My husband sent me and our kids to a hotel for two weeks, claiming the house had a rat infestation. I believed him—until I drove by and saw another woman inside.Mark and I weren’t perfect, but we had a routine, two young kids, and a home filled with shared memories. One day, he claimed he found rat droppings and said professionals needed to disinfect the house. He booked us a hotel, said he’d supervise the work, and off we went.At first, it was almost a fun little adventure for the kids. But Mark barely visited, always “busy” or glued to his phone. On day ten,

I swung by the house to grab a forgotten shampoo bottle… and saw a woman in pajamas, drinking from my mug, in my kitchen.I didn’t confront her. I talked to our neighbor instead. She told me Mark said I was out of town visiting my mom—and that this woman had been there nearly every night.I forced Mark to meet me. He came with roses and excuses. Her name was Sophie—his ex. She’d come back into his life, and he’d used the hotel ruse to “figure things out.” He never told her about me or our kids. He thought he could live a double life. He thought wrong.The house? Legally mine, thanks to an inheritance. The security footage? All saved. The locks? Changed. The divorce? In motion.Two months later, I was painting the kitchen brown—Mark hated brown. The kids and I were in therapy, and slowly, we were healing. I was healing.Turns out, disinfection does take time. Not for rats, though. For betrayal. But at least now, I was cleaning up for real—and doing it for me.