Every In-Game Gift He Sent Became Evidence Against Him Chapter 1

My husband was an associate professor in the university's mathematics department. He despised video games with a burning passion. Just last month, he physically cut our home's internet cable because he caught our son playing a round of a mobile battle arena.

Yet, while waiting for the clock to strike midnight on New Year's Eve, I picked up the iPad he used for lesson planning. Sitting right there on the home screen was the max level icon for Sweet Crush, a colorful match three puzzle game.

The account, operating under the username The Absolute Variable, had not only cleared every single stage with a perfect three star rating. At three in the morning, it had also gifted ninety nine energy refills to the top player on the leaderboard, a girl going by the name SweetStrawberry.

I clicked on SweetStrawberry's profile. She was a graduate student my husband was mentoring.

Her latest status update read: "Professor says when you can't solve a problem, just play Sweet Crush. He is my permanent max level cheat code."

I stared at that shiny max level badge and smiled.

I took screenshots of her status, the game's gifting leaderboard, and a very serious, professional headshot of my husband. I printed them all out.

The next morning, a colorful photo report titled "On Associate Professor Arthur's Extracurricular Tutoring" quietly appeared in the dead center of the math department's main faculty bulletin board.

* * *

I was methodically spreading strawberry jam on a piece of toast when the department chair called.

Arthur picked up his phone. His usually ruddy complexion instantly drained to a sickening pale gray. He mumbled a few frantic agreements, dropped the phone, and sprinted out the front door in his house slippers, completely forgetting his winter coat.

I took a bite of my toast. The strawberry jam was cloyingly sweet.

Right about now, that crisp sheet of printer paper displaying his max level gaming account and his inappropriate midnight flirting was likely the center of attention in the faculty lounge.

At noon, the front door violently crashed open.

Arthur stormed inside, hyperventilating with rage. His fist was clenched tight around a crumpled, torn piece of printer paper.

"Evelyn! Have you completely lost your mind?!"

He slammed the balled up paper onto the dining table so hard the soup bowls rattled.

I calmly ladled a bowl of chicken broth for him, keeping my voice perfectly level. "What is wrong? Why are you throwing a tantrum?"

"You have the nerve to ask me what is wrong?" Arthur pointed a trembling finger right at my nose. "Did you post this? Are you going through early menopause? Has your brain finally rotted? You cannot just plaster this garbage on campus!"

I put down the ladle and met his bloodshot eyes. "The username and the profile picture on that paper. Are they not yours?"

Arthur choked on his words. His eyes darted away for a fraction of a second before he overcompensated, cranking his volume even higher.

"I was hacked! It is photoshopped! Someone is jealous that I am up for full tenure this semester, so they are trying to destroy my reputation!" He ripped his tie off, pacing the living room like a caged animal. "Do you have any idea how many people are laughing at me right now? The Dean called me into his office! My entire academic career was almost ruined because of you!"

I let out a cold, sharp laugh. "Where there is smoke, there is fire."

"Shut your mouth!" Arthur exploded, kicking a metal trash can across the room. "I break my back doing serious academic research to provide for this family, and you drag me down? Evelyn, you are a massive disappointment."

The commotion drew our son, Tom, out of his bedroom. He stood in the hallway, looking small and terrified. "Dad?"

Arthur snapped his head toward the boy, finding an easy target. He lunged forward and grabbed Tom by the arm. "Was it you? Did you steal my iPad to play your stupid games and accidentally post this garbage?"

Tom burst into tears, shrinking away. "I didn't! Dad, I swear I didn't!"

"Don't lie to me! Who else in this house plays these brain dead games?" Arthur raised his hand, ready to strike.

I shoved my chair back, darting forward to shield my son. I pushed Arthur away with a heavy shove to his chest.

"Arthur, stop acting like a lunatic and taking it out on a child! Those records were logged at three in the morning. Tom was fast asleep!"

Arthur stumbled back, smoothed down his wrinkled collar, and glared at me with absolute ice.

"If it wasn't Tom, then it was a targeted cyber attack." He walked over and sank into the leather sofa, instantly resuming his arrogant, professorial posture. "Evelyn, you used to be a Chief Data Officer in the tech industry. This level of technical troubleshooting should be easy for you."

I stared at him, genuinely stunned by the sheer thickness of his skin. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

"I need you to write a comprehensive forensic data report proving my account was maliciously compromised. Make sure the IP address traces back to an overseas server." He issued the command as if ordering a coffee. "Draft a public statement too. Use as much complex technical jargon as possible to confuse the old dinosaurs on the tenure committee."

I looked at the man I had shared a bed with for seven years. A wave of pure nausea washed over me.

He wasn't just cheating. He was trying to use the wife he betrayed as a shield to scrub his reputation clean.