For a long time, I felt something was wrong with my husband. He became nervous, often stayed late after work, whispered on the phone and hung up quickly when I was near. His eyes were distant, he avoided intimacy, almost as if he was afraid of me.
I tried not to assume the worst, but jealousy was eating me alive. All the signs were there: late returns, strange messages he immediately deleted, the scent of women’s perfume on his clothes. I was convinced — he had a lover.
In desperation, I took a drastic step: I installed a hidden camera at his workplace. I thought seeing another woman would hurt, but at least the truth would come out.
I nervously played the video. On the screen appeared a woman in a bright pink suit — young, attractive, with glittering earrings and bold makeup. I immediately thought: that’s her, the mistress.
My husband approached her far too warmly — they hugged like old close friends, then started chatting enthusiastically. He smiled at her in a way he hadn’t smiled at me in months. My heart broke.
I almost turned the video off to avoid seeing more betrayal, but something made me keep watching.
After a few minutes, they began whispering. The woman took a folder out of her bag and showed my husband some photos — I could hardly believe my eyes.
They were photos of people, with dates and strange notes. My husband examined them closely, asked questions, and then they began discussing details.
— This one talks too much, the woman in pink said. — Better take him out by the end of the month.
My husband nodded and wrote something down in his notebook.
I felt the blood freeze in my veins. They were discussing murders — how to hide the evidence, how much it would cost, and who to pay. Those sweet smiles, the light jokes — all of it turned into something horrifying.
At first, I was jealous of a possible affair. Now I wish that’s all it had been. Because the truth is, my husband had become an accomplice to the woman in pink — and together they were planning real murders.
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