The Day My Older Married Man’s Wife Confronted Me (and the Shocking Thing She Did Next!)

The day after I moved back in with Derrick—my older, mar­ried fiancé—he told me that I needed to quit both of my jobs. I would now be his sec­re­tary at the Orange County office. My fib to his wife about being a sec­re­tary not a mis­tress left him no other option. He walked me through what I would say to his wife when she came to the office to check for her­self that I worked for him.

My first day of work was dread­ful. I just sat at my desk all day fid­get­ing. All eyes were on me—I was the new girl, younger than every other employee, attrac­tive and clue­less, but who reported directly to the CEO of the com­pany. From day one, peo­ple were sus­pi­cious, and had a lot of ques­tions. I had a huge office all to myself, right beside Derrick’s. He wasn’t on site every day, but he did come when he was needed. Most days, I sat around pre­tend­ing to work. Der­rick assured me that when the time was right, he would teach me every­thing I needed to know.

On my fourth day at the office, Mrs. Frei­d­man showed up. Luck­ily that day I was work­ing on a spread­sheet, so I looked like I belonged in the office. She didn’t knock on my door or ask if she could come in—she sim­ply walked in and closed the door behind her. Out of the cor­ner of my eye, I could see my cowork­ers twist­ing their necks to see what was going on.

I explained to Mrs. Frei­d­man, just as I had rehearsed, that I recently moved loca­tions in order to help orga­nize the office. Her cold, stern stare let me know she wasn’t buy­ing a word I was say­ing. She inter­ro­gated me about the busi­ness, and I did my best to answer every ques­tion, just like how we had rehearsed.

She even­tu­ally caught me off guard with one of her ques­tions. I had a feel­ing she was trick­ing me, so I made my own move. I leaned over my desk, and said qui­etly, “Look Mrs. Frei­d­man, I’m not sure what you’re try­ing to accom­plish here, but you’re inter­rupt­ing my work. I have a meet­ing this after­noon with Mr. Frei­d­man that I need to pre­pare for. You are more than wel­come to join me.”

She smiled at me, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. She grabbed her purse and pulled out a file folder with my name on it. She stood up and slammed the folder on my desk. “Let the games begin,” she said. She walked out of the door as quickly as she came in. I quickly got up, shut the door, closed the blinds, and opened the folder. When I saw what was inside, I could lit­er­ally feel my heart sink into my stom­ach. This couldn’t be happening.

Inside was a hand­writ­ten note that read, “Will you still love him when his money’s gone?” My heart stopped. I fran­ti­cally went through about a dozen pic­tures of Der­rick and I. Our engage­ment party, my house, my car, us mak­ing love—the proof was all there in the pic­tures.  She had known every­thing all along.

On the last page was another note: “You decide: wealthy mis­tress or poor wife.” I couldn’t believe what was hap­pen­ing. Mrs. Fried­man didn’t care if we were together or apart—all she cared about was the money. She didn’t mind shar­ing her hus­band, as long as she wasn’t shar­ing her wealth.