Adrian’s wife, Claire, left for a business trip — or so he thought. The moment her flight took off, he wasted no time calling over his mistress, Vanessa. Laughter, wine, and whispered promises filled the house. But just as things started to heat up, a car pulled into the driveway.
Claire.
She’d come home early.
Adrian panicked, sweeping away the evidence, and Vanessa dove under the bed, trembling. Claire entered, calm but observant — her husband’s nervous smile, the hastily lit candle, the spicy pizza he suddenly “loved” despite always avoiding heat. She said nothing. Just smiled faintly and watched him squirm.
The next day, while dining with Vanessa at a café, Claire’s stomach dropped. Vanessa ordered the exact same Tabasco pizza Adrian had claimed to love. Coincidence? Not a chance.
That evening, Claire visited the pizza shop “just to confirm.” The delivery guy instantly recognized Vanessa’s picture — he’d delivered that same order to Claire’s address the night before.
That was all Claire needed.
The next afternoon, Adrian answered the door to a pizza delivery person. Only it wasn’t— it was Claire, disguised under the cap and uniform. She handed over the box with a smile.
Inside were divorce papers.
Adrian froze. Vanessa burst into tears. Claire? She didn’t flinch.
“You’ve got one hour to leave my house — and my life.”
Pregnant, heartbroken, but finally free, Claire spent the following months rebuilding herself. When she finally stood barefoot on a Hawaiian beach, her hand resting on her growing belly, she smiled — not because she forgot what happened, but because she survived it.
And this time, the peace was hers alone.
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