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Betrayed by His Wife… So He Took Matters Into His Own Hands | Storytime Stateside
Aug 12, 2025
#redditrelationship #aita #redditstories Betrayed by His Wife… So He Took Matters Into His Own Hands | Storytime Stateside What happens when a former army assassin discovers his wife’s betrayal in the most public and humiliating way possible? Tom Jod, now a quiet accountant, watches his wife Linda disappear into the night with a celebrity football player — and something inside him breaks. But this isn’t just a story of heartbreak. It’s about a man with a very particular set of skills — and a code. This psychological thriller unfolds with surgical precision, as Tom’s calm exterior masks a plan of vengeance that no one sees coming. What follows is a chilling account of betrayal, deception, and silent retribution. Watch until the very end for the shocking twist — and decide for yourself: justice or something darker? ⚠️ Viewer discretion is advised: mature themes, emotional trauma, and morally complex choices. 💬 Drop your thoughts in the comments: Was he right to do what he did?
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0:00
The bass from the club pulsed through
0:01
the floor, a rhythmic heartbeat that had
0:03
once been a soundtrack to my life.
0:06
Tonight, it was a drum beat of betrayal.
0:09
I, Tom Jod, former army assassin, now an
0:13
independent accountant, watched my wife,
0:15
Linda, sway in the arms of another man.
0:19
His name was Mark Stevens, a hulking,
0:21
entitled pro- football linebacker. His
0:24
arrogance was a palpable thing, a force
0:27
field of celebrity that Linda, for all
0:29
her intelligence and grace, seemed
0:31
utterly drawn to. We were celebrating a
0:34
decade of marriage with our friends,
0:36
eight of us, in a circle of laughter and
0:38
camaraderie that now felt like a
0:40
fragile, cracking veneer.
0:43
Linda, at 56 and slim, looked
0:45
breathtaking in her blue silky dress.
0:48
For a decade that beauty had been mine.
0:51
But tonight, as she danced with Stevens,
0:54
her head on his shoulder, oblivious to
0:56
the world, I felt a chasm open between
0:58
us. My old life, a world of calculated
1:02
risk and decisive action, felt a million
1:05
miles away, yet it was rising to the
1:07
surface. I walked to the bar, the women
1:09
at our table casting me pitying,
1:11
disapproving looks. Linda didn't even
1:14
notice.
1:16
When the song ended, she returned to the
1:18
table flustered. And a few minutes
1:20
later, she and our friend June left for
1:22
the lady's room. Only June returned. She
1:27
left with Mark, June whispered, a
1:29
horrified look on her face. The words
1:32
were a gunshot.
1:34
I rushed outside just in time to see
1:36
Linda get into a red Escalade. The roar
1:38
of the engine was the sound of my
1:40
marriage driving away.
1:42
Back at the table, my friend's attempts
1:44
to plate me were met with a cold, hard
1:46
anger. "Let her have her night," June
1:49
had said. "But I knew this wasn't just a
1:52
night. This was a statement. My army
1:55
training had taught me to read a
1:56
situation, to identify a threat, and to
2:00
act without hesitation.
2:02
Linda's actions were a threat to
2:03
everything I had built. My friends, with
2:06
their weak-willed sympathy, were part of
2:08
the problem.
2:10
I declared our relationship over, my
2:12
words sharp and final, and walked away.
2:14
At the coat check, I saw a woman, a
2:17
lovely blonde, with a large engagement
2:19
ring on her finger. She was weeping.
2:22
I recognized her as Steven's
2:24
fiance, a cheerleader for his team. We
2:27
were two ships passing in a storm, both
2:30
wrecked by the same man. I gave her my
2:33
business card and walked to the hotel
2:34
room. I grabbed my belongings, leaving
2:37
Linda's, and checked out.
2:40
As I drove home, a plan, cold and
2:43
precise, took shape in my mind. It was a
2:46
plan born of my training, a response to
2:48
betrayal that was as familiar to me as
2:50
breathing. I parked my car, entered the
2:52
house, and went to the basement. I
2:54
changed into my old gear, a black under
2:57
arour suit, a black hoodie, sweatpants,
2:59
old sneakers, and two pairs of gloves. I
3:03
retrieved a rope from a box, a remnant
3:05
from my youth, and a balaclava mask.
3:08
Climbing into the attic, I secured the
3:10
rope to a beam just as I had done as a
3:12
boy. I slid out the narrow window, ran
3:15
through the woods, hopped a fence, and
3:17
entered my rear workshop.
3:19
Inside, I packed a backpack with an old
3:22
hand ax and extra wool socks. I mounted
3:25
my bike, a nondescript mountain bike,
3:27
and pedal toward the river. I rode
3:29
through the dark, the rhythm of the
3:31
pedals, a calming, focused pulse.
3:34
I crossed the river bridge and headed up
3:36
Cherry Street.
3:38
Stevens's house was easy to spot, a
3:40
monument to his ego with a giant
3:42
football statue in the yard and the red
3:44
escalade in the driveway. With the axe,
3:47
I smashed the passenger side window. The
3:50
alarm shrieked, a piercing cry in the
3:52
night. I hid behind a porch pillar, and
3:55
as the front door opened, I moved. The
3:58
axe found its mark twice, a swift,
4:00
brutal finality. I closed the front door
4:03
behind me, jogged back to my bike, and
4:05
removed my wool socks, my old sneakers,
4:07
the axe, the gloves, and the balaclava.
4:11
I stuffed them into the backpack, and
4:13
with a final desperate heave, tossed the
4:15
whole bag into the fast-moving river.
4:18
The evidence was gone. I rode home, my
4:21
mind a blank slate, my body moving on
4:24
instinct. I re-entered my workshop,
4:26
changed my socks and shoes, and sprayed
4:29
down my bike's handlebars and pedals
4:30
with an ammonia solution, wiping them
4:33
clean. I climbed back up the side of the
4:35
house, pulled the rope behind me, and
4:37
cleaned the window sill. The gear went
4:39
into the washing machine in the
4:41
basement. I showered, scrubbing my skin
4:43
raw, washing away the blood, the dirt,
4:46
and the guilt I didn't feel. I woke up
4:49
on the couch to the chime of the
4:50
doorbell. Two men, detectives Asper and
4:54
Logan, stood at my door. They were calm,
4:57
professional, and keenly observant.
5:00
They told me Linda was at the hospital
5:01
in a state of shock. They wanted to know
5:04
where I had been. My story was simple
5:07
and true. I had come home, packed my
5:10
things, and drank myself to sleep on the
5:12
couch. I had never left the house. They
5:16
confiscated my computer, which contained
5:18
the security footage of my home. a
5:20
silent, damning witness to my innocence.
5:23
The cameras covered the three doors, but
5:26
not the side of the house I had used. My
5:28
alibi was airtight. The media storm that
5:31
followed was brutal. The local
5:33
newspaper, a TV crew, and reporters my
5:36
house. They knew Linda was the woman
5:39
with Mark Stevens. The police at a press
5:42
conference confirmed that an
5:43
investigation into my involvement had
5:45
yielded nothing. The security footage
5:48
had cleared me. The public, they said,
5:51
would be relieved to know that the
5:52
husband of the woman at the scene was at
5:54
home all night. Linda's parents were
5:57
shocked by her actions, and her mother,
5:59
Stephanie, seemed almost to expect it.
6:03
My parents in Florida were equally
6:05
appalled. The girls, my two daughters,
6:08
were my only concern.
6:10
I was a father, and I had a duty to
6:13
them.
6:14
I told them their mother had gone to the
6:16
hospital because she was emotionally
6:18
hurt, not physically. I didn't sugarcoat
6:21
the truth. "Your mom went off with a
6:24
famous football player to his house," I
6:26
said, the words tasting like ash in my
6:28
mouth. He was attacked and she ended up
6:31
in shock. At the hospital, Linda was
6:34
catatonic. A hollow shell of the woman I
6:36
once knew. My girls, in their innocence,
6:40
tried to reach her, but she was gone.
6:43
I took them home. The silence in the car
6:46
heavy with their tears. I didn't want
6:48
this for her. Not this level of
6:50
suffering. She deserved to suffer, but
6:54
not like this. My lawyer, Joan Drake, a
6:57
sharp, nononsense blonde, was my rock.
7:00
She issued a statement to the press, a
7:03
wall of silence that deflected their
7:04
questions and protected my family.
7:08
She retrieved my computer, and the
7:09
police with no evidence were forced to
7:11
back off. Days passed and Linda began to
7:14
recover. She was discharged from the
7:16
hospital, her parents and I there to
7:18
meet her. The girls hugged her, but she
7:21
was a stranger to me. Later, she
7:23
cornered me, tears in her eyes. "I'm so
7:27
sorry, Tom," she said, begging to come
7:30
home.
7:31
She wanted to know if I was the person
7:33
she saw that night. "I lied calmly and
7:36
convincingly. I was at home drinking," I
7:39
said. The police confirmed it with the
7:41
security tape, but I knew and she knew
7:44
that my story was full of holes. I
7:47
received the autopsy report. Linda had
7:50
lied about not sleeping with him. The
7:53
report confirmed evidence of their
7:54
encounter. The truth in the end was a
7:57
final brutal blow.
8:00
I had done what I had to do. I had
8:02
protected my family and I had ensured
8:05
that Linda's betrayal would have a
8:07
permanent and deadly consequence.
8:10
We lived in the same house, a pretense
8:12
for the sake of our children. But our
8:14
marriage was over.