One night, I rolled over in bed and caught Karl watching a livestream on his phone, earbuds in.

On the screen, a woman was playfully wagging a fake furry tail attached to her butt. Karl didn't think twice before dropping five "spaceship" gifts, each worth 1,314 dollars.

***

He was glued to his phone, so he didn't even notice I was awake.

I turned back around and went to sleep. The next morning, while he was in the bathroom, I picked up his charging phone.

I knew his password. It was his birthday.

I opened up that livestream app and checked his spending. Since early last year, he had blown nearly 400,000 dollars on it. Started with a few hundred here and there, then it snowballed into thousands. His spending was completely off the rails.

I even found out the Hermès bag Karl gave me for my last birthday was a knockoff. He only spent 29.9 dollars on it.

And the Legos he bought for our kids? Fakes.

When a cousin's kid called out the fake Legos, our kids got all worked up, defending Karl, convinced he could do no wrong.

I would never forget how angry they looked. They wouldn't let anyone badmouth their dad.

I had always trusted Karl, too.

His top contributions went to three streamers: Lonely Bunny, Divorced Hottie, and College Sweetheart.

He was the second highest spender on Lonely Bunny and even changed his username to Crazy for Bunny.

Karl dropped the most cash on Lonely Bunny, about 250,000 dollars. She had the biggest following. The other two were just part-timers.

Just last night, he had blown nearly 10,000 dollars, leaving his account with just 23 cents.

Lately, Karl had been coming up with all kinds of excuses to spend money: a scratch on the car, his boss' wedding, visiting sick colleagues. You name it, he used it.

Money poured out like water. It all went to these cam girls.

I'd learned that when you caught a man lying, it was never just about one thing.

I scrolled through Karl's WhatsApp, took a deep breath, and switched accounts. Bingo. The jerk had a second account.

I skimmed through the account, shocked to my core.

There weren't many contacts, but there were the three cam girls. He'd labeled them "Darling No.1," "Darling No.2," and "Darling No.3."

Each time Karl hit a spending threshold, one of them would send him some racy photos and videos.

From his chats with Lonely Bunny, I could tell he was desperate to meet her face to face.

Lonely Bunny: [I wanna see you too, babe. But my agency's got rules. I can only meet the top donor each quarter.]

Karl replied: [Then wait for me. I'll be your top donor one day, babe.]

Karl was in a group chat called "Car Talk" with his cronies. I'd even shared meals with some of them.

Their chats were just perving on women and bitching about their wives.

Karl called me "maid" in those chats.

Just hours ago, he was complaining about me: [I'm tired of the maid at home. She's always sour-faced and dresses like a nun.]

[I work my ass off all day, and she can't even cheer me up when I get home.]

He even posted a GIF with my face slapped on a dog wagging its tail.

The whole group was piling on. Their comments were so disgusting.

Karl's last message in the group was: [Guys, I'm flat broke. What the fuck do I do? My ladies are counting on me. The maid is so tight-fisted. I'm worried she'll start getting suspicious if I keep this up.]

The water stopped running in the bathroom. I knew Karl was about done and would be out any second.

Just at this moment, new news came.

Just then, Tucker popped up in the group chat: [I've got a way for you to make some quick cash. Your maid is kinda hot. Take some racy photos and videos of her, and I'll buy them. Or you could use her pics to take out some loans. Making money both ways, huh.] He added a smirking emoji.

I froze for a second. Tucker Watson was Karl's buddy. We'd had dinner together tons of times. He always played nice, even tutored my kids last winter break.

Now, I wondered if Karl would sink low enough to follow Tucker's sleazy advice.

I switched back to his main account and cleared my tracks.

Karl walked out, glanced at me, and mumbled, "Morning, babe."

Then he plunked down on the bed, face glued to his phone like he'd just ticked a box.

I clasped my shaking hands and went to the kitchen.

While the waffles were baking, I leaned against the wall, my mind going blank.

Suddenly, my daughter Rosalie came over, gently pulled my hands apart, and asked, "Mom, you seem upset. What's up?"

I shook my head, bent down, and ruffled her hair. "All good, sweetie. You've got finals today. Knock 'em dead, okay?"

Shawn chimed in from the side, "I need some cheering on too, Mom."

I laughed and ruffled his hair, "You got it, champ."

The kids ran off, happy as clams. They were the twins, about to finish elementary school.

At breakfast, we all seemed like the picture of happiness.

Karl had the kids in stitches with his jokes.

I asked Karl, "How's the oatmeal?"

He frowned but finished his bowl. "It's good."

What he didn't know was that I'd slipped a few drops of dish soap into it.

He grabbed his briefcase and pumped his fist at the door with a grin. "Let's crush it, honey. Here's to our happier tomorrow."

Watching him leave, I couldn't help thinking, "Man, he's a good actor."

I was not sure if tomorrow would be any happier, but I knew it wouldn't be with him around.

I had just settled into my office chair when Karl called. "Honey, I hit a young girl with my bike. She's hurt her leg, and I'm out of cash. Can you transfer 5,000 dollars?"

Thankfully, I was the one who handled our finances.

Karl and I each earned 8,000 dollars a month. We usually put six thousand each into our joint account for household expenses.

Rosalie and Shawn are still little, and Karl and I both just turned thirty-five. With the industry tanking, job cuts were a constant threat.

To make extra cash, I sold lunches to coworkers and wrote social media posts at night.

Despite my efforts, our bank balance was dwindling, and it was stressing me out daily.

These last few months, Karl hadn't contributed a dime to our account. Instead, he kept cooking up excuses to ask for money.

He seemed oblivious to our financial stress, more concerned about his virtual girlfriends, and wasted huge sums on them.

"Honey?" Karl's voice snapped me back to the present. I played the worried wife. "What about you? You okay?"

"I'm good. But that girl won't stop hounding me for cash," he said.

"Did you report it to the police?" I asked.

"What?" he replied.

I continued, "You need to file a report. Take her to the hospital for a check-up. What if she tries to screw us over later? You said her injuries seemed serious, right? Better to have her checked out. Once it's all documented by the police, send me the medical bill, and I'll transfer the money."

Karl was silent for a beat, then replied coldly, "She left. It must not have been that bad. Gotta go, I'm running late."

After wrapping up some pressing work, I went to the restroom to take a dump. Pulling out my phone, I tapped into Lonely Bunny's livestream.

Despite it being the middle of the workday, Crazy for Bunny was buzzing in the chat.

Lonely Bunny was in a battle with another streamer.

At first, it was chill, but in the last 30 seconds, the other streamer's fans bombarded her with gifts.

Lonely Bunny whined, "It's my birthday. I don't wanna lose.

Please, babies. Flood my room with gifts, pretty please? Thanks for the gifts..."

Eventually, Lonely Bunny lost as her top spender was a no-show today.

She pouted and mimicked crying like a little child.

Crazy for Bunny: [Babe, I'm strapped for cash. Couldn't make you win today. My bad.]

"It's cool, Babe," Lonely Bunny responded with a sweet smile. "Let's not sweat it. We're here to chill." She blew a kiss at the camera.

Karl came home that night with a dark cloud over his head.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a bunch of lottery tickets, checking each one. "Nope, nothing, nada."

Frustrated, he ripped the tickets up and tossed them into the trash.

I had just finished my shower and was working on some social media posts when he brought me a cup of warm milk.

He handed it over with a smile. "Honey, you've been working so hard. I made you some warm milk."

I took a sip, but his intense stare made me uncomfortable. I frowned, spat the milk out at him, and blurted out, "This tastes awful. Has it gone bad?"

Wiping his face, he looked down, clearly annoyed.

"Where'd you get this milk? I'm gonna get it tested. Maybe we can get some compensation," I said, dollar signs in my eyes.

When I got an idea in my head, I usually ran with it.

"Let it go," Karl said.

"Let it go? No way," I insisted, clutching the cup like it was gold.

"Our neighbor tests drugs for a living. I bet he could check this too. It's from a major brand," I pressed on.

I acted like I was heading out. He panicked and grabbed the cup, chugging it all. "Tastes fine to me, maybe you're just too sensitive."

I grabbed him and shook him vigorously, making sure he couldn't rush off to the bathroom to vomit.

Half an hour later, Karl was out cold on the bed, snoring away.

I checked his phone again. There was a new message from Tucker: [Karl, how's everything going?]

I walked over to the bed, slapped him with my slipper several times, and even jumped on him a bit. He grunted but didn't wake up.

I called Tucker from my phone, "Tucker, Karl drank some bad milk and is out cold. I can't wake him up. I'm worried. Can you come over and help me get him to the hospital?"

"Sure, I'll be right there," Tucker said.

I swished some booze in my mouth, splashed a bit on me, and waited in my skimpy nightgown for Tucker.

When Tucker arrived, he took a few lingering looks at me.

I looked down, faking a tear wipe.

With concern, he asked, "Yvette, why the tears?"

I forced a smile. "It's nothing. Go check on Karl. Keep it down, though. Kids are asleep."

Tucker went over to the bed and quickly concluded, "Karl's just worn out from work. He doesn't need a hospital."

"Worn out? I went to his office today only to find out he's been fired. He's been lying to me, and God knows what he does all day," I said.

My anger was rising, and I started sobbing. I deliberately shrugged, causing my neckline to slip and reveal a bit of cleavage.

Tucker rubbed his hands, hesitated, then gently placed one on my shoulder. "Karl didn't want to worry you."

I gave a bitter laugh and shot him a look. "Maybe. The bathroom's right there. You're sweating. Why don't you have a shower and change into one of Karl's shirts?"

He thought I was dropping hints, so he ran his hand over my waist and went into the bathroom.

Soon, Tucker sent a message to the "Car Talk" group: [Karl knocked himself out somehow. His wife's flirting hard with me, and I'm barely holding back. Guys, should I go for it? Would Karl mind?]

Someone replied: [He won't mind. Damn, I was almost asleep. You just made things exciting.]

Another guy chimed in: [Record it when you bang her. Let us hear.]

A bit later, Tucker banged on the bathroom door. "Yvette, this door's stuck. What's up?"

"Not sure. It was fine earlier. I'll call a repairman. Though we might not get anyone at this hour," I answered.

"Tucker, keep it down, please. Don't wake the kids," I added.

Then, my eyes went cold as I shut the bedroom door and walked out.

I went to Rosalie and Shawn's rooms, tucked them in, and planted soft kisses on their foreheads.

Tomorrow morning, I planned to have my parents pick up Rosalie and Shawn. I had enrolled them in a tour group. If everything went according to plan, their next trip home would be for a funeral.

Whose funeral? Well, that remained to be seen.

These past few years, Karl had loaded us up with life insurance. He once said seriously, "If anything happens to one of us, the other can live comfortably and raise the kids."

Back then, his words touched me. But now, he was desperate for money, having stooped so low as to drug me for pictures to secure a loan. He would do anything to get whatever he wanted.

The life insurance had become a ticking time bomb. But I was patiently waiting for the right moment to break free.