You like it spicy, don’t you, Lisa? You know it’s going to be one of those days when you’re looking for your wallet in your wife’s purse, and instead find a bottle of premium personal lubricant that definitely wasn’t purchased for your benefit. Next to it, a box of protections, the expensive kind she always claimed gave her a rash.

I’m Danny, 35, and I fix laptops for a living in this sleepy Connecticut town where everyone knows everyone’s business. My wife Lisa works as an executive assistant for Morrison and Associates, a fancy law firm downtown. She’s always been ambitious, always climbing that corporate ladder like her stilettos were made for it.

Standing in our kitchen that Tuesday morning, holding evidence of my wife’s extracurricular activities, I felt something cold and calculating settle in my chest. Most guys would storm into their wife’s office, make a scene, demand explanations. But I’ve always been the methodical type, the guy who reads instruction manuals and backs up his hard drive twice.

So instead of confronting Lisa, I got creative. That evening, while she showered, I carefully opened the lubricant bottle with the precision of a Swiss watch maker. Half the contents went down the drain, replaced with a mixture I’d been saving since my college prank days. Brilliant green dye, the kind they use in fountain jokes, mixed with enough pepper spray to make a grown man weep like he’d been chopping onions in a windstorm.

The protections got special treatment, too. A sewing needle applied with surgical precision created tiny holes invisible to the unaded eye, but large enough to ensure maximum unreliability. “For maximum effect,” I muttered to myself, channeling my inner mad scientist. Lisa emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“How was your day, honey?” “Same old routine,” I replied, watching her face for any sign of guilt. “Nothing. She could have won awards for that performance. Over dinner, she mentioned working late again. Big case is coming up. Mister Patterson wants the whole team to pull an all-nighter at that conference center in Hartford. Patterson, Richard Patterson, senior partner at her firm.

Distinguished Silver Fox type, divorced, drives a Porsche, and thinks his law degree makes him God’s gift to married women. Which conference center? I asked casually, twirling spaghetti around my fork. The Hampton suites by the interstate. You know, the one with the fancy business center, right? The Hampton suites, where rooms rent by the hour, if you know who to ask.

That night, while Lisa slept peacefully beside me, probably dreaming about her upcoming business meeting, I made my preparations. A small GPS tracker went under her car seat. Modern technology is beautiful when you know how to use it. 3 days later, my phone buzzed with a location alert. Lisa’s car was parked at the Hampton Suites at 3 p.m.

on a Wednesday during what she’d claimed was a client meeting downtown. I drove over, parked behind a landscaping truck with a clear view of the parking lot, and settled in to wait. 20 minutes later, Lisa emerged from uh room 237, adjusting her hair and smoothing down the black dress I’d bought her for our anniversary.

Behind her walked Patterson himself, straightening his tie with the satisfied smirk of a man who just scored a touchdown. I watched them embrace. Not a professional handshake, but the kind of kiss that left lipstick on his collar, and my marriage in ruins. Lisa was wearing the red lingerie set she claimed was too uncomfortable for regular wear.

My phone camera captured everything. Timestamps, GPS coordinates, their faces clear as day. But photos weren’t enough. I needed the full performance. The following week, I called in sick and established proper surveillance. Nothing dramatic. Just a patient man with binoculars and a thermos of coffee learning their routine.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, same dance. Lisa would text me about overtime, then meet Patterson at the Hampton Suites. On Thursday, I booked the room directly below theirs. The Hampton suites might look fancy, but the walls were thin enough to hear every word of their pillow talk. Her husband’s completely clueless. Patterson’s voice drifted down through the ceiling.

Lisa says he spends more time with computers than with her. Poor bastard probably thinks romance is fixing her laptop. Lisa’s laugh was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Danny’s sweet, but he’s so predictable. Boring. Really? You know what excitement he brought to our marriage last month? A new password manager.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, Patterson chuckled. That’s where he was wrong. For the next hour, I listened to them systematically dismantle my character, my career, even my choice in breakfast cereal. Every insult was another nail in their respective coffins. When they finally left, Patterson struting like a peacock, Lisa practically glowing. I made my move.

His silver Porsche sat under a security light, pristine and perfect. I didn’t touch it. Didn’t need to. I had bigger plans. Lisa came home that evening complaining about stomach cramps. I think I ate something bad at lunch, she groaned, making her third trip to the bathroom in 20 minutes. Poor baby, I said, offering her ginger ale.

Maybe you should take tomorrow easy. The next morning, my gym buddy called with interesting news. Dude, you’ll never believe what happened to that lawyer Patterson yesterday. Had some kind of medical emergency during his power lunch. Explosive digestive issues right there in the middle of the country club dining room.

I nearly choked on my coffee. No kidding. Word is they had to call paramedics. Guy was doubled over, sweating the whole nine yards. They’re saying it might have been food poisoning. Phase one was working perfectly. Two weeks later, Lisa came home pale and shaking. She sat me down at our kitchen table, her hands trembling as she reached for mine.

“Danny, we need to talk,” she whispered. “Something happened.” I felt my heart rate spike, but kept my expression neutral. “What kind of something?” “There was an incident at the hotel today.” Her voice was barely audible. “Richard and I, we were having a meeting, and something went terribly wrong.

” “What kind of wrong?” I asked, though I already knew. Lisa’s face crumpled. We both ended up in the emergency room. There was some kind of chemical reaction. We’re both covered in this green stuff that won’t wash off. It burns, Danny. It burns everywhere. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. Chemical reaction. The doctor said it looks like industrial dye mixed with irritants.

Richard thinks someone sabotaged us. He wants to call the police. Maybe hire a private investigator. That’s terrible, I said, mustering all the concern I could fake. Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital? She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. I already went. They gave me some cream for the burning, but the green, they say it might take weeks to fade completely.

That evening, while Lisa soaked in an oatmeal bath, trying to ease the irritation, I got a call from my cousin Mike, who works security at the Hampton suits. “Danny, you got to hear this,” Mike whispered. We had the craziest incident today. Two people in room 237 had some kind of medical emergency. Paramedics said they’d never seen anything like it.

Both victims covered head to toe in bright green dye, screaming about burning sensations. “That’s wild,” I replied, keeping my voice carefully neutral. “Here’s the kicker. It happened during what was obviously an affair. Guy’s a big shot lawyer. Woman’s married to someone else. Both of them trying to explain to paramedics why they were in a hotel room together, covered in mystery chemicals in their underwear. Sounds embarrassing.

Embarrassing doesn’t cover it. There were other guests filming with their phones. This thing’s going viral. Green lovers caught in chemical romance is trending on social media. I hung up and allowed myself a small smile. Phase 2 was exceeding expectations. The next morning, Lisa emerged from our bedroom looking like a radioactive Christmas elf.

The green dye had settled into her skin overnight, creating a modeled pattern that no amount of makeup could cover. Her eyes were still red and puffy from the pepper spray residue. I can’t go to work like this, she wailed, staring at herself in the hallway mirror. Everyone will see. Everyone will ask questions. Maybe you should call in sick, I suggested.

Tell them you had an allergic reaction to something. My phone rang. Patterson’s name flashed on the screen. Lisa lunged for it, but I answered first. Danny, this is Richard Patterson from Lisa’s firm. His voice was horsearo, probably from screaming. We need to talk. There’s been a serious incident involving your wife. Oh, I replied innocently.

What kind of incident? Someone deliberately sabotaged us, poisoned us. This was an attack, and I have reason to believe you might be involved. Lisa was frantically shaking her head, mouththing. Don’t say anything. That’s a serious accusation, Mr. Patterson, I said calmly. Are you saying someone tried to hurt my wife? Your wife and I were conducting business yesterday when we were both exposed to some kind of chemical tool.

We’re talking about attack charges here. Business? I let the word hang in the air. What kind of business requires you to be in a hotel room together, Mr. Patterson? Silence on the other end. Lisa’s face went white beneath the green tint. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Patterson finally said, his lawyer instincts kicking in too late.

“Actually, I don’t,” I replied cheerfully. “But I’d be happy to discuss it. Maybe we should meet somewhere public with witnesses. I’m sure my lawyer would love to hear about the business you’ve been conducting with my wife.” Your lawyer? Oh, yes. See, I’ve been documenting some interesting patterns in Lisa’s behavior lately. unexplained absences, mysterious purchases, hotel receipts.

I’m sure it’s all perfectly innocent, but in situations like this, it’s important to have legal representation. The line went quiet, except for Patterson’s ragged breathing. I’m hanging up now, he said finally. But this isn’t over. No, I agreed. I don’t think it is. After I hung up, Lisa stared at me with a mixture of horror and dawning realization.

You did this, she whispered. You knew about us. You planned this? Knew about what? I asked innocently. Don’t play dumb, Danny. You sabotaged the You put something in the She couldn’t finish the sentence. I put something in what, Lisa? Your work supplies. Your business materials.

I was enjoying this more than I probably should have. Or are you talking about the personal lubricant I found in your purse? The one sitting next to the box of protections that you supposedly can’t use? Her face crumpled. It’s not what you think really. Because what I think is that my wife has been having an affair with her boss for months, lying to my face and using our money to pay for hotel rooms where she can mock my marriage and my manhood.

That’s not true. Should we call the Hampton suites and ask about their security footage? Or maybe check your phone records for all those workrelated text messages you’ve been sending to Mr. Patterson? Lisa sank into a kitchen chair, the green dye on her skin making her look like a defeated leprechaun.

“How long have you known?” she asked quietly. “Long enough to get creative.” She looked up at me with red rimmed eyes. “What do you want?” “I want you to understand something,” I said, sitting across from her at our kitchen table. “For months, you and Patterson have been playing games with my life, laughing at me, planning around me, treating me like some pathetic fool who couldn’t see what was happening in his own marriage.

” Danny, I’m not finished. You used our home as your base of operations. You used our bed to plan your affairs. You used our money to buy supplies for your romantic adventures. And through it all, you looked me in the eye every morning and lied. She was crying now, green tinted tears running down her cheeks. I’m sorry, she whispered. I’m so sorry.

It just happened. Richard was charming and you were always working and I felt neglected. Stop. I held up a hand. Just stop with the excuses. You made choices. Adult choices. Now you get to live with adult consequences. What kind of consequences? Before I could answer, my phone rang. Patterson again. Don’t answer it, Lisa begged.

Please, Danny. He’s panicking. He thinks you’re going to ruin his career. Isn’t that interesting? I am mused, letting it go to voicemail. He’s worried about his career, but not worried about destroying our marriage. The voicemail was 3 minutes of Patterson threatening legal action, demanding meetings, and generally sounding like a man whose world was crumbling around him.

I played it on speaker so Lisa could hear every desperate word. “He’s scared,” she said when it finished. “He should be.” That afternoon, while Lisa hid in our bedroom trying various home remedies to remove the green staining, I received a visit from Patterson himself. He stood on my front porch looking like an angry, incredible Hulk.

Green dye covering his face, neck, and hands, his expensive suit wrinkled and stained. “We need to talk,” he said through gritted teeth. “Absolutely,” I agreed, stepping outside and closing the door behind me. “I wanted this conversation to happen where the neighbors could see.” “You poisoned us,” he stated flatly.

“I don’t know how you did it, but I know it was you.” “Poisoned you?” I looked confused. Mr. Patterson, are you feeling all right? You look unwell. Cut the crap, Danny. You found out about the affair and you booby trapped something. I want to know what it was and how you did it. I pulled out my phone and started recording.

I’m sorry. Could you repeat that? You mentioned an affair. His eyes widened as he realized what he just admitted. Stop recording. This is my property, Mr. Patterson. I have every right to record conversations here. Now, you were saying something about an affair involving my wife. You know perfectly well.

Actually, I don’t know anything for certain, but you just confessed to having an affair with Lisa on my security camera. I pointed to the small device mounted under our porch eaves. Would you like to elaborate on that? Patterson’s face went from green to purple. You can’t use that recording. Actually, I can.

Connecticut is a one party consent state for recordings. and since we’re on my property, I have even broader rights. This conversation is completely legal. He looked around frantically, noticing for the first time that several neighbors were watching from their yards and windows. What do you want? He asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

What do I want? I pretended to consider the question. Well, let’s see. I want my wife to stop lying to me. I want her to stop using our money to fund her romantic adventures. I want you to stop seducing married women in cheap hotel rooms. And I want both of you to understand that actions have consequences. This was attack, Patterson said desperately. Chemical attack.

I could have you arrested for what? You still haven’t told me what I supposedly did. And more importantly, you still haven’t explained what you were doing in a hotel room with my wife when this mysterious attack occurred. He was trapped and he knew it. Any complaint he filed would require him to admit to the affair.

Explain why he was in a hotel room with Lisa and detail how he came to be exposed to whatever had turned him green. “I want you to stay away from my wife,” he said finally. “Funny thing,” I replied. “I was about to say the same thing to you.” Patterson turned and stalked back to his Porsche, which looked even more ridiculous now with a green stained driver behind the wheel.

As he drove away, I waved to Mrs. Chen from next door who’d been watching the entire conversation from her garden. “Everything okay, Danny?” she called out. “Just fine, Mrs. Chen. Just fine.” That evening, Lisa confronted me directly. She stood in our living room, still green, but wearing her best attempt at righteous indignation.

“Richard says you’re trying to destroy his career,” she announced. “He says you’re going to send that recording to his law firm.” “Am I?” I asked, not looking up from my laptop. “Are you?” “Depends on what?” on how much more lying you plan to do. She sat down heavily on our couch, the same couch where she’d probably planned dozens of rendevous with Patterson.

What do you want to know? She asked. Everything. When it started, how long it’s been going on? What you’ve spent? Who else knows? Everything. For the next 2 hours, Lisa confessed it had started 6 months ago at the firm’s Christmas party. Patterson had been recently divorced. charming, attentive in ways she claimed I wasn’t.

What began as flirtatious conversations had escalated to lunch meetings, then coffee dates, then afternoon hotel visits. It was never about love, she insisted. It was just excitement, adventure, something different. Something different from your boring husband and your boring marriage. I didn’t say that. You didn’t have to.

I heard you say it to Patterson at the hotel. Remember when you were discussing how predictable and boring I am? Her face flushed beneath the green tint. You were listening. I was gathering evidence for the divorce. The word hung between us like a sword. Divorce? Lisa’s voice was barely a whisper. Did you think there was another option? Did you think I was going to just pretend this never happened? Go back to being the clueless husband while you and Patterson had your laughs? We could try counseling, marriage therapy.

People work through affairs all the time. People work through affairs when both parties want to save the marriage. When there is remorse and commitment to change. What I’m seeing from you is regret that you got caught, not regret for what you did. Lisa was crying again, but I felt nothing.

The woman sitting on my couch wasn’t my wife anymore. She was a stranger who’d been wearing my wife’s face while she betrayed everything we built together. I made a mistake, she sobbed. A terrible mistake, but it’s over now. Richard’s too scared to continue. We can start fresh. There is no fresh start from this, Lisa. You didn’t make a mistake.

You made hundreds of deliberate choices over 6 months. Every lie, every hotel meeting, every text message, every time you looked me in the eye and lied about where you’d been. Those weren’t mistakes. They were choices. My phone rang. Unknown number. Don’t answer it, Lisa pleaded. It’s probably Richard. He’s been calling all day panicking about his reputation.

I answered anyway, putting it on speaker. Danny, this is Richard. Listen, we need to work something out. This whole situation has gotten out of hand. You think so? I replied conversationally. I’m prepared to offer you compensation for your discretion. We can all walk away from this mess quietly. Lisa’s eyes widened. Even she hadn’t expected Patterson to try bribing his way out of this.

Compensation? I asked. What kind of compensation are we talking about? $20,000 cash in exchange for your silence about this whole affair. I looked at Lisa, whose face had gone white. Her lover was trying to buy his way out of their relationship. That’s very generous, I said. But I have a counter offer. I’m listening.

You resign from your law firm, leave town, and never contact my wife again. In return, I don’t send the recording of our conversation to the Connecticut Bar Association’s ethics committee. You can’t be serious. Oh, I’m very serious. You see, Richard, I’ve done some research on you. This isn’t your first affair with a subordinate, is it? There was that parallegal 3 years ago and the court reporter before that.

The bar association might be very interested in a pattern of predatory behavior toward employees. Silence on the line. You’re blackmailing me, Patterson said finally. I’m offering you a choice. The same kind of choice you offered me when you decided to seduce my wife. The difference is I’m doing it openly. This is extortion.

No, this is consequences. You can take my offer or you can explain to your partners why their senior associate is featured in a viral video titled Lawyer gets green with envy. Your choice. The line went dead. Lisa stared at me with something approaching awe. I never knew you could be so cold, calculating, ruthless, I suggested. You’re right.

You didn’t know me at all. You knew the version of me that paid your bills and fixed your computer problems and pretended not to notice when you came home smelling like another man’s cologne. That’s not fair. What’s not fair is spending 6 months being made a fool of by the two people I trusted most.

What’s not fair is coming home every day to a wife who was counting the hours until she could run off to her lover. What’s not fair is working overtime to pay for the hotel rooms where you mocked our marriage. My phone rang again. Lisa’s friend, Jenny. Don’t answer it, Lisa said quickly. She doesn’t know anything about this. I answered anyway. Hi, Jenny. Danny.

Oh, good. You answered. I’ve been trying to reach Lisa all day, but she’s not picking up her phone. Is everything okay? There are these crazy videos going around social media about some kind of chemical accident at a hotel, and people are saying it looks like Lisa. I handed the phone to Lisa.

Your friend wants to chat. Lisa’s conversation with Jenny was painful to listen to. Stammered excuses, obvious lies, desperate attempts to control the narrative. “Jenny wasn’t buying any of it.” “Lisa, honey, the whole town is talking about this,” Jenny said, her voice carrying clearly through the phone.

“The video shows you and Richard Patterson coming out of a hotel room covered in green stuff, both of you barely dressed.” “What am I supposed to tell people when they ask me about it?” “Tell them it was a work accident,” Lisa pleaded. We were reviewing documents and there was a chemical spill in a hotel room at 3:00 in the afternoon.

Come on, Lisa. I’m your friend, but I’m not stupid. After Lisa hung up, she turned to me with desperation in her eyes. Jenny’s going to tell everyone, she said. By tomorrow, the whole town will know. They already know, I replied. Social media works fast in small towns. My career is ruined. My reputation is destroyed. My friends won’t talk to me.

Probably, I agreed. That’s what happens when you make spectacularly poor choices in public. You did this on purpose. You wanted me to be humiliated. I wanted you to face consequences. There’s a difference. Lisa stood up, pacing our living room like a caged animal. What if I told you I was pregnant? I looked up from my laptop.

Are you What if I was Are you pregnant, Lisa? I could be. We haven’t been careful lately. When you say we, are you talking about us or you and Patterson? Her face went red. Us? You and me, your baby. I pulled up a calendar on my laptop. Interesting. According to my records, we haven’t been intimate since March 15th.

It’s now May 23rd. So, either you’re claiming to be 2 months pregnant and just now noticing or you’re lying again. Lisa’s shoulders slumped. It could be yours. Could be. That’s not how paternity works, Lisa. Either the baby is mine or it’s Patterson’s. Or there is no baby. Which one is it? There’s no baby, she whispered.

I just I thought maybe if you believed I was pregnant, you’d be willing to work things out. So, you lied again. Even now, when everything is falling apart, you’re still lying to me. I’m desperate, Danny. I don’t know what else to do. You could try telling the truth just once for novelty’s sake. That night, Lisa slept in our guest room.

I lay in our bed staring at the ceiling, processing the complete destruction of my marriage. It should have hurt more. The fact that it didn’t probably said something significant about how dead our relationship had been long before I found that lubricant in her purse. The next morning brought fresh developments.

Patterson had indeed resigned from his law firm, citing personal health issues. The local newspaper ran a small item about it, mentioning that he was leaving town to pursue opportunities elsewhere. “Lisa came downstairs looking like death warmed over.” “The green dye was starting to fade, leaving her with a sickly yellow tint that somehow looked even worse.

“Richard’s gone,” she announced. “He texted me this morning. He’s leaving Connecticut. Good for him.” He said he couldn’t handle the pressure, the humiliation. His law partners were asking too many questions. Sounds about right. He also said she paused clearly struggling with whatever came next. He said I was on my own now. That he never promised me anything beyond what we had.

And what did you have, Lisa? Hotel rooms, lunch dates, text messages. She laughed bitterly. 6 months of my marriage for hotel rooms and text messages. Was it worth it? She looked at me with hollow eyes. What do you think? I think you traded a marriage for infantasy. I think you convinced yourself that what you were doing was romantic and exciting when it was just sorted and selfish.

And I think you’re only sorry because you got caught. That’s not true, isn’t it? If my little chemistry experiment hadn’t happened, would you have ended the affair? Would you have come home and confessed everything? Or would you still be sneaking around behind my back? Lisa couldn’t answer, which was answer enough.

The divorce papers were filed the following Monday. Lisa didn’t contest anything. She couldn’t afford a lawyer and she had no ground to stand on. I kept the house, the savings account, and both cars. She kept her student loans and credit card debt. 6 months later, I was sitting at Murphy’s Tavern with my buddy Mike, watching a basketball game and enjoying the first peaceful evening I’d had in years.

Ever wonder what happened to Patterson? Mike asked, nursing his beer. Not really, I replied honestly. Don’t care. Heard he’s practicing insurance law in Florida now. Ambulance chaser stuff. Quite a comedown from corporate litigation. I nodded, filing that information away, but not really caring. And Lisa? What about her? Heard she’s working at that call center outside Hartford, living in some apartment complex with thin walls and loud neighbors. I shrugged.

People make choices. You did what you had to do, Mike said quietly. I did what they forced me to do, I corrected. They wrote the playbook. I just used their own rules against them. My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. Danny, this is Lisa. I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but I need you to know something.

I realize now what I lost when I lost you. Richard was never going to leave his world for me. He was never going to choose me over his reputation. I threw away 8 years of marriage for 6 months of lies. I know you’ll never forgive me and I don’t deserve forgiveness, but I wanted you to know that I understand now what I had, what I destroyed.

I hope you find someone who appreciates you the way I should have. I deleted the message without responding. Some guys hire private investigators when they want revenge. Some go for dramatic confrontations or public scenes. Some key cars or spread rumors. Me, I prefer a more scientific approach. A little chemistry, a lot of patience, and the understanding that the best revenge isn’t destroying your enemies, it’s making them destroy themselves.

I finished my beer, paid my tab, and walked out into the cool evening air. Behind me, Murphy’s tavern buzzed with conversation and laughter. Life continuing as it always does. Tomorrow might bring another call from Lisa, or news about Patterson’s continuing decline. There might be more drama, more attempts to drag me back into their chaos. But tonight, I was free.

Free of their lies, their games, their toxic drama. Free to build a life based on honesty instead of deception. I drove home to my quiet house where nobody was lying to me. Where nobody was planning betrayals over breakfast, where I could sleep peacefully without wondering where my spouse really was or who they were really with.

Some people might say I went too far, that turning someone green and destroying their career was excessive punishment for an affair. But those people didn’t spend months being systematically lied to and humiliated. They didn’t discover evidence of betrayal while looking for car keys. They didn’t hear their spouse laughing about their inadequacies with their lover.

I gave Lisa and Patterson exactly what they gave me. A masterclass in consequences. The only difference was mine came with a dash of brilliant green for emphasis. And honestly, I haven’t lost a minute of sleep over it. The best part, every time someone in town sees a bright green shirt or a bottle of food coloring, they remember the green affair and chuckle.

Lisa and Patterson became a cautionary tale. A reminder that in small towns, secrets don’t stay secret for long. Meanwhile, I’ve got my house, my peace of mind, and a reputation as the guy who turned adultery into performance art. Not everyone gets to become a local legend for their divorce story. Some people settle for closure. I went for color.

And let me tell you, Brilliant Green was exactly the right choice. [Music] [Applause] [Music] [Applause] [Music]