While on a work trip, I checked my baby monitor to see my son, only to find a strange woman tucking him in like her own. The truth I discovered ended my marriage, but my carefully planned revenge gave me the closure I needed to move forward.
At 34, I thought my marriage to Mark was strong. Together for four years, married for three, we had our son, Owen, whose tiny smiles were our world. A short work trip seemed fine—Mark had watched Owen before, sending me off with a hug and promises of photos.
After a long day, I opened the baby monitor app in my hotel room. My heart stopped—a woman I didn’t know was in Owen’s nursery, gently fixing his blanket and kissing his head. She moved with such ease, it felt wrong. I called Mark, who answered casually, but I heard street noise—he wasn’t home. “Who’s with Owen?” I asked. He mumbled and hung up.
I tried calling back, but he didn’t answer. Was she a babysitter? Her actions felt too personal. Panicked, I called my brother, Dan, who lived nearby. “Check on Owen, please,” I said, explaining what I saw. He rushed over, promising to get answers.
As I paced, Dan texted that Mark had just pulled up with groceries. Then he called, his voice low. “They’re arguing. She’s not a sitter.” He heard her say, “When you divorce her, Owen will be mine too.” I cried, feeling betrayed from miles away. I booked a flight home for the next morning.
When I arrived, Mark looked worn out. I checked on Owen, who was sleeping peacefully, then faced Mark. He called it a mistake, saying the woman shouldn’t have gone to Owen. “You left our son with her?” I demanded. He admitted it was meant to be brief. I told him there was no going back.
I filed for divorce, seeking full custody. In court, Mark pleaded, but I got custody, allowing him limited visits for Owen’s sake. I didn’t speak to him after. Later, I found her on Instagram—Kate, a stylist with a cheerful feed. I booked a session under a fake name. She was all smiles until I showed her the monitor screenshot. “Owen’s okay. I am too,” I said, handing her a therapist’s card before leaving.
Mark still calls, saying he’s sorry. I ignore him. Owen and I are starting fresh, with the baby monitor’s light as our comfort. My revenge was quiet but gave me the strength to let go.
