200 Venmo Payments to Mistress

Two hundred times.
I was staring at Jacobs Venmo statement.
It took a full five minutes of scrolling to reach the bottom of the transaction history.
Every payment was sent to the same recipient: Babe.
You sent her ninety-five thousand dollars, I said, finally looking up. You give me five hundred a month.
Jacob froze on the couch.
"I..."
"Don't," I cut him off, setting down the phone. "I've already printed the bank records."
The color drained from his face.
I stood up and walked over to him.
"I want a divorce."

1.
For three years, I thought Id married the right man.
Jacob didn't smoke or drink, had a stable job, and was always so considerate. When our son was born in our second year of marriage, he was the one getting up in the middle of the night for diaper changes, the one who could always soothe him back to sleep.
My mom always said a man like that was one in a million.
I thought so, too.
Until last night.
Jacob had forgotten his phone at home.
He was at a late meeting at the office, and I was home with our son. After I put the baby to sleep, I was scrolling on my own phone when I noticed his lighting up on the coffee table, buzzing over and over.
I picked it up, thinking it might be something urgent from work.
The notification on the screen read: Babe sent you 0-0,000.
I froze.
Babe?
The phone was unlocked. I tapped open his Venmo.
The transaction list was endless. A river of digital cash flowing from him to her. I scrolled for five solid minutes and still hadn't hit the beginning.
The recipient: "Babe."
Two hundred transactions.
The earliest was dated December 15, 2023, for five hundred dollars.
The most recent was yesterday. A thousand.
My hand was shaking as I opened the calculator app.
I added them up, one by one.
The final tally: $95,000.
Ninety-five. Thousand. Dollars.
I sank back onto the couch, my mind a complete blank.
Hed given someone he called "Babe" ninety-five thousand dollars.
When we got married, I was the one who put down the $75,000 for the down payment on our house.
My salary is $6,000 a month. For three years, Id given him $500 every month for "household expenses," while the rest of my paycheck went to the mortgage, our sons formula and diapers, and helping out my own parents.
The mortgage was $2,800 a month. I paid it.
Our sons needs cost another 0-0,500 a month. I paid for it.
Had I ever asked him for money?
Not once.
He was always saying how busy he was, how many projects he had at work.
And Id always say, "It's fine, you focus on your career. I've got things covered at home."
Now I knew just how busy he'd been.
Busy sending money to "Babe."
Two hundred times.
I set his phone down and walked to the balcony. Rain lashed against the glass, a frantic, drumming sound.
I remembered last winter. My dad was in the hospital, and I had begged Jacob, literally on my knees, to lend me ten thousand dollars.
"The company's finances are really tight right now," he'd said, his face a mask of regret. "I just can't pull it out."
I ended up borrowing five thousand from my best friend, Sarah, and maxing out a credit card for the other five.
Finances were tight.
But in that very same month, he sent "Babe" twelve thousand dollars.
A laugh escaped my lips, bitter and sharp.
It turned into a sob, and tears started streaming down my face.
No.
I wiped them away fiercely.
What was there to cry about?
I marched back into the living room, grabbed his phone, and started taking screenshots.
Every transfer. Every amount. Every date.
Two hundred screenshots.
Then I opened his WhatsApp.
Pinned to the very top of his chats was a conversation with: Babe.
I opened it.
The latest message was from 11 PM last night.
Babe: Hey honey, I bought that purse we saw today. Thank you so much!~
Jacob: If you like it, thats all that matters. Ill come see you tomorrow.
Babe: Can't wait! See you then, love you!
I scrolled up.
Over five hundred messages.
Morning, my love.
I'm craving sushi tonight.
I found the perfect condo, 1,200 square feet. The down payment is 0-020,000.
You promised youd marry me.
My finger froze on the screen.
Marry her.
He told her he was going to marry her.
I kept scrolling until I found a photo.
A picture of the two of them. Jacob had his arm wrapped around a young woman, who was beaming at the camera. They were on a beach, the sunset painting the sky behind them in strokes of orange and purple.
The date on the photo was from July.
That month, I was three months postpartum, still recovering at home.
He told me he was going on a company retreat to Miami.
It wasn't a company retreat.
I took a deep breath and continued taking screenshots.
Every message, every picture. I saved them all.
By the time I was done, it was two in the morning.
Jacob still wasn't home.
I sent him a text: Are you coming home tonight?
He replied instantly: Meeting ran super late. Just gonna crash at the office.
I stared at the message and smiled.
The office.
I had a feeling I knew exactly where his "office" was.
I opened his credit card statements. It was linked to a card I paid off for him.
Thirty-eight charges from a hotel.
The same one every time: the downtown Hilton.
The same room number: 1806.
Each charge was for $250.
Thirty-eight times. That was ninety-five hundred dollars.
I jotted down the address and placed the phone back on the coffee table, exactly where I'd found it.
A cry came from the bedroom. Our son was awake. I went in and lifted him from his crib, patting his back gently.
"It's okay, sweetie. Mommy's here."
I looked down at my two-year-old boy, with his father's eyes.
I once believed he would grow up in a happy, complete home.
It seemed I was wrong.
Jacob came home just as dawn was breaking.
He pushed the door open and stopped short when he saw me on the couch.
"Why are you still up?"
I looked at him and smiled. "Waiting for you."
"Waiting for me for what?" he asked, kicking off his shoes and walking toward me.
"Nothing, really. I just felt like we should talk."
He sat down next to me, reaching an arm out to pull me close.
I shifted away.
His hand hung in the air for an awkward moment before he dropped it. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I said, standing up. "You must be tired. You should get some sleep."
He gave me a strange look before heading to the bedroom.
I remained on the couch.
My phone screen glowed in the dim light.
I scrolled through my contacts and found Sarah's number.
"Sarah? Can you do me a huge favor?"
Her voice was thick with sleep. "Laura? What time is it? What's going on?"
"I need a lawyer."
"A lawyer?" Sarah was suddenly wide awake. "What happened?"
"Jacob is cheating on me," I said, my voice as calm as if I were commenting on the weather.
"What?!" she shrieked. "What did you just say?"
"He's been cheating for two years. Ninety-five thousand dollars. Two hundred Venmo transfers."
There was a stunned silence on the other end.
Then, Sarah's voice came back, firm and resolute. "Stay right there. I'm coming over."
I hung up and looked out the window.
The sun was rising.
The rain had stopped.
And my counterattack, I thought, was about to begin.

2.
Sarah arrived with breakfast.
Coffee, bagels, and the lox spread I loved.
"Eat something first," she said, sitting beside me. "Then tell me everything."
I recounted the events of the previous night.
The Venmo history, the WhatsApp messages, the hotel bills.
By the time I finished, Sarahs face was a thundercloud.
"That absolute bastard!" she slammed her hand on the table. "He needs to walk away from this with nothing but the clothes on his back!"
"He will," I said, sipping my coffee. "But I need more evidence."
"What's your plan?"
"I'm going to hire a lawyer, get all the facts straight, and then I'm filing for divorce."
Sarah nodded, her expression grim. "I have a friend from college, a real shark who specializes in divorce cases. Shes brilliant. Ill call her right now."
She pulled out her phone.
"Ms. Carter, it's Sarah I have a friend who needs your help"
Ten minutes later, Sarah gave me an address.
"Two o'clock this afternoon. Ms. Carter will see you at her firm."
I nodded and stood up. "I'll go get ready."
"Want me to come with you?"
"No, you've got work," I said with a small smile. "I can handle this."
Sarah looked at me, then pulled me into a fierce hug. "Laura, you be strong."
I patted her back. "I am."
Jacob woke up late in the morning.
He walked into the living room and saw me organizing a stack of papers. "What are you doing?"
"Just sorting some things," I said without looking up.
"Oh." He went to the kitchen for a glass of water. "I have to head into the office today. Might be another late night."
"Okay."
He paused in the doorway, studying me. "You seem off today."
I finally met his gaze and smiled. "Do I? Probably just didn't sleep well."
"Right." He finished his water and set the glass down. "Well, I'm heading out."
"Wait," I called out.
He turned. "Yeah?"
"Don't forget your phone," I said, pointing to the coffee table. "You left it here last night."
He walked over, picked it up, and glanced at the screen, a visible wave of relief washing over him.
"Thanks."
I watched him walk out the door, a cold smile on my face.
Thanks for what?
Thanks for me not looking?
Or thanks for me not saying anything?
At two o'clock sharp, I was at the law firm.
Ms. Carter was a woman in her late thirties, sharp, professional, and refreshingly direct.
"Sarah filled me in on the basics," she said, handing me a cup of tea. "Let's see the evidence."
I handed her a flash drive containing all the screenshots from the night before.
Ms. Carter plugged it into her laptop and meticulously reviewed each file.
When she finished, she looked up. "This is a very strong start, but I recommend we get more."
"Like what?"
"Hotel surveillance footage, official check-in records, and the identity of this other woman."
"How do I get any of that?"
"We can subpoena the check-in records using the credit card statements. A police report would give us access to the surveillance footage. As for the woman's identity" Ms. Carter paused. "I can have someone look into that for you."
"How much will it cost?"
"Seven thousand five hundred. That covers the private investigator and all my preliminary legal fees."
I nodded. "Okay. I can transfer it to you now."
"No rush," Ms. Carter said, closing her laptop. "First, I have a few questions."
"Go ahead."
"One, whose name is on the house deed?"
"Mine. I made the down payment of seventy-five thousand before we were married, and I've been the one paying the mortgage."
"Two, how old is your son?"
"Two."
"Three, what's your monthly income?"
"Six thousand after taxes."
"And four," she said, leaning forward, her gaze intense. "What do you want?"
I met her eyes and said, each word deliberate and clear, "I want the house, I want my savings back, I want our son, and I want Jacob to walk away with absolutely nothing."
A slow smile spread across Ms. Carter's face. "Ruthless. I like it."
She stood and extended her hand. "It's a pleasure to be working with you."
I shook it. "The pleasure is all mine."
As I left her office, I sent a text to Sarah: It's done.
Her reply was instant: Go get him!
I stood on the sidewalk, watching the cars rush by.
Three years ago, I married Jacob thinking I had found the person I would spend my life with.
Three years later, I'd discovered he was nothing but a con artist.
But that was okay.
I was going to make him pay for it.
That evening, Jacob came home while I was in the kitchen making dinner.
"Home early today?" I asked.
"Things were quiet, so I thought I'd come home and spend some time with you." He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
My body went rigid, but I didn't push him away.
"You work so hard," he murmured into my ear.
I continued chopping vegetables, my hand perfectly steady. "It's nothing."
"Oh, by the way," he said, releasing me. "How are we doing on savings?"
My heart clenched, but I kept my expression neutral. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason, just wondering if we could maybe start looking at trading in the car for a new one."
A new car.
Or a down payment on a condo for his "Babe"?
I turned to face him, forcing a smile. "There isn't much left. It's all gone to the mortgage and raising our son these past few years."
"Oh." His disappointment was obvious. "Well, never mind then."
I looked at him and felt a wave of disgust.
This was the man who, three years ago, promised to take care of me for the rest of my life. Now, he was trying to figure out how to get his hands on my money to buy another woman a house.
"Dinner's ready," I said, carrying the plates to the table.
Jacob sat down and picked up his fork.
I sat across from him, watching.
He ate with gusto, taking a large bite of steak. "You know, nobody cooks like you."
I offered a tight smile. "Is that so?"
"Of course," he said, looking up at me. "You're the best wife in the world."
The best wife in the world.
I wondered, had he said the same thing to "Babe"?
I looked down at my plate and kept eating.
My phone buzzed.
It was a text from Ms. Carter: Investigation is underway. I'll have a full report for you in three days.
I texted back a simple "OK" and put my phone down.
Three days.
I just had to endure this for three more days.

3.
On the evening of the third day, a file from Ms. Carter appeared in my inbox.
I opened it, and the first page made my breath catch in my throat.
Tiffany, 23. An intern in the marketing department at Jacob's company.
The photo showed a young, pretty woman with a sweet smile.
The second page was a detailed log of her hotel stays with Jacob.
Thirty-eight times. Always the Hilton, room 1806.
The third page contained photos from the private investigator.
The two of them holding hands while shopping.
Laughing together in a restaurant.
Entering and leaving the hotel.
The fourth page was a copy of the bank transfers.
Ninety-five thousand dollars from Jacob to Tiffany. Two hundred transactions, all listed in black and white.
The fifth page was an audio file.
I clicked play and heard Jacob's voice.
"Babe, I checked out that condo. The down payment is one-twenty. We can scrape it together."
Tiffany's voice replied, "But I thought you said money was tight?"
"Don't worry, I'll figure something out."
"What about your wife...?"
"She'll never know. She's so clueless."
Clueless.
He called me clueless.
I closed the file and took a long, shuddering breath.
Okay.
This was it.
I picked up my phone and called Ms. Carter.
"I received the file."
"Is it enough?" she asked.
"It's more than enough," I said. "I'm confronting him tomorrow."
"Are you sure? You don't want to wait?"
"I'm done waiting," I said, my gaze fixed on the dark city outside my window. "I've been disgusted long enough."
After the call, I walked into the living room.
Jacob was watching TV, our son asleep in his arms.
It was a picture of domestic bliss.
A beautiful, poisonous lie.
"Jacob," I said.
He turned his head. "What's up?"
"We need to talk."
"About what?"
"About your 'Babe'."
His face changed in an instant.
"What what are you talking about?"
I walked over, gently lifted our sleeping son from his lap, and carried him to his bedroom, closing the door behind me.
When I returned to the living room, I sat down across from him.
"Your Venmo. You sent two hundred payments to someone named 'Babe,' totaling ninety-five thousand dollars."
Jacob shot to his feet. "You went through my phone?"
"I did," I said calmly. "I also read your WhatsApp messages. Over five hundred of them. You called her your wife. You told her you were going to marry her."
"I..."
"You also went to the Hilton, room 1806, thirty-eight times. At two hundred and fifty dollars a pop."
"Laura, just let me explain..."
"There's nothing to explain." I held up my phone and opened the photo gallery. "I have screenshots of everything. I have the printed bank statements. I hired a lawyer and a private investigator. They have pictures of you two."
I held the phone out to him.
He took it, his face turning ashen as he swiped through the images.
"When did you..."
"Three days ago," I said, my eyes boring into his. "The night you left your phone at home."
He collapsed back onto the couch, his head in his hands.
"I'm sorry..."
"Sorry?" I laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "You gave her ninety-five thousand dollars while giving me five hundred a month for our family. And you're sorry?"
"I... It was a moment of weakness..."
"A moment of weakness that lasted two years?" I stood over him. "Two hundred money transfers? Thirty-eight hotel bookings?"
"Laura, I swear, I know I messed up. Just give me one more chance..."
"A chance?" I stepped closer. "When my father was in the hospital, I begged you for ten thousand dollars, and you told me the company's funds were tight."
I locked my eyes on his.
"But that very same month, you sent her twelve thousand."
He wouldn't look at me, his silence a confession.
"I made the seventy-five-thousand-dollar down payment on this house. I pay the twenty-eight-hundred-dollar mortgage every month. I cover the fifteen hundred dollars it costs to raise our son. And on top of all that, I gave you five hundred dollars a month for 'expenses'."
My voice was steady, but every word was a razor blade.
"You took my money and you used it to keep her for two years."
Jacob looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. "I really am sorry, I know I was wrong..."
"It's too late." I turned, picked up a document from the coffee table, and threw it in front of him. "That's the divorce agreement. Sign it."
"Laura!" He lunged for my hand.
I snatched it back. "Don't touch me."
"I'm not signing it! I'm not getting a divorce!"
"It's not up to you." I gestured to the papers. "The house is legally mineI made the down payment before we were married and I've paid the mortgage. Our son is two; I'll get full custody. The thirty thousand left in my savings account is from before the marriage; that's mine, too."
"And that ninety-five thousand you gave her? That's marital property you illegally transferred. I'm getting it back."
He stared at me, stunned. "You... you're going to leave me with nothing?"
"That's right," I said, looking down at him without a shred of pity. "You don't deserve a single penny of my money."
"Laura, you can't do this..."
"I can't?" I cut him off. "When you were sneaking around, did you ever stop to think that maybe I couldn't handle this?"
He had no answer.
I grabbed my purse and walked to the door.
"The agreement is on the table. You have until tomorrow to sign it. Otherwise, I'm filing."
"Laura!"
I shut the door, cutting off his voice.
Downstairs, I stood on the sidewalk and took a deep, gulping breath of the night air.
My hands were trembling.
Not from fear.
From rage.
And something else... relief.
It was finally out. I didn't have to pretend anymore.

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