My coworker showed me a photo of my fiancé relaxing with his ex at a spa — so I planned the perfect revenge.

Planning a wedding is supposed to be magical. I had already picked out the dress, booked the venue, even finalized the DJ playlist. Everything was going smoothly — until one single message blew it all apart.

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon. I was curled up on the couch watching a reality show about couples arguing over wedding details, laughing to myself at how silly they seemed. “At least Mark and I don’t fight like that,” I thought.

Then my phone buzzed. A message from Claire, a quiet coworker I barely knew.

“Hi Cathy, sorry if this is overstepping, but isn’t this your fiancé? I think I remember him from the office holiday party.”

Attached was a photo.

And my world stopped.

There was Mark. My sweet, dependable fiancé. Sitting by the pool at an upscale spa, smiling, relaxed — and not alone.

Next to him, sipping a tropical drink in a bikini, was his ex, Amanda. Sunglasses on. No worries in the world.

Meanwhile, I was home, thinking he was out of town visiting his mom. Seriously?

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.

I plotted.

When Mark came home Monday evening, acting completely normal, I was ready.

— “Hey, babe! I missed you! How was your weekend?”
— “Not as relaxing as yours, I bet,” I replied calmly.

His smile faltered.
— “What do you mean?” he asked.

I held up my phone. Showed him the picture.

His face went pale.

— “Wait — I can explain, Cathy. It’s not what it looks like. Amanda just… it was a coincidence…”

— “Oh really?” I tilted my head. “So while I thought you were with your mom, you were actually cozying up to your ex?”

He stuttered, backpedaled, apologized.

— “It was a huge mistake! I swear it won’t happen again! I’ll change, I promise!”

I gave him a thoughtful look.

— “Alright. Let’s say I give you a second chance. You’ll have to prove it.”

His eyes lit up.
— “Anything, Cathy. I’ll do anything.”

— “Great. You can start by coming on a hike with me tomorrow. You know how much I love hiking.”

Now, Mark is not a hiker. The man breaks a sweat walking to the fridge. But he nodded eagerly.

— “Totally. I’m in. What time?”
— “5 a.m.”
— “Perfect. I’ll set an alarm.”

The next morning, I took him to the steepest, longest trail I could find.

Within ten minutes, he was huffing, sweating, and asking how much longer.

— “Just a little more,” I said sweetly.

Two hours in, he was begging for breaks. Red-faced. Grabbing his knees like a grandpa.

— “Can we… take a break?”
— “Didn’t you say you loved hiking?” I teased. “Let’s keep going. The view at the top is worth it.”

He groaned and kept moving. We climbed, scrambled, stumbled. He was practically crawling by the end.

— “Cathy,” he whispered, “I think I’m dying.”

— “You’ll be fine,” I said, giving his back a firm pat. “Didn’t you say you’ve been working out?”

— “What? No I didn’t.”
— “Oh. Must’ve been someone else. My mistake.”

After eight brutal hours, we reached the summit. He collapsed on a rock, chugging water.

— “I did it!” he gasped. “See? I told you I’d prove myself.”

I crouched beside him, kissed his sweaty cheek, and smiled.

— “IT’S OVER, MARK.”

His face twisted from exhaustion to horror.

— “Wait — WHAT?!”

— “You heard me. I’m not marrying you. I just wanted to see how far you’d go to save your sorry ass. Hope Amanda’s worth it.”

I stood, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and turned to leave.

— “Cathy! You can’t just leave me here!”

— “Sure I can,” I called over my shoulder. “I’ll leave you the keys.”

I didn’t.

I drove home alone, packed all his stuff, and left it on the porch with a note:

“Thanks for the hike. Enjoy your single life.
P.S. I changed the locks. If you try knocking, my new Rottweiler would love to greet you. ;)”

Apparently, he had to call Amanda to come pick him up.
How poetic.

As for me? I poured a glass of wine, deleted his messages, and started planning a solo trip to Europe.

Revenge? Served.
Cold, exhausting, and unforgettable.