Venmo payments to a user named J. Martin.
Wine-glass emoji.
Winking face.
And a $300 Sephora purchase 2 days before her "team-building retreat."
Subtlety clearly wasn't her department.
The next folder?
Text messages.
Hundreds of them.
Each one a little nugget of heartbreak and stupidity.
Belinda:
You make spreadsheets sexy.
Him:
I bet you're amazing at data entry. 😉
I actually laughed out loud.
"Data entry? That's your flirting game? God, you two deserve each other."
Even Milo, who was sitting by my chair, tilted his head like he couldn't believe humans were this dumb.
I took a deep breath and kept going.
Email confirmations for hotel stays.
Restaurant bills.
And one particularly damning invoice from the Ember Lounge, the same place where I'd filmed her corporate comedy hour with her boss.
The timestamps lined up perfectly with my footage.
Oh, it was beautiful.
Even Mrs. Delgado would have cried tears of legal joy.
I printed everything.
Every message.
Every transaction.
Every emoji that now made me want to throw my phone in the ocean.
Then I laid them all out on the table, piece by piece.
The room was dead quiet except for the sound of paper sliding against wood.
When I finally stepped back, I almost clapped.
It was a masterpiece.
My own personal evidence buffet.
There were photos on the left, screenshots in the center, bank statements on the right, and at the top, my pièce de résistance, the printed transcript of her confession from that fateful night.
"I had a one-night stand with my boss. And I'd do it again."
Chef's kiss.
I took a sip of whiskey, leaned on the counter, and admired my work like an artist at a gallery opening.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I said to Milo, "tonight's exhibit is titled How to Ruin a Marriage in 10 Easy Payments."
Milo yawned.
Typical critic.
Then I opened my laptop and started organizing everything into a presentation folder.
You know, something sleek.
Because if I was going to dismantle her reputation in court, I wanted to do it with style.
Mrs. Delgado always said, "Never underestimate the power of presentation."
I created tabs.
Timeline of Deception.
Financial Misconduct.
Moral Bankruptcy.
And my personal favorite, Texts That Aged Like Milk.
By midnight, I had a binder so thick it could double as a doorstop.
I labeled it in big bold letters:
EXHIBIT BELINDA: SEASON FINALE.
Every page told a story.
Every screenshot whispered, You really thought you could get away with this?
And the best part?
I didn't need to say a word.
The evidence screamed louder than I ever could.
Even Milo seemed to feel the gravity of it all.