The Disguised Wife
I wasn’t supposed to be home that night. My business conference had been cut short, and instead of calling my husband to tell him, I decided to surprise him. But the real surprise? That was waiting for *me*.
The moment I stepped into our hotel room, the smell of heavy floral perfume nearly knocked me over. It wasn’t mine. And it definitely wasn’t his. My husband, James, stood there, eyes wide, before forcing a smile.
“Mary, my beloved wife!” he announced dramatically, arms open wide like I was some long-lost love he hadn’t seen in years.
I narrowed my eyes. Something was off. His voice had that fake cheerfulness, the kind that only came out when he was hiding something. My instincts kicked in. I brushed past him and started searching the room. The closet—empty. The bathroom—no one. Under the desk—nothing.
For a moment, I thought maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe I was overthinking. But then—
**Ring, ring!**
The sound came from under the bed. A phone. But not *my* phone. Not *his* phone either.
James lunged forward, snatching it before I could. “It’s mine,” he insisted, too quickly. “I, uh, changed my ringtone for work calls.”
Liar.
I didn’t argue. Instead, I grabbed my purse and forced a smile. “I need some air. I’ll be back soon.”
I wasn’t leaving. I was planning.
Down in the lobby, I slipped a hundred-dollar bill to one of the housekeepers. “I need a favor,” I said.
Fifteen minutes later, I was dressed in a maid’s uniform, complete with a cap and a name tag that read *Maria.* I grabbed a cart of towels and a cleaning spray, then made my way back up to our room.
I knocked softly.
No answer.
I swiped the master keycard the housekeeper had lent me and eased the door open. James was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt unbuttoned, scrolling through his phone. And next to him—
A woman.
She was draped across the pillows in *my* hotel robe, her blonde hair cascading over *my* side of the bed.
I clenched my jaw. My blood was boiling, but I forced myself to stay calm. I had to be smart.
“Housekeeping,” I said in a sing-song voice, keeping my head slightly tilted down.
James barely looked up. “We’re fine, thanks.”
I didn’t move. Instead, I picked up a glass from the nightstand and started wiping it. That’s when I heard her giggle.
“I still can’t believe your wife didn’t notice,” she purred, running a manicured finger down his chest.
James chuckled. “She’s clueless. Always so trusting. Poor thing.”
Poor *thing*?
I exhaled slowly, my hands shaking. I was about to blow my cover and let him have it, but then—an idea.
I grabbed a full trash bag from the bin and made a show of adjusting my cap. Then, in a low voice, I muttered, “Aren’t you lucky she left early this morning?”
James snapped his head up.
The woman frowned. “What?”
I turned to the woman, still keeping my face slightly down. “Oh, Mrs. Carter left at 6 a.m. for her flight. You must be the *new* Mrs. Carter?”
Her eyes widened.
James went pale. “What are you talking about?” he barked.
I shrugged innocently. “Oh, I just mean… she’s such a lovely woman. Every time I’ve cleaned this room, she’s been nothing but kind.” I turned to the blonde. “And you must be—?”
The woman pushed the sheets off her legs and scrambled up. “You *said* your wife was out of town all week!”
James stammered. “She—she was!”
I let out a dramatic gasp, finally lifting my head. “Oh! *Silly me.* I *am* his wife.”
The color drained from his face. The woman let out a strangled scream.
And me? I simply pulled out my phone, hit record, and smirked. “Smile, sweetheart. I’m sure your *new* girlfriend would love to see this later.”
James lunged for the phone, but I dodged him effortlessly.
The woman, now fuming, grabbed her purse and *slapped* him across the face. “You lying pig!” she shrieked before storming out, slamming the door so hard the walls rattled.
James turned back to me, pleading. “Mary, I—”
I held up a finger. “Don’t. Just don’t.” I turned on my heel and marched toward the door. But before I left, I threw the maid cap onto the bed and gave him one final, satisfied smile.
“Enjoy the mess, *beloved husband.* I won’t be cleaning it up.”
Then I walked out, head held high, ready to start a new life—one without him.