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My husband’s mistress rang the doorbell, handed me her coat, and said: “Tell Stephen I’m here.” She thought I was the maid. In my own house. She didn’t know I had been his wife for 12 years, nor that I was the owner of the company where her father worked. Twenty minutes later, Stephen walked in. By nightfall, he was packing his bags. And three weeks later, I made a call that would cost him everything…

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like things done?” I asked.

“With attention and efficiency, and respect for guests,” she answered confidently.

“Are you a frequent guest here?” I asked calmly.

“I come here every Tuesday and Thursday when his wife is working, and sometimes on Saturdays if she is at book club,” Amber said casually as if reciting a schedule.

I did not have a book club and continue reading …

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