He Cheated 99 Times. Now He Pays.

It was our seventh wedding anniversary.

My mother-in-law was cooking in the kitchen, and my daughter was playing in the living room.

I was charging my drunk husbands phone when the screen suddenly lit up.

It was a SnapChat message. The contact name was Little Ember:

Bro, can you still make it tonight? I bought new sheets, the burgundy kind you like.

I swiped open the screen.

He had a saved folder in SnapChat called Embers Wish.

I tapped on it.

Ninety-nine photos.

Ninety-nine different women.

Ninety-nine opened condom wrappers, neatly spread out on his white bedsheets.

I stood rooted to the spot, trembling all over.

In the living room, my husband drunkenly hugged our daughter, calling out, "Daddy loves you the most."

I smiled at my mother-in-law and said, "Mrs. Davis, I'm going out to buy some soy sauce."

It took me forty-seven seconds to get from our front door to downstairs.

In those forty-seven seconds, I replayed every single frame of my seven-year marriage in my mind.

His name was Mark, and I met him on a blind date.

Back then, I had just left the military. My father was critically ill, my mother had remarried, and I was all alone in the world.

When he was pursuing me, he said, "Alice, your first half of life has been too hard. Let me make the second half easy for you."

I gave up my highly sought-after federal job placement, a benefit of my military service, to his younger brother, all because of that one sentence.

I sold the old house my father left me to help him get startup capital for his business.

I transformed myself from a scout who could carry sixty pounds and cover twelve miles cross-country into a mere housewife.

And what did I get in return?

He was with "Mistress #1" in a hotel room on a night when I was throwing up so hard I had stomach bleeding from morning sickness.

I was in labor for eighteen hours in the delivery room, while he was accompanying "Mistress #12" to her prenatal check-up.

For our daughter's naming ceremony, the gold charm he gave her was just plated.

The real one, the solid gold piece, was around "Mistress #38's" neck.

I stood by the apartment building entrance and tapped on the video I had just recorded.

Ninety-nine photos, with clear timestamps.

From March 17, 2020, the night before our wedding.

To February 28, 2026, three o'clock this afternoon.

He took the last photo in the spare bedroom while I was in the kitchen.

The wrapper was strawberry flavored.

I took a deep breath and dialed a number.

"General Thorne, it's Alice."

There was a three-second silence on the other end, then a deep, resonant voice spoke.

"Alice? You finally decided to contact me."

I couldn't help it; my eyes stung.

Eight years ago, I saved an old man during a border mission.

I didn't know who he was then, only that he'd been trapped in a collapsed tunnel for three days and three nights.

I carried him for six kilometers in a heavy downpour.

Later, I learned he was a highly decorated General from a major command.

He told me then, "Alice, if you ever have any trouble, call me anytime."

Eight years. I had never made that call.

I always thought I could manage my life on my own.

"General, I need a lawyer," I said. "For a divorce case."

"Also, I want to rejoin the military."

The voice on the other end simply said, "Okay."

After hanging up, I looked up at our seventh-floor window.

The crooked holiday decorations Lily had pasted on the window for Christmas were still there.

My phone lit up. It was a message from Mark:

Honey, did you buy the soy sauce? Dad says youve been out for a long time.

Lily's asking when you're coming back to watch TV.

I stared at the text and smiled.

When I got home, Mark was sitting on the couch, watching a reality show with Lily.

He saw me walk in and eagerly came to greet me.

"What took you so long? I thought you got lost."

Lost?

I could find my way in a primeval forest, yet I was completely lost for seven years in the marriage you gave me.

"The grocery store downstairs was closed, so I had to walk an extra block," I said, handing him the soy sauce.

He took the bottle and turned towards the kitchen.

Watching his back, I suddenly felt like he was a stranger.

In the kitchen, my mother-in-law, Mrs. Davis, was dropping meatballs into the hot oil.

Mark stood by the stove, looking down at his phone.

I stood at the kitchen doorway, watching him type.

He looked up, meeting my gaze.

His face stiffened.

"Wh-what's wrong?"

I smiled.

"Nothing. It's just... you haven't smiled like that in a long time."

His expression changed.

I didn't say anything more and turned to set the table.

Dinner was lavish tonight; Mrs. Davis's cooking was always excellent.

Mark served me food, served Lily, toasted his parents, playing the role of a perfect husband, perfect father, perfect son.

I looked at him and suddenly asked,

"Oh, by the way, where's your backup phone? I wanted to track a package this afternoon, but I couldn't find it."

He paused.

"Oh, that one? The battery was dead, so I threw it out."

"Threw it out?"

"Yeah, I wasn't using it anyway." He looked down at his plate, avoiding my eyes.

I nodded, not pressing the issue.

After dinner, Lily pulled me to the balcony to look at the stars.

She lay on my lap, looking up at me with her little face.

"Mommy, will Daddy take us to Disney this year? He said he would last year, and the year before that too."

I looked down at my daughter's bright, shining eyes.

She was five years old.

In those five years, Mark had taken "Mistress #1" through "Mistress #99" to vacation in Miami, to Japan, to the Maldives.

But he had never once taken Lily and me to Disney.

"We will go," I said, stroking her head.

But not with him.

Lily fell asleep in my arms.

Holding her, I remembered the year I retired from the military, the General asked me, "Alice, what's your dream?"

I said, "I want a home."

My phone vibrated. It was a text message from an unknown number:

Dear Ms. Miller, I am the divorce lawyer General Thorne assigned to you.

Your husband, Mr. Mark Davis's bank statements for the past three years have been retrieved.

There are seventy-three abnormal transactions totaling $420,000, all for personal luxury goods and hotel stays.

Additionally, the old house you purchased before marriage was mortgaged in March 2021. The mortgagor's signature is Mark Davis, and your signature was forged.

Evidence has been secured. Awaiting your next instruction.

I didn't reply, I just hugged Lily a little tighter.

In the living room, Mark was looking at his phone again.

The screen was lit, and he was smiling.

Tomorrow was Sunday.

He was probably going on a date with some "mistress," right?

And I should go visit some old acquaintances.

The next day, Mark woke up early.

He kept checking his reflection in the hallway mirror.

"I have a client dinner today for the company; I need to meet a big client," he said, his voice cheerful. "Don't wait for me for dinner."

I sat at the dining table and asked,

"What client? You have to work on a Sunday?"

"You wouldn't understand. It's times like these that show true sincerity." He bent down to put on his shoes. "I might have to drink, so I might not be back tonight."

"Okay."

He paused, surprised.

Before, whenever he came home late, I would always ask where he went, who he saw, and when he'd be back.

By the end, he found me annoying, and I found myself pathetic.

"Well, I'm leaving then?" he stood by the door.

I looked up at him.

"Be careful on the road," I said.

He left.

I went into the bedroom and opened his closet.

Deep inside, hanging there, was an old jacket he never let me touch.

I felt the inner lining and found a black USB drive tucked inside.

I plugged the USB drive into the computer, first sending the contents to my lawyer.

Then I opened the documents.

The original ninety-nine photos.

Contact information for ninety-nine women.

And an Excel spreadsheet.

Name, age, profession, date of meeting, hotel room number, amount spent.

He even had a rating system.

S-tier: Long-term relationship, invest resources.

A-tier: Maintain periodically, invest as needed.

B-tier: Short-term experience, one-time investment.

C-tier: Not recommended for repeat business.

I scrolled the mouse, line by line.

In the "S-tier" column, I saw a familiar name.

Chloe.

Note: Married, stable relationship, no burden. Her husband is deployed long-term, meets 3-4 times a month. Has been ongoing for four years.

Four years.

I slowly leaned back in the chair.

My phone rang.

It was a message from Mr. Peterson, my lawyer:

Ms. Miller, I have received the contents of the USB drive you provided.

The evidence chain regarding the marital property transfer and forged signatures is complete.

Additionally, your request to rejoin the military has been approved.

You can process your re-enlistment paperwork after May 1st.

I looked up, gazing out the window.

Downstairs, Mark's car slowly drove out of the community.

A woman was sitting in the passenger seat.

I opened Lily's room.

She was still asleep, hugging her rabbit doll that was missing an ear.

Mark had given it to her on her second birthday.

That day, he said he had to work overtime suddenly and had it delivered by courier.

I quietly closed the door.

The living room TV was still on, replaying last night's reality show.

The host said, "May all lovers in the world find their happy ending."

On Monday evening, Mark returned.

He carried a faint, unfamiliar perfume scent and a smudge of lipstick at the corner of his mouth.

He claimed a female client was too enthusiastic during a business dinner.

I didn't expose him.

But when I put his clean socks back in his closet, I quietly retrieved a second memory card from the lining of that jacket.

This card contained only one video.

It was filmed on June 18, 2022.

In the video, he was in a hotel bed, embracing a woman in a red dress.

The camera focused on the nightstand.

An opened condom wrapper lay on it.

The woman laughed and asked, "Aren't you afraid your wife will find out?"

He laughed. "So what if she finds out? She's an ex-soldier, no family support, no connections. Where would she go without me?"

"Besides, her scout skills were long gone, worn out in the kitchen."

I turned off my phone.

His seven years of infidelity, I had collected all the evidence in just three days.

The next day, Mrs. Davis said she was going back to her hometown to visit relatives and asked if I wanted to go.

I said Lily had a bit of a cough, so I wouldn't.

Mark insisted on driving his mother.

He eagerly carried her bags and helped her downstairs, looking like a devoted son.

After they left, I took Lily to our neighbor's house.

Then I entered Mark's study.

Ten minutes later, I found a brown envelope in a hidden compartment behind his bookshelf.

Inside were two insurance policies.

Policyholder: Mark Davis.

The first policy listed "Chloe" as the insured.

The second policy listed "Leo" as the insured.

The name of his four-year-old illegitimate son.

Both policies were purchased on my daughter's birthday.

I picked up my phone and sent a message to Mr. Peterson:

He bought insurance for his illegitimate son. Can this be used as evidence of bigamy?

Mr. Peterson replied instantly:

Yes. And in the Excel spreadsheet you provided earlier, Chloe is noted as "married." If her husband files a lawsuit, Mark Davis could be charged with criminal interference with a military marriage. We are currently verifying her husband's identity.

Criminal interference with a military marriage. That alone could land him in jail for three years.

I turned off my phone and stood in the center of the study, looking at our wedding photo on the wall.

On Monday, Mark was sharply dressed in a suit, his leather shoes gleaming.

He said the company had a meeting and he needed to meet investors, so he had to dress formally.

I said okay.

After he left, I changed into my old military uniform, which had been at the bottom of a trunk for three years.

No insignia, no lapel pins, but the fit was still there, and so was my spirit.

At ten in the morning, I stood at the entrance of the General's office building.

I was met by a young Lieutenant, about thirty years old.

"Ms. Miller?" He gave a crisp military salute. "General Thorne has been waiting for you."

I followed him down a long corridor.

Photographs of past Generals hung on both sides of the hallway.

I paused in front of one.

The man in the photo wore a General's dress uniform, his hair completely white, his gaze piercing.

"Alice," his voice was hoarse. "You've grown some gray hairs."

My throat tightened, and I stood at attention, saluting.

"General Thorne, sir."

He waved his hand. "Cut the formalities. Come in and sit down."

He pointed to a chair. "Tell me, how far along are things with your situation?"

I took out the evidence I had collected from my bag.

He reviewed each piece, his expression growing darker with every item.

He put down the last memory card and looked up at me.

"Do you know what I admire most about you?"

I shook my head.

"Eight years ago, when you carried me for those six kilometers, you never once complained about being tired."

"I kept drifting in and out of consciousness. Every time I opened my eyes, I saw you pushing forward, rain streaming down your face, and you'd just wipe it away with the back of your hand and keep going."

He paused.

"Back then, I thought, this soldier carries a mountain in her heart. She doesn't need anyone to shelter her."

I lowered my gaze.

"But General, I forgot that later."

"No, you didn't forget," he said, pushing the evidence back towards me.

"You just put it aside for a while. Now you've picked it up again."

He didn't ask about my marriage, or how I'd spent those seven years.

He just picked up the phone and dialed an internal line:

"Roberts, get me Peterson, my lawyer who specializes in financial cases. Also, check if there's a family member named Chloe among the active-duty officers in our command, whose husband is deployed long-term."

He hung up and looked at me.

"I'll investigate the military marital interference aspect for you."

"As for rejoining the unit, you can finalize it after May 1st. Your old scout platoon has expanded, and they need experienced leaders."

I stood up, wanting to salute, but it didn't feel enough.

Finally, I just said, "General, thank you."

He waved his hand.

"Don't thank me. You saved yourself."

It started snowing as I walked out of the office building.

I stood at the doorway, reaching out to catch a snowflake.

My phone rang. It was a message from Mark.

Honey, I won a massage chair. It'll be delivered next week.

Oh, do you remember Chloe? The one who used to live downstairs from us. I heard her husband came back, and they're going through a divorce these days.

I really didn't expect such a seemingly honest woman to do something like that.

I stared at the screen and didn't reply.

Half a month later, the court summons was delivered to Mark's company.

His face went stark white on the spot, and he knocked over his coffee.

At three in the afternoon, he called me like a madman.

The first call, I didn't answer.

The second, I hung up.

The third, I blocked.

He called again from a different number.

"Alice! Are you crazy? What are you accusing me of? What did I do for you to treat me like this?"

I leaned back on the sofa and spoke, one word at a time:

"What did you do?"

"When you bought Chloe her apartment, you used my card."

"When you took her to Japan for a vacation, you used the vacation days I earned from my military transfer."

"When you bought insurance for your illegitimate son, the insured was his name."

"In these seven years, you took four million two hundred thousand dollars from our home. All of it was our joint marital property!"

Silence on the other end of the line.

After a long while, his voice changed.

No longer angry, no longer accusatory, but pleading:

"Alice, I know I was wrong. Give me a chance; let's talk this through properly."

"Withdraw the summons, and we'll settle this privately. I'll give you all the assets, the house, the cars, everything. I don't want anything."

"Think about Lily; can you bear to let her grow up without a dad?"

I scoffed. "Mark."

"Listen closely."

"Whether Lily has a dad or not isn't up to me."

"It's what *you* decided seven years ago when you walked out of our wedding reception to go find Mistress #1."

I hung up.

Then I blocked all his numbers.

At eight in the evening, Mr. Peterson sent a message:

Chloe's husband's identity has been verified.

He is an active-duty Major in a field unit, deployed long-term, with twenty days of family leave per year.

He arrived in the city this afternoon and has fully entrusted us with representing him in court. The evidence for criminal interference with a military marriage is complete.

I put my phone aside and continued reading a picture book to Lily.

She snuggled in my arms, pointing at the bunny in the book.

"Mommy, where did Daddy Bunny go?"

I paused.

"Daddy Bunny went to a place where he needs to correct his mistakes."

"Will he come back?"

"No."