I replaced the lubricant in my husband’s bag with industrial glue after I caught him with my brother’s wife. At 2:00 a.m., the hospital called. “Mrs. Rollins, we can’t separate the two of them.” I arrived carrying six months’ worth of evidence in a folder tucked under my arm, but what I found inside his safe turned that affair into something far more serious.

Kenneth and I had a postnuptial agreement.

We signed it after my father gave us money toward the Cherry Hills Village house.

I had almost forgotten the reproductive clause buried inside it.

If our marriage ended, neither spouse could independently direct disposition of jointly created embryos without written agreement or court order.

There was also a financial provision tied to misconduct.

If one spouse intentionally concealed marital assets or committed documented financial fraud against the other, the court could consider that conduct when allocating certain disputed property under the agreement’s terms.

Kenneth did not need me declared incompetent.

He needed me discredited.

A wife who appeared irrational, vindictive, or incapable of remembering what she signed would make a forged consent easier to defend and a financial claim easier to muddy.

The hospital incident gave him the best evidence he had ever received.

My criminal attorney, David Chen, did not let me minimize that.

“You intentionally tampered with something knowing someone would use it.”

“Yes.”

“You cannot build your case around being morally cleaner than him.”

“I’m not.”

“Good. Build it around documentation.”

That became my rule.

I stopped talking about revenge.

I stopped answering texts from relatives asking who was more disgusting.

I preserved records.

Luke did not handle the truth as neatly.

He moved out of the house he shared with Maya and into our mother’s guest room in Littleton. Some days he wanted to help me. Other days he accused me of bringing the entire mess into public view.

“You could’ve confronted them like a normal person,” he said once.

He was right.

Then I answered, “And Maya could’ve slept with someone who wasn’t my husband.”

He left.

Two days later, he came back with an external hard drive Maya had voluntarily turned over through attorneys after he requested copies of their household financial records.

She had not realized an old phone backup remained on it.

Claire would not let me touch it.

“Forensic copy first.”

The preserved messages showed Maya complaining that Kenneth was moving too slowly.

One read:

You said the embryos would be handled before Christmas.

Kenneth replied:

Sabrina keeps checking storage.

Maya:

Then make her stop looking sane.

I read that sentence several times.

The relationship between Kenneth and Maya changed in my mind.