ALEXANDRA

A suggestive iMessage on the family iPad was the first crack in my perfect life.

I thought my teenage son was in trouble, but anonymous Reddit users pointed out the chilling truth. The message wasn't for him. It was for my husband of twenty years, Anthony.

The betrayal became a conspiracy when I overheard them talking. They were laughing about his affair with my son's "cool" school counselor.

"She's just so... boring, Dad," my son said. "Why don't you just leave Mom and be with her?"

My son didn't just know; he was rooting for my replacement. My perfect family was a lie, and I was the punchline.

Then, a message from a lawyer on Reddit lit a fire in the wreckage of my heart. "Gather proof. Then burn his entire world to the ground."

My fingers were steady as I typed back.

"Tell me how."

Chapter 1

Alexandra Wright POV:

The first clue that my perfect, suburban life was a meticulously constructed lie wasn't a lipstick stain or a whiff of unfamiliar perfume; it was an iMessage, glowing innocently on the family's shared iPad.

I' d been cleaning up after dinner, the scent of lemon cleaner still sharp in the air. Anthony, my celebrated architect husband, was on a business trip in Chicago. Jacob, our sixteen-year-old son, was supposedly upstairs studying for his SATs. The house was quiet, humming with the low thrum of the dishwasher.

I picked up the iPad from the kitchen island, intending to check the weather for my morning run. But a banner notification was already there, a preview of a message that made the air in my lungs turn to ice.

From a number I didn' t recognize: Last night was insane. Can' t stop thinking about that hotel room. You owe me a Round 2... soon. It was followed by a string of emojis-a winking face, a water splash, an eggplant.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird.

My first thought, a mother's instinct, shot straight to Jacob. My son. My sweet, sometimes sullen, but ultimately good boy. Was he… involved with someone? Someone older? The thought was a bucket of cold sludge dumped over my head. The reference to a hotel room felt so adult, so sordid.

I sank onto a barstool, my legs suddenly weak. Jacob was a good kid, but he was sixteen. Sixteen-year-old boys made stupid, hormone-driven mistakes. My mind raced, picturing some predatory older woman from his part-time job at the bookstore.

I needed advice, but I couldn't talk to my friends. The shame was too immense. It felt like a failing on my part. So I did what any desperate, anonymous person in the 21st century does. I turned to Reddit.

I found a private parenting forum, a place I occasionally lurked for advice on navigating the teenage years. Using a throwaway account, I laid out the situation, my fingers trembling as I typed. I kept it vague.

"Found a suggestive message on a shared device. I believe my high-school son (16M) is in an inappropriate relationship with someone older. The message mentioned a 'hotel room.' I' m terrified and don' t know how to approach this. Any advice?"

The responses came in quickly. Sympathy, mostly. Suggestions on how to talk to him without being accusatory. Standard parenting-forum fare.

Then, one comment landed like a stone in my gut.

User4815162342: "Hold up. You' re assuming it' s your son?"

I blinked at the screen. What did that mean? Of course, it was my son. Who else could it be?

I typed back, my defensiveness flaring. "Yes. Who else?"

Another user, SuburbanGothMom, chimed in. "Read the message again. Carefully. The phrasing. 'You owe me a Round 2.' Does that sound like a teenager? Or does it sound like someone used to being in control?"

The room suddenly felt colder. I scrolled back up to my own post, re-reading the words I had typed out. You owe me…

Redditor_JaneDoe: "Also, the hotel room. Most hotels require a credit card and someone over 21 to check in. Can a 16-year-old on a bookstore salary swing a hotel room for a tryst?"

My breath hitched. No. No, he couldn' t. Jacob' s debit card had a fifty-dollar-a-day limit that I set myself. He complained about it constantly. He couldn' t afford a soda at the movie theater without a lecture, let alone a hotel room.

My mind was a fog of denial. This was absurd. They were strangers on the internet, spinning wild fantasies.

But the seed of doubt had been planted. It was a tiny, poisonous seed, but it was already starting to sprout. The comments kept coming, a cascade of cold, hard logic that chipped away at my carefully constructed reality.

"OP, is there another man in the house?"

The question hung there on the screen, accusatory and obscene. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Anthony.

My Anthony. The man who brought me coffee in bed every morning. The man who was lauded in magazines as the ideal husband and father, a visionary architect who still made time for his son' s soccer games. The man I had loved for twenty years.

The idea was so ludicrous I almost laughed. A bitter, hollow sound.

But the Reddit thread had taken on a life of its own. The commenters were like detectives, piecing together a puzzle I hadn' t even known existed.

Then came the top comment, the one that made the floor drop out from under me.

LegalEagle88: "OP, what about the eggplant emoji? That' s not just suggestive, it's often used in conjunction with certain... performance-enhancing drugs for men. Specifically, the little blue pill. A 16-year-old boy has absolutely no need for that. A man in his 40s trying to keep up with someone younger, though…"