“This isn’t AI, Julian,” I said, setting the first folder down in front of his mother. “This is your itemized phone bill from the past six months, showing over four thousand late-night text messages to Chloe’s personal line.”
I set the second folder in front of my father. “This is the surveillance log from a private investigator detailing their afternoon meetups at the Grand Hyatt downtown—paid for using our joint emergency savings account.”
And finally, I placed a third, legal-sized folder directly on Julian’s empty pie plate.
“And this,” I smiled warmly, “is a formal petition for divorce, along with an emergency freeze on all marital assets.”
Evelyn looked down at the photos of her son entering hotel rooms with another woman, her hand trembling as she covered her mouth in absolute shame. My mother-in-law had spent two years lecturing me about being a “supportive wife,” but seeing the cold evidence of her son’s betrayal left her completely speechless.
