kids. “Say goodbye to Daddy.”
With our heads held high, we departed by the same door that we had arrived.
My phone started buzzing later that evening.
“That was cruel. What you did to Lena… that was cruel.”
“No, Mark. It was honest. And honesty is something you never gave me.”
They failed. Lena cheated on Mark less than a year later.
It’s funny how hearts never stop exploring new areas. What about me? I’ve never felt bad about what I did at their wedding. It was a reminder, not retaliation.
that screaming isn’t always necessary. All you need to do is take a stand and let the facts do the talking.
Because dignity, together with a well-timed toast, is the best kind of retaliation.
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