Before discovering her husband’s favorite clothes in their neighbor’s laundry basket, Angela thought everything in her life was ideal. Angela’s world came tumbling down when she approached the woman, thinking she was stealing.
Hello, this is Angela. You know, the type of person who thinks that all ends happily? married to my high school love, Jeremy, for seven years? Yes, indeed, that idyllic life I felt as though I had collapsed more quickly than an errant sock during a drying cycle. Laundry day was the innocent beginning of it all.
There is a communal washing room in the basement of our apartment complex. A little dark, with washers and dryers that don’t match and sound like they’re ready to leave for a one-way trip to rattle city. However, it does the job, so what?
It was then that I got to know Kim, this young lady who lived a few floors below. You know, there was just something not quite right about her. Similar to a misplaced button that consistently ends up on the incorrect clothing.
Whenever our paths crossed, she would give me these strange looks and swiftly turn away when I made an attempt to be pleasant. Honestly, that gave me the creeps.
A few weeks later, as I’m folding laundry and going about my business, I notice something that chills me to the bone. Kim’s washing basket included two of Jeremy’s favorite t-shirts, gray and yellow, curled up together.
These were no ordinary t-shirts, either. In the corner, the initials “AJ” were embroidered, serving as a gentle reminder of the initials I’d given Jeremy when we first started dating.
My thoughts were racing. Was there a strange mix-up in the laundry? Then I noticed Jeremy’s blue sweatshirt sticking out of Kim’s dryer. My breathing became labored. stealing apparel? Really?
I marched straight over to Kim before I could give it too much thought.
“Hey!” I may have yelled out a little too loudly, because two folding towel holders snapped their heads around. “I spent the entire week searching for those! My spouse is dressed like that. How did they get into your trash can?”
With a flicker of something in her eyes that I couldn’t quite identify, Kim looked up.
“Oh,” she remarked in a tone that belied her seriousness, “it appears he left them in the machine.” No major deal; proceed now.” With a forced smile that stopped short of her eyes, she threw the clothing to me.
There was a problem. Before I left, I would always check the machines, and Jeremy never did his laundry. There was a fishy socks vibe about the whole thing. I have to look into this.
Luckily, there was a surveillance camera in the laundry room. I marched straight down to the security desk and greeted Mr. Johnson, the surly old man.
I managed to seem composed as I said, “Hey, Mr. Johnson,” although a knot was twisting in my gut. Could you look at the video that was taken in the laundry room last week? I believe my husband’s garments may have been inadvertently taken by someone.”
Mr. Johnson gave me a squint. “Lost some socks, did you?” His voice sounded like gravel in a blender when he growled.
“No, sir,” I insisted, “there is more to it than that. hoodies and t-shirts.”
He complained about the disrespect that modern youth had for other people’s dirty clothes and shuffled off in the direction of the surveillance cameras. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed like agitated bees while I waited.
A few minutes later, Mr. Johnson made a chair-related gesture. “All right, you can now go. The video from last week.”
As I watched the screen flicker to life, my heart pounded in my chest. Yes, there was Kim, loading the washing machine. However, it wasn’t that section that made me feel sick to my stomach.
That was the subsequent events.
“What the…” With tears stinging my eyes, I gasped out. I could not shake the image that flashed on the screen—a horrific truth was being revealed right before my eyes.
“Can you rewind that, Mr. Johnson?” I muttered.
I wasn’t even questioned by Mr. Johnson. He rewinded the video, and as I saw it again, a cry rose to my throat.
Jeremy was there, along with Kim. not merely conversing or doing the wash. However, however,
“Oh my god,” I exhaled as the tears finally started to fall. This cannot be taking place. This was not how I had seen this happily ever after.
Mr. Johnson gave a throat clearing. “You alright there, mam?”
I forced back the tears that were clouding my vision. I choked out, “I need to see that again.” “Can you rewind it?”
He didn’t challenge what I asked for. A deliberate flip of a switch caused the sequence to re-play on the screen. The treachery stung even more this time.
Kim and Jeremy were laughing and rubbing hands. Then, as they leaned in, the distinct image of a kiss materialized.
“Oh my god,” I murmured as the tears began to fall. This cannot be taking place.
Mr. Johnson gave a nervous shufflé. “Madam, are you sure you want to see this again? It appears that things are disorganized.
I used a wobbly hand to brush away my tears. I require evidence, Mr. Johnson. Evidence of what has been happening beneath my nose.”
He slowly nodded. “All well, then. However, this isn’t really high definition video. Are you certain it will suffice?
“It must be,” I murmured. “I can’t let him get away with this.”
Mr. Johnson stopped asking questions. He let the video to play for a few more seconds before cutting it off.
I had a dangerous thought that was driven by hurt and rage. “Mr. Johnson,” I replied, “how much would it take to get a copy of this footage?”
With a look of doubt, he raised an eyebrow. Do you need a copy? Of your spouse’s brief… encounters?”
Yes, I replied. But I’m not allowed to reveal that it was from you. Nobody, not even Jeremy.”
He gave his chin a contemplative stroke. “Well, mam, letting folks see security footage ain’t exactly in my job description.”
I begged, “I understand,” “However, this is a big issue. I’m also prepared to pay. To what extent?”
A price was mentioned by Mr. Johnson, which was quite high given the blurry nature of the video. However, I considered it a little price to pay for retribution. I reached into my purse and took out a clean $100 cash.
I responded, setting the money down on the table. “Here,” “Is this enough?”
He glanced at the money, then at me, then back at it. His expression softened into a smile. “Okay, ma’am,” he murmured. “You got yourself a deal.”
After he tinkered with a few cords, a grainy duplicate of the video was sent to my phone. My heart pounding, I ran out of the security room with a wave of gratitude and a vow of silence.
When I got back to my apartment, there was a deafening quiet. The empty room that had held Jeremy’s possessions now made fun of my suffering.
I grabbed my laptop and downloaded the video with shaky fingers.
With my meager editing abilities, I created an incriminating collage that included the kiss that was taken, Jeremy and Kim leaving the elevator together, their hands stroking, and his covert entrance into Kim’s room.
I took a seat and penned a note after that. It was no longer a love letter. It was a note intended as extortion, a desperate move motivated by a genuine wish to see him falter.
“There’s a price to paying for keeping this meeting of yours a secret,” I wrote, assuming no identity. I wrote down how much money it was, a good amount, and how to leave it at a private place.
I placed the collage of photos and the text into an envelope with trembling hands. The hardest part was about to begin. Awaiting Jeremy, that is.
Like molasses in January, the hours passed slowly. I jumped at the sound of the floorboards creaking and every automobile door banging outside. The sound of Jeremy’s key turning in the lock finally gave me a shock.
“Honey, I’m home!” His voice was upbeat as he yelled out.
I gave him a fake smile and said hello. I couldn’t quite place the word on my lips. He seemed not to notice anything unusual. Humming a tune, he headed directly to the kitchen.
This was my opportunity. I made sure the envelope was visible when I slipped it under the door while he was going through the refrigerator.
Dinner smelled delicious as Jeremy sauntered out of the kitchen, completely oblivious to the bomb I’d just dropped.
“What’s on the menu tonight, love?” With a smile on his lips, he inquired.
I contrived an innocent gasp of surprise.
“Oh no, what’s up with that mail by the door? Have any letters arrived today? Would you please take it for me, darling?”
He took up the envelope, addressed to him in a handwriting he didn’t recognize, and his smile wavered. He tore it open, a spark of terror over his features.
The pictures within took all the color out of his cheeks. When I questioned him, he stumbled through a fib, saying it was private work-related information.
He withdrew into the bedroom, his hurry glaringly obvious. I had planted an anonymous blackmail message, and I knew he would read it:
“There is a price to paying for keeping this meeting of yours a secret. $10,000 as the initial payment. By precisely 5 p.m. today, drop it off in a brown envelope at the park’s large rabbit bin. Quietness is precious.
My plan worked out wonderfully. When Jeremy was done reading, he shot out the door.
I crept up on him and saw him slide a large quantity into a brown envelope and stuff it into the park’s rabbit bin. Then, obviously anticipating the appearance of his covert sponsor, he cowered behind a tree.
Jeremy waited a long and futile time before giving up and going home.
I turned and ran toward the rabbit bin as soon as he was out of sight, a victorious smile lighting up my lips. I grabbed the envelope and ran, using the fastest path I knew, back home.
The days that followed were a haze of activity. With every note, I painstakingly increased the amount and escalated the blackmail.
With my money accumulating, I was able to covertly move into a new apartment, setting the stage for the next leg of my intricate retaliation.
Last week, the last act arrived with a bang. Jeremy received the divorce papers from my lawyer.
He stumbled, clearly confused, “What is this supposed to mean?” as I came out of the room, holding my suitcase and sniffling theatrically.
I buried my face in my hands and held the “mysterious envelope” close to my chest.
“Imagine my shock when I found this under the door,” I cried, almost trembling. “How could you betray me like this?”
Jeremy’s mind clicked into motion as he identified the pictures. Fueled by my justified wrath, the legal struggle began. A apparently insignificant detail, the lost garments at the laundromat, had revealed a labyrinth of dishonesty.
I felt no remorse. Financial hurt I’d dealt was minuscule compared to what Jeremy and other cheaters deserved.
Regarding Kim, the neighbor who had been engrossed in her secretive relationship, she is free to speculate as to who had secretly shared those photos of her meeting my soon-to-be-boyfriend online! A taste of her own medication, after all, was only appropriate.
How do you feel? Did I get a good measure of retribution? Tell me in the comments below!