I found my husband on a dating site, so I created a fake profile to see how far he’d go. He told “Mira” — me — that his wife was dead and he was “looking for love.” My heart shattered, and I secretly began planning my divorce. But before I could act, he came home looking terrified, holding a manila envelope. “You won’t believe what just happened,” he said.

He dropped the envelope on the table. Inside was a printed screenshot of our fake conversation. Someone — clearly himself — had “anonymously” sent it, claiming I was cheating. He pretended to be shocked and hurt, asking if I’d been talking to anyone online, hugging me like a devoted husband. I realized then he was scared someone might expose him, and he was trying to get ahead of it by acting innocent.

So I played along. I quietly opened a new bank account, contacted a lawyer, backed up every message, every lie, every “my wife died three years ago.” Meanwhile, he turned into the sweetest husband: cooking, flowers, even suggesting we renew our vows. It made my skin crawl, but I smiled and waited.

One night, I overheard him bragging on the phone that I was clueless — calling me “dumb as a rock.” That was the final switch. I waited for his next work trip, changed the locks, moved my essentials, and filed for divorce. He came home three days later to find himself locked out and served. I wasn’t dumb. I was patient — and I won.