I wiped my hands on my apron and swung open the door to find a sharply dressed man standing on the porch. His confidence and casual smile suggested he knew exactly where he was.

“Hey! Oh, you must be Mr. Lambert’s cleaning lady, Liliya. I’m his business partner.” He extended a hand for me to shake, and I took it hesitantly.

I blinked. Cleaning lady?

Before I could correct him, he continued, “Mrs. Lambert showed me your picture!”

I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. Mrs. Lambert? But I was Mrs. Lambert. Then who was this supposed Mrs. Lambert showing off my picture?

I glanced down at myself. Sure, I was in casual clothes, my hair tied up in a messy bun, and I had cleaning gloves still on my hands. Maybe that’s why he mistook me for someone else. But what if I played along?

“Please, come in, sir!” I said with a bright, forced smile, stepping aside. “So, you’ve known Mr. and Mrs. Lambert for a long time?”

“For years!” he said, walking inside with the ease of someone familiar with the house. “Ever since they started the business.”

My pulse quickened. They started the business? My husband had always said he started the business from scratch. Who was this Mrs. Lambert?

I gestured toward the couch. “Oh, really? You must have pictures together. Show me, please!”

“Sure!” He pulled out his phone, swiping through pictures until he found one and handed it to me.

My breath caught in my throat. There was my husband, smiling broadly, an arm draped around the shoulders of a woman who wasn’t me. She was beautiful, elegant, and—

The caption read: Ethan and Claire Lambert – Partners in Business and Life.

My knees nearly buckled. Claire Lambert? I was Olivia Lambert. My fingers tightened around the phone as a sick realization hit me. My husband was living a double life.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Oh, wow. What a lovely couple. And how long have they been together?”

He laughed. “They’ve been married ten years! A perfect team.”

Ten years? That was impossible. We had been married for eight.

My heart pounded as I handed the phone back. “Excuse me for a moment, I need to get something from the kitchen.”

I walked out calmly, but the moment I was out of sight, I bolted up the stairs to our bedroom. I yanked open Ethan’s closet, my hands shaking. My gaze swept over his suits, ties, and shoes—until I saw something that didn’t belong. A small, locked suitcase tucked behind a row of shirts.

I dug through his drawers, searching for the key. After what felt like an eternity, I found it—hidden in a box of cufflinks. My hands trembled as I unlocked the case.

Inside was a passport, but not under the name Ethan Lambert. Instead, it read: Ethan Clarke. There were bank statements for accounts I had never seen, a set of keys, and—worst of all—another wedding ring.

I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

“Liliya?” The business partner’s voice called from the living room.

I took a deep breath, snapping the suitcase shut. I had to stay calm. Think. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror—my face was pale, my eyes wide with shock. No time to fall apart.

I rushed back downstairs, forcing a smile. “So sorry! Just had to grab something. Would you like some coffee?”

“No, I should get going. Just tell Mr. Lambert I dropped by to leave some documents I need to be signed as soon as he gets home.”

“Oh, I will,” I said sweetly. “And, if you don’t mind me asking, where is he right now?”

“He’s away for the weekend with Claire. Some charity event in Chicago. Didn’t he tell you?”

I smiled wider. “Oh, of course, he did. Silly me. Thank you for stopping by.”

He left with a polite nod, and as soon as the door shut, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Ethan was with her. While I was here, scrubbing the kitchen and waiting for him to come home, he was playing the doting husband to someone else.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I packed.

I took the suitcase with his secrets, my passport, and a few essentials. I didn’t leave a note. I wanted him to come home to an empty house, to wonder where I was, to realize I knew.

As I stepped out the door and into the cab, I pulled out my phone and I texted him:

Ethan Clarke, we need to talk about our divorce.

I hit send and smiled for the first time all day.

What would you have done in my place?