I caught my wife in bed with my best friend – so I slept on her wife’s bed, too.

I caught my husband sleeping with my best friend—so I slept with her husband too.

It is said that betrayal feels like a blade, but it is never told that it slowly wears and then causes a deep wound.

My name is Ananya, and I believed in loyalty, friendship, and the vows I took in the pavilion—but that was when I came home early one Wednesday morning and found my husband’s boxers on the living room floor, next to a bra that wasn’t mine.

I didn’t need a detective. I didn’t have to call anyone. I already knew who was in my bedroom—Priya, my best friend from university, my main bridesmaid, my future aunt.

The same woman who cried as I walked down the aisle, and promised that she would protect my heart. I should have screamed. I should have fought. But I didn’t do that.

I stood there silently, breathing until I heard him—his voice, calling his name, and then a giggle that shattered all my illusions. I left from there. Calmly.

I stepped out of the house like a ghost and drove through an empty lane in Bandra, sat in the car, and cried for hours. Not just because of them—but because I had nothing left to give.

The next day, I didn’t argue with him. I made breakfast, packed their work files, kissed their cheeks, and told them to have a nice day. He smiled, unaware that I had died the day before. Priya kept calling as if nothing had happened.

She also sent me a video on WhatsApp titled, “Bestie Vibes Forever”. I looked at him and smiled.

That was the moment when I knew what I was going to do. I called her husband, Arjun. Tall, quiet, respectful Arjuna.

A man I only spoke to at birthdays and weddings.

I told him I needed to talk. He hesitated a bit, then agreed. We met at a café in Kala Ghoda. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just handed him the picture I had taken—my husband and his wife, tangled up under my sheets.

He stared at her for so long that I felt as if he had stopped breathing. When he finally looked up, he whispered, “They’ve been doing this for months.” “That was the last step. Not only was I betrayed, but I was also an idiot.

But I wasn’t going to be broken.

Arjun and I started talking—first about our pain, then about everything.

In the chaos, he became my peace.

His flat became my escape.

His silence became a balm that comforted me. One night, I broke into his arms and cried uncontrollably.

He held me. No words. No judgment. And then it happened. A kiss. Gentle. Hesitant.

But there was everything we had lost. I didn’t stop him. Nor did he.

That night, I didn’t sleep alone. And for the first time in a long time, I felt that I was being wanted—not being used, not being deceived, but being wanted. The next morning, I stood in his bathroom staring at myself in the mirror, thinking about what I had become.

But when I thought about how they betrayed us, I wasn’t ashamed. I felt a sense of balance. I went to my husband Rohan’s house and smiled as if nothing had happened. And him… He still didn’t know. But now, the game had changed. I wasn’t just a contemptuous woman. I was a reincarnated woman—and…

Episode 2

The night I slept with Arjuna, something changed in me – not just my heart, but also my silence.

I pretended for weeks that I didn’t know what was happening in my own house. I smiled at my husband when he was lying on my face. When Priya stabbed me in the back, I hugged her.

But now, I wasn’t showing off—I was making plans. Arjun and I became careful.

We didn’t meet often. Just enough so that we can be conscious. Just enough to forget the people who ruined us. And in those few nights together, he saw those broken parts of me that I had never shown to anyone.

I saw the anger in his eyes that made him unable to speak openly. But we didn’t have to say much.

The language of our pain was the same. Meanwhile, at home, I played the role of an ideal wife. I smiled and served breakfast, wore new lingerie that I knew he would appreciate, so I could watch his guilt flicker and disappear again.

But I started making gestures—little seeds. One morning, I left Priya’s earrings on our bathroom sink.

“Whose is it?” he asked. “I don’t know. Maybe yours?”

That evening, as I left the room, he snapped at his phone. I knew who he was texting. I smiled. Priya was also slipping.

She posted a picture in the background of my perfume bottle.

I reposted it with a caption: “Smells good.” I want to smell like that someday, too. ”

He deleted it within a few minutes. Arjuna watched all this silently, but one day he said, “I want revenge… Or peace?” I said, “I want both.” ”

And that’s when we made a plan.

It was Arjun’s 35th birthday approaching, and he told Priya that he wanted a quiet dinner – just the two of them. I told Rohan that I was going to worship all night at my mother’s house temple.

Neither of them suspected anything.

That night, I put on a plain black gown and went to the same restaurant where Arjun and Priya were already – a mirrored space near Carter Road. I didn’t go in. I waited outside.

Arjun had made sure that they were fully visible in the parking lot.

At exactly 8:47 p.m., he got up to “take a call”—came out and met me outside. We were standing in front of him, near the glass wall.

Then he kissed me. Long. Deep. And gently.

I saw Priya drop her thorn. His face turned pale. She got up, walked out of the restaurant and came straight to us.

“Ananya??” she shouted. “What is it?! What are you doing to my husband?!”

I didn’t even blink. “That’s what you’re doing to me. ”

He slapped me. Arjuna pulled him back. “Honey, don’t show off. You’ve been cheating on me for six months. I’ve also decided to cheat—with someone who really deserves better. ”

She broke down right there in the parking lot.

But that was just the beginning.

Rohan found out three days later—when I gave him messages printed between them, including hotel receipts and photographs that he didn’t even know I had.

“You think I didn’t know?” said I, in a whisper. “You thought you were smart, Ron?” You thought I was an idiot?”

He stammered. Apologies. He giggled. But I had already put my stuff outside. And before he could answer again, I handed him another envelope—the divorce papers.

“Did you want freedom? Now I got it. ”

Priya tried to call. I blocked him. She sent a crying voice note, “You ruined my life, Ananya. ”

I once replied: “No.” I gave you what you gave me. ”

And as I packed my last box into Arjun’s car, I looked at what I once called my home—and smiled. Because Episode 3 is where I go from

Episode 3

They had no idea about it. Not the betrayal, not the confrontation, nor the end I chose for myself.

When I left Rohan—my lying, cheating husband—I wasn’t broken. I walked away holding on to all the pieces they tried to break, and I used those same pieces to rebuild myself.

The first few weeks after the divorce were difficult—not because I missed him, but because I was mourning for a person who trusted blindly, who gave unconditional love, and who didn’t believe that even the people you raise could harm you.

I stayed with my sister for a while. Every night when I cried, she would hug me, reminding me that heartbreak doesn’t kill—but silence. Arjuna kept his distance, not out of guilt, but out of respect. We had done something chaotic, something unexpected, but we both knew we needed a place to heal—not just from our marriage, but from ourselves as well.

And it wasn’t easy to recover. It came in quiet mornings, remembering his pain. In the therapy session, I said things that I never thought I would be able to say openly. Walking alone at 6 am, when the streets of Worli Sea Face were covered with mist and I looked up at the sky and whispered, “God, help me feel it again.” ”

Meanwhile, the chaos behind me continued to smolder. Priya’s marriage fell apart faster than mine. Arjuna did not take him back. Two weeks after our quarrel, she filed for divorce. Her family tried to intervene, but the damage was too deep. Priya tried contacting me again—this time through a common friend. He said, “I never intended to hurt you. It’s just done. ”

But betrayal “doesn’t just happen”. You don’t fall on someone’s marital bed. You plan it. You nurture it. You lie to protect it. And when it finally erupts, you apologize without any accountability.

I didn’t respond to his message. Some things don’t deserve to be concluded.

Rohan went out of town. I heard he was trying to make a fresh start in Pune. I wished for peace for him. Not because he deserved it, but because I refused to carry bitterness as a burden. Now my dreams were bigger.

I got a promotion at work. Bought a new apartment in Powai in his name, without any shared signature. I painted the walls with light lavender and sang old Hindi ghazals while making masala chai and aloo parathas on Sunday mornings. And I smiled—a genuine smile.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t waiting for love. I was living in it.

Talking about Arjun, we didn’t rush into anything. Months passed. We didn’t talk often. But recovery makes room for clarity. And one rainy evening—the kind of monsoon rain that drowns traffic and calms the city—came knocking on my door.

That was it. Holding a yellow rose.

“I’m not here to mess up your life,” he said quietly. “I’m just here to thank you… To remind me that love isn’t always lost, sometimes just mismatched. ”

We didn’t kiss. We didn’t make any promises.

We just sat on the couch quietly sipping tea.

Two people with wounds, sat calmly.

And that was the real end.

Not revenge.

No chaos.

Not even romance.

Just peace.

The peace that comes after going through hell.