My husband’s late-night humming and arm-flapping led to a 911 call and a hospital visit, where doctors diagnosed a mild seizure, possibly from stress or sleep deprivation. Watching him hooked to machines, I recalled his recent odd behavior: staying up late, secretive laptop use, and mentioning “Nadia” on a call. His phone was always silent, taken everywhere. I assumed it was financial stress from his struggling logistics firm.
At home, I opened his unprotected laptop and found a spreadsheet labeled “Invoices_2022,” detailing $48,700 in payments to “N.L.”—Nadia. Emails revealed an emotional affair, with memories and photos, including a selfie of them in Montreal. Devastated, I confronted him. He claimed Nadia was a family friend’s daughter he was helping, but his hesitation confirmed more. I left, staying with my cousin.
Further digging revealed he’d used a fake identity, “Shawn,” and taken a secret loan against our house. I filed for divorce. Nadia’s fraud complaint against him, alleging manipulation, helped protect my assets. I kept the house; his business collapsed. Now, I’m rebuilding—teaching music, reconnecting with friends, and cautiously dating Teo, a kind mechanic. Trust your gut; the truth, though painful, sets you free.