“Two Months of Marriage”

The Lakers game was almost over.
Harrison Webb sat deep in his leather couch, a half-finished beer resting on the coffee table, the flicker of the television lighting the quiet Cleveland apartment. It was nearly midnight—one of those nights where time moved slowly, comfortingly dull after a long day at work.

His wife, Vivien, had left hours earlier. She’d said her sister’s little boy had a fever and needed her help. Harrison offered to go with her, but she smiled that soft, practiced smile and said, “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be back soon. Just relax.”

It had been two months since their wedding. Two months of shared breakfasts, lazy Sundays, and growing into the rhythm of marriage. Harrison believed everything was good.

Until his phone buzzed.

Brandon.
His oldest friend, the kind who only called late if something was wrong.

“Hey man,” Harrison answered, muting the TV. “What’s up?”

Brandon’s voice was hesitant. “Harry, I’m at the Apex Club. Listen, dude… I don’t even know how to say this, but your wife’s here.”

Harrison froze. “Vivien? Are you sure?”

“She’s wearing that red dress you said you got her for her birthday. She’s dancing with some guy—pretty close. And, uh… they’re kissing.”

The beer slipped from Harrison’s hand, thudding onto the carpet. For a few seconds, he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

He finally forced out, “Stay there. I’m coming.”

The drive downtown was a blur. Harrison didn’t remember the lights or the turns—only the pounding in his chest, a thousand angry thoughts colliding in his skull.

When he screeched into the Apex Club’s parking lot, Brandon was waiting outside, pale and anxious, phone in hand.

“I recorded it,” Brandon said quietly. “I thought you’d need proof.”

Harrison watched the short clip, and the world tilted.
There she was—Vivien. The woman he’d sworn vows to. Laughing, her hands on another man’s chest. The man’s hands sliding down her waist. Then the kiss—slow, deliberate, intimate.

Harrison felt like his veins were filled with acid.

Inside, the music hit like a wave—throbbing bass, flashing lights, the smell of perfume and liquor. Harrison pushed through the crowd until he saw her.

Vivien.
Laughing. Glowing. Her body pressed against a tall, blond stranger.

For a second, he didn’t move. He just watched, the image burning into him like a scar. Then he stepped forward.

When she turned and saw him, her smile collapsed. The color drained from her face.

“Harrison?” Her voice cracked. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” he said softly, almost laughing. “No, Vivien. What are you doing here?”

The blond man tried to step back, but Harrison caught his arm. “No, stay. Let’s not hide anything. Everyone should hear this.”

Around them, dancers began to stop. Curious faces turned.

“This is my wife,” Harrison said loudly enough for the music to falter. “She told me she was taking care of her sick nephew tonight. But here she is—dancing, kissing another man.”

The silence that followed was worse than shouting.

Vivien’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s not what it looks like—”

“Oh really?” Harrison pulled out his phone and showed her the video. “Then explain what it does look like.”

The stranger—Dylan—lifted his hands defensively. “Man, I didn’t know she was married! She wasn’t wearing a ring.”

“Of course she wasn’t,” Harrison snapped. “Guess it didn’t match her outfit.”

The crowd murmured. Vivien was trembling now. “It was a mistake, Harrison. I swear. A stupid mistake.”

“How long?” he demanded.

Her silence stretched like a noose. Then she whispered, “A few weeks.”

Harrison exhaled slowly, bitter laughter rising. “A few weeks. So while we were still unpacking from our honeymoon, you were already with him.”

He turned to the crowd and said flatly, “Two months of marriage. That’s how long it took for my wife to cheat.”

Vivien broke down sobbing, but Harrison didn’t comfort her. “You made your choices,” he said coldly. “Now you live with them.”

He looked Dylan dead in the eyes. “You can have her. Good luck. She’ll cheat on you, too.”

Then, as the music awkwardly resumed, Harrison walked out—leaving Vivien in tears, surrounded by whispers and the glow of strangers’ phones recording her humiliation.

Outside, Brandon caught up with him. “Harry, wait. You okay to drive?”

“No,” Harrison muttered. “But I will be.”

He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. “Thanks for calling me, man. You saved me from years of lies.”

Brandon sighed. “That’s what friends do.”

When Harrison got home, the apartment felt like a crime scene. He sat for a moment, then stood and went straight to their shared office. Vivien’s tablet was still there. Unlocked.

He hesitated only a second before opening her messages.

And there it was.
Dozens of texts.

Dylan: Can’t wait to see you again tonight.
Vivien: Harrison’s working late. Meet me after?
Vivien: Sometimes I think I married the wrong person…

Each line cut deeper.
He took screenshots, saved everything. Photos. Messages. Location history. She’d even gone to Dylan’s apartment five times while claiming to visit her sister.

By dawn, Harrison had gathered enough proof to shatter a life.

At 7 a.m., he called a lawyer.

“Richard Chen,” the calm voice answered.

“Mr. Chen, my name’s Harrison Webb. I want to file for divorce. Today.”

By 9 a.m., Harrison was sitting across from him, flash drive in hand.

After reviewing the evidence, Richard nodded grimly. “You’ve got a solid case. Adultery, recent marriage, no kids, clear deception. She won’t get a thing.”

“What about the house?”

“Pre-marital asset. It’s yours.”

Harrison’s voice steadied. “Good. Let’s file it.”

By the time Vivien returned home that afternoon—eyes swollen, still in that cursed red dress—her world had already fallen apart.

She stepped into the living room and froze.
Her suitcases were packed.

“Harrison, we need to talk,” she said shakily.

“No,” he replied. “You listen.”

He spoke quietly, but his tone was colder than ice.

“I filed for divorce this morning. It’s done. I’m not interested in explanations, apologies, or second chances.”

Vivien’s tears spilled over. “Please! I can fix this! I love you—”

“Love?” He laughed bitterly. “You loved the stability. The safety. But you wanted excitement, too. You can’t have both.”

He gestured to the luggage. “You have until Sunday to move out. Monday, I’m changing the locks.”

Her voice cracked. “You can’t do this—”

“Oh, I already did.” He turned to leave, then paused. “By the way, your HR department will be getting a copy of your messages. Pretty sure they have a policy against office affairs.”

The look on her face—shock, horror, realization—was the first sliver of justice Harrison had felt.

He locked himself in the bedroom, leaving her sobbing in the living room.

By Monday, she was gone.
He changed the locks, blocked her number, filtered her emails. Silence replaced the chaos.

Then came the call from Brandon.

“Dude, guess what? Dylan got fired. Your ex got demoted.”

Harrison didn’t reply for a long moment. Then he said, “Good.”

Justice wasn’t about revenge—it was about closure.

The divorce was finalized within three months.
Harrison kept the house, the car, and most importantly, his peace. Vivien walked away with nothing but her shame.

The story spread among their friends. Everyone who’d once toasted their wedding now whispered about her betrayal. She deleted her social media, disappeared from gatherings. Even her own mother called Harrison to apologize.

“I didn’t raise her to be like this,” Mrs. Sanders said quietly. “You deserved better, son.”

For the first time in weeks, Harrison smiled. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m doing just fine.”

Vivien’s affair didn’t survive a month after the fallout. Dylan dumped her as soon as their jobs vanished. The thrill had died with the secrecy.

Meanwhile, Harrison rebuilt.
He sold the house—too many ghosts—and bought a modern loft in Cleveland’s Ohio City district. Sleek, quiet, his alone.

He threw himself into work, and the results were staggering. Six months later, he was promoted to Senior Project Manager, earning forty percent more.

Then he began traveling—Tokyo, Paris, Barcelona. Alone at first. Healing. Rediscovering.

In Tokyo, standing under a thousand paper lanterns, Harrison realized something profound: losing Vivien hadn’t broken him. It had set him free.

A year later, on a ski trip to Aspen, fate surprised him again.

He met Melissa at the lodge restaurant when their orders got mixed up. She was a yoga instructor from Denver—bright eyes, calm smile, a spark of mischief.

They laughed, talked for hours, forgetting the time. When she mentioned she lived only two hours away, Harrison felt something he hadn’t in a long time: hope.

They exchanged numbers.

Weeks turned into months. Weekends turned into visits. Every conversation was honest, every moment grounded in truth.

He told her everything—about Vivien, the betrayal, the anger, the lessons. Melissa didn’t pity him. She simply listened and said, “Then you already know how to love better now.”

Two years later, Harrison proposed in the same Aspen lodge where they’d met.

Their wedding was small, intimate, perfect. Fifty close friends. Brandon stood as best man again and joked, “This time, I promise not to call from a nightclub.”

Everyone laughed, but Harrison felt the deeper truth beneath it: that single phone call years ago had saved his life.

Vivien’s life, on the other hand, spiraled quietly.
She bounced from job to job, relationship to relationship, never escaping the reputation she’d made. Her mother still sent Harrison the occasional polite message, but he never replied beyond a short thank-you. The past was done.

Three years after that night at the Apex Club, Harrison was a new man.

He and Melissa owned a cozy home between Cleveland and Denver, working remotely and traveling often. They adopted two dogs—something Vivien had once called “a waste of effort.”

Then came their daughter, Emma.
The first time Harrison held her, tiny and perfect in his arms, he finally understood what peace felt like.

He’d lost an illusion but gained everything real.

Sometimes, late at night, he’d think back to that phone call.
The shock, the pain, the humiliation.

And he’d smile.

Because that call had been a blessing in disguise.

It taught him that truth, no matter how painful, is always better than a comforting lie.
That self-respect means walking away, not begging to be chosen.
And that the best revenge isn’t payback—it’s rebuilding your life so beautifully that the past no longer matters.

As Emma giggled in his lap and Melissa leaned her head on his shoulder, Harrison whispered to himself,
“I won.”

Not through anger.
Not through spite.
But by choosing peace over pain—and love over lies.

The End.