I Realized That My Husband Was Cheating on Me When I Saw His New Tattoo — Story of the Day

My husband Sam is a prime example of a decent man. Our life was going smoothly until Cora, the woman from Sam's past, showed up. She was everywhere with all her runes and magical nonsense... Sam, my grounded and pragmatic Sam, has plunged into it. One day, he did something I couldn't stand! I felt betrayed! I decided to act immediately.

In the bustling environment of a busy hospital, Dr. Christy's office was a haven of calm and serenity. Christy, a dedicated doctor known for her compassion and expertise, reviewed patient files. The walls of her office were adorned with certificates and thank you notes from grateful patients, a testament to her commitment to healing and care.

Despite her job pressures, Christy always balanced her professional and personal life, cherishing the beautiful marriage she shared with Sam, her husband.

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Sam was her rock, a constant source of support and love in her life. However, recently, Christy couldn't help but notice a change in Sam’s behavior. He seemed distracted, often lost in his phone, smiling at messages from someone named Cora.

Cora. The name echoed in Christy's mind, a persistent reminder of the unwelcome change she brought with her. From what Christy had gathered, Cora was more than just an old friend of Sam's.

She was an enigma, a woman cloaked in the allure of ancient mysticism and tales of far-off lands. Her fascination with runes, with the magic and mystery they represented, seemed to have cast a spell over Sam. Sitting alone, Christy couldn't suppress the irritation that bubbled up at the thought of Cora.

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Christy couldn't shake the image of Sam, her Sam, engrossed in his phone, his laughter and smiles reserved for Cora and her mystical world.

"It's not like him... It's not like us," Christy whispered into the silence, a silent plea for the return of the man she knew, the life they had built.

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The certificates on the walls, the thank you notes — they all seemed to mock her current state of helplessness. "Since when did ancient symbols and fanciful tales become more important than reality? Then our reality?" she pondered.

***

One evening, as they sat across from each other at their cozy dining table, Christy decided to broach the subject. "Sam, who's Cora?" she asked, her voice light and casual. "I've seen her name pop up on your phone quite a bit lately." Sam, caught slightly off guard, looked up from his plate, his fork mid-air.

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"Oh, Cora? She's just an old classmate who’s back in town. She's got all these wild stories from her travels. It's... it's nothing to worry about, really," he replied, offering a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Christy nodded, not wanting to press further. It wasn't jealousy that troubled her; it was the fear of losing the openness and trust they had always shared. The thought of Sam keeping secrets was foreign and unsettling.

***

The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over Sam's house, a charming place filled with memories and the essence of a life shared by two people in love.

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"It's a symbol of protection," he explained, his voice carrying a hint of excitement. "Cora told me about it. She's really into these ancient symbols and their meanings."

Christy's heart sank as she heard Cora's name again, this time linked to something as personal as a tattoo. Later that evening, alone in the soft light of their bedroom, she found herself scrolling through Cora's Instagram.

There it was, the same rune, prominently featured in one of Cora's recent posts, accompanied by a lengthy caption about its significance and power. The coincidence was too stark to ignore. The decision to confront Cora directly seemed daunting, yet Christy felt it was the only way to quell the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind.

"Maybe she can offer some insight," Christy thought, trying to convince herself. "Perhaps there's a simple explanation for all this."

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Cora's response was warm and inviting. "Of course, I'd be delighted. Seeing what the runes reveal about our lives and paths."

As the appointment day approached, Christy found herself oscillating between hope and dread. The thought of Sam betraying their vows was unbearable, yet the uncertainty was worse. She needed answers, and this was the only way to get them.

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***

Cora's studio, a small, dimly lit space filled with mystical paraphernalia, felt like a different world to Christy. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting ancient runes and symbols, while shelves overflowed with old, leather-bound books on fortune-telling and the occult.

Cora's expression was focused as she shuffled the cards, but Christy's mind was elsewhere, racing with thoughts of Sam and the betrayal she felt.

The session began with Cora asking Christy to focus on her most profound question or concern. Christy hesitated momentarily before retrieving a photograph from her purse—a picture of Sam. She slid the photo across the table to Cora, her hands trembling slightly.

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The moment hung between them, charged and heavy. Cora's shocked expression did little to quell the storm of emotions brewing within Christy. A mixture of disbelief and anger washed over her as she gripped the photograph of Sam a little tighter.

Cora recoiled as if struck, her face flushing with anger. "How dare you! I'm not some homewrecker. I believed Sam was single. He never wore a ring, never spoke of you!"

The accusation hit Christy like a physical blow, igniting a fury she hadn't known she possessed. "So, what? That makes it okay for you to swoop in, to fill my husband's head with all this...this nonsense?"

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Their voices rose, echoing off the studio walls, filled with centuries-old artifacts and the scent of incense. Cora's posture stiffened her anger flaring.

The word 'perfect' was laced with sarcasm, a direct hit to Christy's already waning composure. Without thinking, she stepped closer to Cora, her hands balled into fists at her sides.

"Don't you dare judge my marriage? You know nothing about us, about the life we've built together!"

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Cora met her advance, the air between them crackling with hostility. "And you? Do you know everything about Sam? Not, if you were unaware of his interests, his visits to me." For a moment, they stood there, mere inches apart, eyes locked in a silent battle of wills.

But as quickly as the fury had risen, it ebbed away, leaving behind a heavy silence. Her heart racing, Christy took a step back, her hands relaxing by her sides. The thought of physical violence, of striking Cora, was disgusting, a line she couldn't cross.

Cora, too, seemed to deflate slightly. "This isn't solving anything," she muttered, turning away to create some distance between them. Christy, breathing heavily from the confrontation, could only nod in agreement.

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Cora's voice broke through Christy's tumultuous thoughts. "Listen, I know how it feels to be deceived, to have your trust shattered. It's a wound that runs deep," she said, her voice tinged with a sincerity that Christy hadn't anticipated.

"I'm leaving, yes, to escape my mistakes. But before I do, I offer you some semblance of closure or help," Cora continued, her gaze steady and earnest.

Christy's initial suspicion gave way to intrigue, her anger cooling in the face of Cora's genuine remorse. "Help me? How?" she asked.

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Christy was taken aback. The idea of revenge had crossed her mind, but the thought of acting on it entirely was something else. Yet, as Cora outlined a plan to extort money from Sam, something within Christy stirred. She thought about the prenuptial agreement she had signed and how it left her with nothing in case of a divorce.

Feeling cornered and desperate, Christy nodded in agreement with Cora's plan. Christy, now fully engaged in their scheme, leaned in closer.

Yet, there was no turning back now. The plan was set in motion, which would see them demanding a hefty sum from Sam under the threat of exposing his secrets to the world.

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The two women spent the next hour discussing details, plotting each step with a precision that belied the turmoil in Christy's heart.

***

Tucked away behind a labyrinth of clay figures in Sam's art studio, Christy was a bundle of nerves trying to remain unseen.

As Cora laid out her mystical array, Christy shifted her weight, hoping for a clearer view. The motion, however, betrayed her presence. Her clothing whispered a soft "swish-swish" as it brushed against the rough texture of a nearby easel. Her shoes scuffed against the concrete floor, a gentle "scritch-scritch" that seemed deafeningly loud in the charged silence.

Then, disaster struck. Her elbow nudged a precarious sculpture. The air filled with the sharp "ting" of ceramic about to shatter against the ground.

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With reflexes she didn't know she had, Christy lunged forward, her hands catching the sculpture mere inches from disaster.

"Blast it, Chris, be more careful with your movements," she chastised herself with relief. Christy carefully righted the sculpture.

Christy, peering from behind a giant sculpture of a woman that reminded her of Sam’s late mother, felt her heart racing. With its graceful lines and expressive detail, this sculpture nearly met a disastrous end as she inadvertently nudged it. She couldn’t believe she was spying on her own husband, but the need to know the truth outweighed her guilt.

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The atmosphere seemed to shift as Cora began the session; the light dimmed. Then, with a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, a message began to form.

Sam's initial skepticism shattered, replaced by a raw, palpable shock. His face drained of color as he stared at the board, his hands trembling.

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"This isn't real. You're playing tricks on me," he stammered, his voice laced with anger and fear. Cora, taken aback by the moment's intensity, tried to calm him.

"Sam, I'm only the messenger. The spirits are warning you because they care. You must take this seriously." But Sam was beyond reason. Enraged and feeling betrayed, he stood up abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor. In a swift motion driven by fear and denial, he flipped the fortune-telling board, sending it and the runes scattered across the room.

Sam stormed out of the studio without another word, leaving Cora in stunned silence amidst the chaos of overturned objects and scattered runes.

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Christy emerged from her hiding spot. Still seated at the overturned table, Cora looked up, her eyes meeting Christy's. Christy approached, her steps hesitant yet determined.

"I know, but remember why we did this. We needed something convincing, something that would really get to him. You heard how he reacted." The two women shared a look, a silent understanding of the lengths they had gone to in their quest for revenge. Christy took a deep breath, steadying herself as she remembered the conversations that had led them here.

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Cora nodded, her expression softening. "I see. And it did work, didn't it? He's never going to forget this day." "Yes, but at what cost?" Christy mused, her gaze drifting to the scattered runes. "We used his deepest fear against him. I just hope we can find a way to make things right in the end."

They had tapped into the most vulnerable parts of Sam's psyche, manipulating his fears for their own ends. The success of their plan was undeniable. Cora finally stood up, beginning to gather the runes from the floor. "What's done is done, Christy. We can't change that now."

Christy helped her, picking up the scattered pieces of their plot. "I know. Let's hope this brings some sort of closure for all of us."

***

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The sun was beginning to set, casting a soft, golden light over the backyard of Sam's studio. It was a peaceful evening, the kind that makes the world seem a little quieter, a little more serene. Christy stood there, taking a moment to breathe in the fresh air, trying to calm the storm of emotions within her. The day's events had left her feeling emotionally and physically drained.

Her phone broke the silence, vibrating in her pocket with an urgency that made her heart skip a beat. She pulled it out, the screen lighting up to show Sam's name. With a hesitant finger, she answered, "Hello?"

"Of course, Sam," she said, her voice steady and reassuring. "We'll start with a full blood panel, check your cholesterol and blood sugar levels, and screen for any markers that might indicate something more serious. It's probably nothing, but it's good to be thorough."

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Inside, however, Christy's thoughts were in turmoil. Anger simmered beneath her calm exterior, a stark contrast to the soothing words she offered. “How could he? After everything we've shared, how could he turn to her?”

"Thank you, Christy," Sam replied. "I knew I could count on you. Whatever comes, I'm relieved you're here with me through this."

"Sam, I want you to know that we're in this together no matter what we find. You're not alone." Her words were a balm, meant to comfort and reassure, but they belied the storm of thoughts raging within her.

“Together? If only you hadn't strayed or broken us like this.”

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She hung up the phone, turning back to see Cora watching her from the doorway. "I have to go," Christy said, a mix of determination and worry in her eyes. "Sam wants to go to the hospital for a check-up."

***

Despite her professional demeanor, Christy felt a tumult of emotions as she prepared to deliver the news to Sam. She had conducted the tests, double-checking everything because the stakes were personal. But the results were undeniable.

"But... are you sure? Is there nothing we can do?" His voice cracked, the fear evident. Christy reached across the table, taking his hand in hers, a gesture of support and solidarity.

"We caught it early, which is good. But, yes, I'm afraid the diagnosis is certain. There are treatments available, but they're not easy. Chemotherapy is the most common route, but it can be very tough on your body."

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Sam withdrew slightly, his mind racing. He had seen enough friends and family go through the ordeal of chemotherapy. The suffering and side effects were a lot to take in.

"Isn't there... isn't there something else? Some other treatment we can try first?" he asked, desperation lacing his words.

Sam leaned back, processing the information. The room felt colder and more isolated than before. The thought of undergoing chemotherapy, of the pain and the side effects, was terrifying. But the alternative—doing nothing—was unthinkable.

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"I need some time to think about this," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. Christy nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. "Of course, take all the time you need. I'm here for you, Sam, whatever you decide. We'll figure this out together."

***

Sam and Christy found a quiet corner in the hospital's dining area. They sat across from each other, cups of coffee cooling untouched between them.

"Yeah," Sam replied, not meeting her eyes. "Maybe she knows something... some alternative treatment we haven't thought of." Before Christy could respond, Sam dialed Cora's number, putting the phone on speaker so they could both hear. Cora's voice, bright and unsuspecting, filled the space between them. "Sam! What a surprise. How can I help you?"

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Sam took a deep breath, but the words were difficult to find. "Cora, I... I've been diagnosed with stomach cancer," he began, his voice breaking slightly.

Sam's eyes lit up with a flicker of hope, a sharp contrast to the skepticism on Christy's face. "Really? A crystal that can help with any disease?" Sam asked, clinging to the possibility.

"Yes, I know it sounds unbelievable, but I've seen it work miracles," Cora assured him. "I can arrange to bring it here, but we must act fast." After ending the call, Sam turned to Christy, his eyes searching hers for support. "What do you think? Should we try it?" he asked.

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The tension between Christy and Sam had escalated from a simmer to a rolling boil in the quiet of the hospital diner. Christy's feelings of betrayal and her skepticism as a doctor clashed violently with Sam's desperate hope for a cure.

"Sam," Christy's voice cracked the air, sharp and accusing. "You're seriously considering this because it's Cora who suggested it? You will trust her, of all people, over actual medical advice?" The bitterness was palpable, her words laced with jealousy. Sam, taken aback by the intensity of Christy's reaction, tried to defend himself. "Christy, it's not about Cora. It's about trying every possible option. I'm scared, okay? I thought you, of all people, would understand that."

Christy's laugh was short and devoid of humor. "Oh, I understand, alright. I understand you're so quick to believe Cora's fairy tales. What's next, Sam? Are you going to tell me that there's nothing between you two? I shouldn't worry about how eagerly you're lapping her nonsense?"

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Christy's voice rose, cutting through the muted sounds of the diner. "Jealousy? Sam, you've barely looked at me since she came back into town, and now you're jumping at the chance to follow her whims. How do you expect me to react?"

Sam shook his head. "So, what? You'd rather I give up? Not explore every option because you don't like where it's coming from?" His voice was a mix of defiance and desperation.

Christy leaned in, her voice a harsh whisper. "I'd rather you trust your wife, your doctor, over some... some high school flame which suddenly reappears with a miracle cure!"

Sam recoiled as if physically struck by her words. "Christy, I..." He faltered, the fight draining out of him. "I didn't realize you felt that way." But the wound of his betrayal, real or imagined, was too fresh, too raw to allow for immediate forgiveness.

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***

Under the dim lights of the terrace at Sam's house, Christy watched as Sam, her husband, reached for the bottle of what he believed to be alcohol. Inside, Christy had replaced his usual drink with a potent moonshine mixed with a harmless dye designed to mimic the appearance of blood when vomited. As Sam drank deeply, his anger and frustration pouring out with each gulp, Christy observed quietly, the plan she had concocted playing out before her eyes.

"Why? It's not like it matters," Sam retorted, his voice slurred and filled with despair that pained Christy despite her resentment. "What's the point in anything if I'm just waiting to die?"

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Christy watched, almost in slow motion, as Sam's body gave a violent shudder, his face contorting in distress. The potent moonshine, adulterated with dye to mimic blood, took its cruel effect, and Sam staggered, clutching at his stomach with a grimace of pain and confusion.

"Christy!" Sam's voice was a mix of shock and agony as he doubled over, a harsh, guttural sound escaping him before he began to vomit with violent force. The sight was ghastly—thick, reddish fluid splattering onto the ground, stark against the dim lighting, mimicking the horror of bleeding internally. Sam's gasps and groans filled the air.

"What the—?!" Sam choked out between heaves, panic, and fear etched into every line of his face as he saw the color, his mind racing to the worst conclusions. Christy, maintaining her facade of concern, was at his side. "It's okay, Sam, I'm here," she said, her voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil within.

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"Oh, Sam," she murmured, her tone a perfect blend of concern and sympathy, even as she watched the dyed liquid mix with the vomit, creating the illusion of blood. "If there were any real cure, anything at all, you know I'd do anything to get it for you."

As she spoke, Christy couldn't help but reflect on the dual nature of her actions—her outward display of support and care contrasted sharply with the deceit she had just orchestrated. "I'm scared, too."

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"We'll face this together, Sam. But let's do it based on truth, on real options. Not on false hopes," she whispered, the lie bitter on her tongue.

***

Christy and Sam arrived at the city cafe. They carried bags, heavy and bulging, with the money they had just withdrawn. As they approached Cora, the clatter and chatter of the cafe seemed to fade into the background, all attention focused on the moment at hand.

Cora extended her hand, her expression of sympathy marked by a professional distance. "It's a pleasure, Christy. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances," she said before gazing at the bags on the table. "You've brought the money, then?" Sam nodded, his hands resting on the bags. "Yes, everything we could gather. We're hoping it's enough for the crystal." Cora's face softened momentarily before she sighed, the weight of her following words heavy.

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"What if we could offer more? I can mortgage our house and add my savings—I've been saving to buy a car, but that doesn't matter now. Will that be enough?" Cora paused, her gaze shifting between them, assessing the depth of their desperation.

"With a more significant bid, yes, I can outbid the others. But it has to be today. These opportunities don't wait," she stated, the finality in her voice leaving no room for doubt.

Sam looked at Christy, seeking reassurance, before turning back to Cora. "I've known you for a long time, Cora. I trust you. We're in if you say this is what we need to do. Let's do it," he said, the resolve in his voice belying the fear in his heart. As Cora began to unfold the crystal story, her voice took on a tone of reverence and mystery.

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"A Viking ship? So, it's a relic? Does it... does it really have powers?" His voice was laced with skepticism but edged with a desperate need to believe. Cora nodded, her expression earnest. "Yes, it's a relic, steeped in the legends and lore of the Vikings. They believed it to be a shard of Yggdrasil, the World Tree, imbued with the essence of life itself. It's said to possess healing abilities, to renew and restore those on the brink of death. Many have sought it, but few have ever seen it."

Sitting silently beside Sam, Christy took a sip of her drink, her expression unreadable. The story sounded like something out of a fairy tale; under different circumstances, she might have dismissed it as fantasy. But the stakes were too high, and she could see the hope growing in Sam's eyes.

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Sam, caught up in the moment, pressed on. "And you're sure this can cure me? That it can do what the legends say?" Cora's response was measured, and her voice had a hint of caution. "I've seen its power, Sam. I've witnessed miracles that defy explanation. But remember, it's not just the crystal—it's the belief in its power, the willingness to embrace its potential. That's where true healing begins."

***

In the dimly lit, quiet expanse of Cora's studio, Christy sat, a palpable tension surrounding her as she unfolded the letter Cora had left behind.

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As Christy absorbed the words, her heart raced with horror at realizing what she had done. The revelation that Sam was, in fact, innocent, that her actions were based on a falsehood, weighed heavily on her conscience. The sound of footsteps announced Sam's arrival, his face a storm of emotions.

"Sam, I... I thought," Christy stammered, struggling to find the words to explain, to justify her actions. "I believed her, and I thought I was losing you. I thought you had turned away from me, and in my pain, I wanted... I wanted to make you feel some of that loss." Sam's anger was palpable, and his pain was even more so.

"But I was never unfaithful, Christy. How could you believe I would do that to us? And to fake an illness? Do you know how terrified I was, how betrayed I feel now?"

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Christy's eyes filled with tears, the gravity of her mistake crashing down on her. "I know, Sam, and I'm so sorry. I let my fear and jealousy cloud my judgment. I was wrong, so wrong." In the studio's silence, amidst the remnants of their shattered trust, Sam and Christy stood on the precipice of an uncertain future.

"We start with the truth, Sam. And with time. I hope that, with time, you can forgive me. I know I have a lot to make up for."

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