Special Delivery For My Cheating Husband

The notification dinged, and I saw the client name pop up on my Amazon app. Brandon Cole. My husband. The address was one of those exclusive, glass-and-steel complexes: The Presidio Residences. I called him. It rang far too long before he answered. “Where are you?” “At the office, babe… why?” His voice was thin and shaky, and I could hear a distinct, hollow echo in the background. “No reason. Just checking in.” As soon as I hung up, Brandon updated his social media: [Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a mid-day spousal check-in. Blessed.] Attached was a blurry selfie of him at a desk, looking smug. I casually tapped “Like,” then followed the GPS to his location. I rode my e-bike through the complex gates, pulling up to the exact building. A small boy was standing by the door, impatiently kicking the ground. “Hurry up, delivery person. You’re taking me to soccer practice.” His tone was demanding. I stared at his face—eyes, chin, and brow, a mirror image of Brandon’s—and forced a pleasant smile. “Hey there, buddy. For a scheduled drop-off, I just need to confirm with a parent in person.” “Where is your mom or dad?”

1 “Ugh, this is so annoying!” The boy, Chase, rolled his eyes at me, a theatrical gesture Brandon himself had mastered, and stormed back inside. A woman in silk loungewear, the LV logo subtle on the lapel, appeared in the doorway. I squinted at her face, and a sudden, cold jolt hit me. It was Tinsley Bell. She was a realtor I’d met years ago when Brandon had been obsessed with “just looking” at this very building. We couldn’t afford it, but he insisted on the tour. When Tinsley, the agent, tried to add Brandon on social media afterward, he pushed her contact onto my phone, claiming, “Gotta let my wife handle the logistics.” Tinsley Bell was still languishing in my friend list. Her posts had evolved from listings to a relentless feed of luxury travel and designer bags. She’d clearly married into money. “I’m the mother. You can take him now.” Tinsley’s hand rested on the doorframe, flashing a heavy, layered golden manicure that I knew started at ten thousand dollars—I’d picked up supplies for that salon before. Everything about this place, from the trim to the fabric, screamed old money. Brandon, meanwhile, was a $4,000-a-month accountant. My gaze locked onto a quilted down jacket hanging on a hook by the entrance. It was the exact model I’d bought Brandon last winter. Even the small cigarette burn on the cuff—the one I’d patched myself—was in the same place. I took a slow, deep breath, tasting the dry air of the hallway. “What is your relationship with Brandon Cole?” Tinsley looked at me, a flicker of suspicion in her expensive eyes. “Brandon Cole is my husband. Does your delivery service run background checks now?” A suffocating wave of nausea hit my chest. I fought to keep the smile plastered on my face. “You misunderstand, ma’am. New platform rule for child transport: both guardians must confirm the drop-off.” “That’s ridiculous. There was no rule like that before. You know what? I’ll just cancel the ride.” Tinsley pulled up the app, ready to hit cancel. Chase wrapped his arms around her legs, whining dramatically. “Chase needs to go to practice! I want to play with Summer!” Tinsley sighed, clearly exasperated, and called into the back of the apartment, “Honey! Can you come here? The delivery guy is being difficult!” She walked further in to find him. I could barely make out the wedding portrait hanging far down the hall. I knelt beside Chase. “How old are you, sweetie?” “Five. Ugh—” Chase recoiled, clamping a hand over his nose and quickly pulling a surgical mask out of his Spider-Man backpack. “You smell gross. No wonder Daddy always complains about how much delivery people stink.” I felt the last thread of my composure snap. “What the hell is the hold-up? This is insane just to drop off a kid.” “Who the hell took this order?” Brandon, dressed in matching silk loungewear, stomped out of the bedroom, cursing under his breath. When he saw me, the rage drained from his face. His expression froze into a mask of pure terror. 2 “Laney… what are you doing here?” “I’m here to take your son to soccer practice, obviously.” I hooked an arm around Chase and moved toward the door. Brandon lunged forward, grabbing Chase back. He ignored the boy’s immediate tantrum, canceling the lesson with a quick text. Tinsley grabbed my arm, her manicured nails digging into my skin. “Wait a minute. I knew you looked familiar. You’re Brandon’s ex-wife.” “We divorced years ago. Are you really going to make a scene? Do you have no shame?” Brandon pulled Tinsley closer, his voice saccharine. “I’ll handle this, baby. Don’t stress yourself out; it’s bad for the pregnancy.” He dragged me just outside the apartment, lighting a cigarette. He didn’t look at me for a long time. Finally, he exhaled a cloud of smoke and mumbled, “Look, I messed up.” “When did we divorce, Brandon? You want to start there? What is your explanation?” I demanded. Brandon quickly put a finger to his lips, shushing me. “Tinsley’s just pregnant with number two, Laney. We can’t upset her. You didn’t give her any trouble, did you?” I didn’t answer. I just stared, letting the silence hang heavy between us. He sighed, the theatrical weariness I knew so well. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake. The kind of mistake every man makes at least once.” He confessed to the affair. On our first wedding anniversary, while I thought he was working late, he had been here, in this building, with Tinsley. She was pregnant right away. “Tinsley is different from you, Laney. She’s pure. I had to give her a home.” “And this apartment? I’m just renting it. I wanted a peaceful, high-end environment for her while she was expecting.” Listening to his soft, self-pitying confession, I felt only a chilling, intense mockery. The first year we were married, I was in a terrible car accident on my way to work. Brandon had saved my life, literally giving me his blood. He’d told me I was his life. The accident left me unable to have children. He swore he loved me more because of it. But he had been cheating on me back when he claimed to love me most. When he failed at a startup and racked up debt, when his mother, Veronica, got her cancer diagnosis, I worked every grueling Amazon gig I could find to keep us afloat. I’d worked until I was coughing up blood, only for him to spend that money supporting this second life. Brandon reached for my hand. “Even with Tinsley, I still love you, Laney. I do.” “After the baby is born, I’ll figure out a way for all of you to just… get along.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound, and snatched my hand away. “Brandon Cole, we’re done. I want a divorce.” He shrugged, completely dismissive. “It’s just cheating, Laney. Do you have to be so dramatic?” He genuinely seemed to think I was just threatening him. But this time, I had no interest in continuing the performance. “Daddy! Mommy’s belly hurts!” Chase ran out, clutching Tinsley’s arm. Brandon’s expression darkened. He shot me a venomous look and scrambled back inside to his pregnant mistress. Before he disappeared, my phone buzzed with a text from him. [Glad Tinsley is okay. As the older sister in this situation, you need to stop doing things that disrupt our family harmony.] [Go think about what you did. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear the D-word.] I wanted to vomit. I deleted the message without a second thought. I called the Amazon dispatcher, taking the next day off. It was time to prepare for the divorce. Back at our tired, old apartment, I pulled out a dusty cardboard box. It was filled with cheap trinkets: the handwritten notes, the folded paper “promise stars.” He’d never given me another gift, and I’d always excused him, believing he was struggling. Now I knew the truth: he wasn’t struggling. He just thought I was a fool. I dumped the entire box into the trash bin. While packing up his few belongings, I found a real estate deed tucked into an old suit jacket. The owner’s name was clearly written: Brandon Cole. I smiled. The money trail was suddenly very clear. I quietly slipped the deed into my pocket. Then, I tossed all of Brandon’s other things out the front door. As for Veronica, his mother, I didn’t want a scene with a cancer patient, so I called her to come get her own items. I was met with a screaming torrent of abuse. 3 “Laney Shaw, you barren animal! You can’t have children, so you’re trying to harm Tinsley? Are you a monster?” “You want a divorce? Not until you sign over the apartment to Brandon! Never!” It turned out Veronica had known about Tinsley the entire time. They had been working together to bleed me dry. I didn’t bother arguing. I just hung up. The apartment was mine; I had paid the mortgage and just made the final payment this month. Brandon hadn’t contributed a dime, and he was an adulterer. He had no claim. I changed the locks to a new fingerprint system and installed a security camera. Neither of them would ever step foot in my home again. I mailed Brandon the divorce papers. Before I went to sleep, Tinsley sent me a video call request. I answered. The camera was pointed directly at Brandon’s face. He was working hard, his body straining above Tinsley. “Honey, who do you love more? Me or Laney Shaw?” Tinsley asked in a simpering voice, holding the phone up. “You, of course! Laney is a slug! Stale and dry, like sleeping with a dead fish!” The sounds of their cheap, crude lovemaking continued until it was over. Tinsley followed up with a slew of taunting texts. [Your anniversary? He was in my bed. Your birthday? Still in my bed.] [He even sabotaged your e-bike motor to make me laugh. He was watching you struggle in the rain via a drone feed.] [While you were pushing your bike to the repair shop, he and I were having car sex in his Mercedes-Benz.] … [Laney, you are pathetic.] The dense stream of words crashed against me like a wave. But my heart, already like cold ash, did not stir. Satisfied, I stopped the screen recording. I had all the evidence I needed for the coming fight. The next day, I picked up my usual route. My first order was documents. The second, a bouquet of flowers. When I handed the flowers to the customer, he recoiled, giving them a suspicious sniff. His expression turned grim. “Do I have a problem with you?” he asked coldly. I shook my head, confused. Before I could speak, he threw the bouquet directly at my face. “You don’t, but some bastard certainly does! Did you seriously piss all over my order?” The foul, acrid smell of urine, mixed with shredded petals, clung to my skin and clothes. I apologized profusely, promising to call the police and offering a ten-fold cash refund. Only then did the man let it go. “Ha ha ha! The stinky delivery girl got what she deserved!” I turned and saw Chase, doubled over laughing. Veronica, Brandon’s mother, patted the boy’s head approvingly. “Chase, that was brilliant! A little payback for Mommy and Daddy!” I flew into a rage. I charged at them and shoved Chase hard. He tried to swing at me, but I kicked his legs out from under him. He hit the ground and started screaming. Veronica leaped forward, putting herself between me and the boy, ready to fight. “Laney Shaw! Have you no shame, fighting a child?” I grabbed her wrist and called the police. “No one is going anywhere until the officers arrive.” Veronica struggled but couldn’t break my grip. She scoffed. “The police? Chase is a minor. They won’t do a thing to a little boy.” Then she leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “Let me tell you something else, you fool. I don’t have cancer. I faked the whole thing.” She threw her head back and laughed into the wind. I reached into my pocket, touching the wrinkled diagnosis report I’d kept. Veronica hadn’t had cancer when she first claimed it. But her checkup last month confirmed it—late-stage, terminal. I didn’t need to tell her. The police arrived quickly. Brandon, winded, showed up moments later. 4 Veronica, as the present guardian, was held responsible. Brandon grudgingly paid for the damage. After the officers left and his mother and son were gone, Brandon glowered at me. “It was just a harmless prank, Laney. Did you really have to call the police?” “You’re getting completely out of line.” “Besides, it’s just kid pee. It’s cleaner than water. Why are you making a fuss?” I picked up the remaining half of the ruined bouquet and thrust it toward his mouth. “Not dirty, you say? Then drink it.” Brandon recoiled instantly, clearing his throat. “Wife, I love you very much. I won’t sign the divorce papers.” “I honestly think the three of us could live under the same roof. Maybe even share the same bed.” He casually slid his hand onto my lower back. “And listen, Tinsley is indisposed for a few days. Could you register your fingerprint on the lock at the Presidio for me? You could help me out.” His sheer audacity made me physically ill. When he leaned in for a kiss, I slapped him across the face, hard. Brandon stared at me, dumbfounded. “You… you just hit me?” In his memory, I was still the obedient wife, the one who took his abuse like a whipped dog. My voice was ice. “You have three days to sign the agreement. If not, I’m filing a lawsuit for divorce.” My unexpected resolve stunned him into instant fury. “Laney Shaw, don’t be ridiculous! You’re a trashy delivery girl! Who the hell else would have you?” “You want a divorce? Fine! Give me the house! You haven’t even finished paying off the mortgage you promised to cover, and I have a wife and a child to support now. You owe me!” His shameless greed only fueled my disgust. I kept my emotions in check, speaking slowly and deliberately. “Zero assets, zero support, and marital infidelity. According to the agreement, you’ll be leaving with nothing.” “Also, Brandon? I know you bought the house at The Presidio.” His pupils dilated in shock. He quickly tried to deny it. “What are you talking about? Who bought a house… What the hell are you implying?” “Are you threatening me, Laney Shaw?” He stared at me, eyes burning with a desperate, sudden fear. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Then, realizing something, his face went ashen. He bolted toward his Mercedes-Benz and frantically made a call. By the time he came back out, I was already gone on my e-bike. That night, my phone was bombarded with texts from Brandon. [Laney Shaw, return what you stole from me immediately!] [Sign the deed for the old apartment over to my name, and wire me $10,000 for living expenses!] [I might let this slide if you do it!] [Don’t make me get nasty!] 5 Dozens of calls followed. I could picture him on the other end of the screen, panicked and enraged, his biggest secret now in my hand. I touched the crisp, crimson-colored real estate deed tucked safely away. The mansion that was once an impossible dream for us was now his. Not only had he bought it, but he had bought the realtor too. A ten million dollar condo was not something a $4,000-a-month accountant could buy. There was only one possible conclusion: the money was dirty. [Still playing dead?] [I swear, I will make sure you can’t even deliver a package! I will ruin your life!] [I have ways to make you surrender!] I smiled at the stream of threats. I packaged the deed and all the other evidence. Then, I set a timed email to send to Brandon’s company’s compliance department. Let’s see what “ways” he had. Three days passed. Brandon had not signed the divorce papers. I called my lawyer and prepared the lawsuit. Later, I headed to the Annual Rider Awards Gala. As the reigning “Top Runner,” I was about to receive my award. Suddenly, Brandon and Tinsley stormed the venue, unfurling a huge, hand-painted banner. “I’m reporting this fraud! My wife, Laney Shaw, is using the Amazon platform as a cover for sex work!” “She infected me, and she’s maliciously spreading a virus while she knows she has a dirty disease!” “The company needs to investigate! Everyone needs to be warned!” Brandon waved a printed copy of my old medical report. Tinsley started a loop of security footage showing me frequently entering and exiting a run-down, low-income apartment block. The other runners started buzzing. “Laney doesn’t look like that kind of person… I can’t believe it.” “You might have eaten takeout delivered by her.” “So that’s the secret to thirty thousand a month! She’s not the Top Runner; she’s the Hooker Queen!” The most vicious attack came from Cody Evans, a young rider I had personally mentored. I’d helped him clear his debts and earn a steady income. Now, he leaped onto a banquet table, his eyes full of pure hatred. Brandon leaned in, his voice low and menacing. “Don’t touch things that aren’t yours, Laney.” “Return the property and agree to a net-zero divorce, and I’ll clear your name. Otherwise, I have physical evidence and witnesses.” I met his triumphant gaze, and a chilling smile touched my lips.