couple in argument
Chantel Brink
Chantel Brink
March 13, 2024 ·  18 min read

Karma at Work: 3 Stories About Cheaters Who Got What They Deserved

Curious about the repercussions cheaters face when their own deceit comes back to haunt them? Delve into the captivating narratives of karma exacting its toll. In the following accounts, three women recount their experiences of discovering their unfaithful partners. Despite the cheaters’ attempts to conceal their infidelities, fate had other designs in store.

1. Unveiling Deception: My Encounter with ‘The Late’ Claude on Tinder and the karma that ensued

Unveiling Deception: My Encounter with 'The Late' Claude on Tinder and the karma that ensued
Image Credit: ROMAN ODINTSOV Pexels

Seated in my living room, I couldn’t shake off the haunting memories of my husband’s alleged demise: Claude’s car engulfed in flames, him trapped inside, pleading for help that never arrived. Months had passed since his supposed passing, but to me, it felt like just yesterday. I longed for everything about Claude—his affection, his laughter, and the sense of completeness he brought to my life.

You can’t remain trapped in this darkness indefinitely, Jasmine,” urged my friend Ramona, who sat beside me, offering solace. “Life must go on,” she insisted. “Consider the financial obligations. We need to find a way to manage them. You don’t have to face this alone.“I understand…” I acknowledged, tears streaming down my face once more. “But how can I simply move on from Claude as if nothing happened?”

Ever pragmatic, Ramona suggested, “Look, you’ve mourned enough. Perhaps it’s time to meet new people. Have you considered giving Tinder a try?” The notion seemed absurd, but that evening found me setting up a profile on the app using a stranger’s photos. As I swiped through profiles, my heart skipped a beat—I stumbled upon Claude’s account. It couldn’t be him, I reasoned. Someone must be using his images. Intrigued, I swiped right, and we matched.

Shortly after, a message popped up from his profile. “Hey, what’s up?” it read.

“Hello. Just making dinner. Yourself?” I replied, attempting to maintain composure despite my racing pulse. “I knew someone who made fantastic dinners,” he responded, reminiscent of Claude. “I was looking into flight bookings.”Really? Planning a trip?” I responded.

Yes, contemplating a getaway. Can’t decide on the destination,” he replied. “I’ve always dreamed of visiting Greece,” I said. It was a destination Claude and I had discussed, although he had reservations about the cuisine and climate. To my astonishment, the stranger replied, “Greece isn’t my top choice. The weather’s too warm, and the food’s not my taste. But… they know how to live!”

It felt more than mere coincidence that this man shared Claude’s exact reasons for disliking Greece

Intrigued, I continued the conversation, discussing travel preferences and hiking, a passion Claude had instilled in me. Turns out, this man shared an affinity for hiking as well. However, things took a peculiar turn when I mentioned my “husband” and our separation—a fabrication to sustain the dialogue.

The Tinder match suggested meeting up, and against my better judgment, I acquiesced, driven by a need to unravel the mystery surrounding this uncannily familiar stranger. At the designated café, awaiting his arrival, my heart raced with each passing moment. But he never showed. Instead, I glimpsed a figure across the street, bearing an eerie resemblance to Claude, hastily retreating. I attempted to follow but lost him amidst the throng.

Immediately, I messaged the Tinder match. No response. Confounded and anxious, I rushed to Ramona’s, only to find a “For Sale” sign adorning her lawn. Ramona remained unresponsive, and her neighbor mentioned Ramona had hurried to the airport with a man resembling Claude.

My world crumbled

Could Claude truly have cheated death and absconded with Ramona? With my mind besieged by uncertainties, I phoned Ramona’s sister. “Please, be truthful if you’ve been concealing anything,” I implored as I recounted the events.

Jasmine, grief can play tricks on the mind—” Ramona’s sister began, but I interjected. “I’m aware of how it sounds. Just answer my question!” I pleaded desperately. “Jasmine, I swear, there’s nothing,” she affirmed. “But I’ll inquire with the family, alright? Take care.” And with that, the call concluded. I couldn’t afford to await resolution. I started the car and made my way to the airport. Was Claude alive? Had he conspired with Ramona? I was resolved to uncover the truth.

Upon arrival, I hastened to park and dashed into the airport, scanning the crowds for any sign of Ramona and Claude. There! I spotted them in the distance. Ramona, with her vibrant red suitcase, and the man, his back to me, traversing toward security. “Ramona!” I called out as I navigated through the throngs.

As they reached the security checkpoint, they melded into the stream of passengers

I managed to reach the security barrier just as they began placing their belongings on the conveyor belt. I endeavored to follow them, but a security officer intercepted me. “Ticket and ID, ma’am,” he asserted. “Please, I need to pass. It’s urgent!” I implored.

Yet, the officer remained unmoved. “Without a ticket, I can’t grant passage.” Helplessly, I watched as Ramona and the man progressed through the checkpoint. Noting my despondency, the security guard softened and inquired if I required assistance. I shook my head and retreated. It was too late.

My closest confidante and ‘late’ husband approached the boarding gate, presented their tickets to the gate agent, and vanished from view. Yes, the man was Claude. I stood there, watching the aircraft taxi to the runway and ascend into the sky until it became a mere speck amidst the clouds.

Once again, I was left shattered

Yet, this time, the devastation didn’t render me feeble. I was resolute in uncovering the truth. I drove to the police station and divulged everything to a detective. Detective Miller, the officer assigned to Claude’s case, examined Claude’s accounts and disclosed, “Your husband’s accounts are currently frozen due to outstanding debts. If those are settled, the accounts will be unfrozen, enabling us to track him… should he initiate any transactions.”

Realizing I could settle the debts by selling my house, I braced myself for the risks ahead. I sold my house to discharge the debts and secured a modest apartment. The authorities were already monitoring Claude’s account for any activity, leaving me with nothing to do but await developments.

Finally, a breakthrough emerged, along with karma at its finest

One afternoon, upon returning from the market, my phone rang. It was Detective Miller. He urged me to visit the station, and upon arrival, I learned the authorities had traced the funds withdrawn from Claude’s accounts to Austria.

I was dumbfounded. “Austria?”Yes. It’s a significant lead,” Detective Miller informed me. “However, all the funds have been depleted. Withdrawn in cash.” I dreaded losing Claude once more. “What does that imply for locating my husband?” I queried.

It suggests we have a location to work from,” Officer Miller responded. Yet, it was a perilous endeavor. The ensuing days were a blur. I secured a part-time position at a local bookstore to occupy myself. Then, one day, while organizing books, my phone rang once more. This time, Detective Miller delivered promising news.

“Your husband has been in communication with an individual in Austria, Mrs. Johnson. We intercepted an email. Although encrypted, we deciphered it. It appears to pertain to… relocating once more. Rest assured, we’re collaborating with Austrian authorities. Should he attempt to flee the country, they’ll be alerted.” A glimmer.

2. Exposing Deception: My Encounter in Damon’s Rear Seat

Exposing Deception: My Encounter in Damon's Rear Seat
Image Credit: cottonbro studio Pexels

As Damon and I journeyed home that fateful day, my mind wrestled with apprehensions. Having enlisted the aid of a private investigator to scrutinize Damon’s fidelity, I discovered he had managed to procure the investigator’s silence.

Why would he do so if he were innocent? Yet, I held onto hope that knowledge of the investigator’s presence would prompt Damon to redirect his attention to our relationship. Alas, I couldn’t have been more mistaken.

Seated in the passenger seat of our vehicle, I stole a glance at him. He appeared unnervingly composed as if indifferent to the pain he had inflicted upon me. “Did you remember to settle the electricity bill?” I attempted to engage in conversation, seeking respite from my tumultuous thoughts.

“Yep, all taken care of,” Damon replied smoothly. However, there was a hint of dishonesty in his voice. Upon our arrival home, a stifling heat enveloped us. “Is it just me, or is it unusually warm in here?” Damon remarked.

“I’ll investigate the thermostat later,” I responded, setting down my bag. Then, the sound of running water emanated from upstairs. “Did you forget to shut off the faucet?” Damon inquired. “No, I always ensure they’re closed,” I assured him.

Suddenly, I observed a shift in Damon’s demeanor

He appeared agitated. “Honey, I left my laptop in the car; could you retrieve it for me?” he requested, his voice strained. I hesitated, reluctant to venture outside again, but Damon enticed me with the promise of a special treat. “You know, we could stay up all night. Netflix and chill?” he suggested with a smile.

Unable to resist, I returned his smile and agreed to fetch his laptop. It had been some time since we had shared intimacy, and I found myself eager for the prospect. As I exited, Damon hastened upstairs. The sound of running water lingered in my mind, but I dismissed it as I stepped outside.

To my dismay, I found no laptop in the car. Confused, I reentered the house. “Damon, your laptop isn’t in the car. Where did you leave it?” I called out, only to find him descending the stairs. “Honey, I—I’ve flooded the bathroom and bedroom!” he confessed, his panic palpable. “It’s a disaster. Don’t go up there. Let’s sit down. I’m in shock.”

His exaggerated reaction unsettled me

“Damon, please, you’re alarming me,” I expressed, attempting to comprehend his words. “Are you certain the bathroom and bedroom are flooded? I don’t observe any water leakage from above. I’ll investigate.” Yet, Damon seemed desperate to dissuade me. “I’m sorry, Esme,” he muttered tremulously. “I’ve been under considerable strain lately, and I didn’t wish to burden you with it. Please, refrain from ascending the stairs.”

His pleas only served to heighten my suspicions. Despite his protests, I ascended the stairs, discovering no evidence of flooding. “You see, Damon, no flooding. Are you feeling alright?” I inquired, genuinely concerned for his well-being.

“I must be experiencing heightened stress,” Damon replied, appearing troubled. “Perhaps I inadvertently left the faucet slightly open, leading to the damp floor,” he hastily added. Though sensing discrepancies, I opted to extend him the benefit of doubt. “Very well, you go and pour yourself a drink,” I advised, still troubled by his erratic behavior. “Just take it easy, Damon; this conduct is rather peculiar. I’ll return shortly after a shower.”

Alright, I’ll relax with a drink and order dinner. Once you’ve showered, join me, alright?” Damon proposed, visibly relieved. I assented and proceeded to the shower. While undressing, I stumbled upon a toiletry bag on the towel rack, distinctly unfamiliar to me. Within, I discovered a toothbrush, razor, and skincare products indicative of another woman’s presence.

The revelation struck me like a thunderbolt

Suddenly, Damon’s inexplicable behavior became clear. The private investigator’s efforts had failed to yield concrete evidence of his infidelity, yet I had harbored hope that the ordeal would compel Damon to reassess our marriage. Alas, my hopes were shattered.

Bearing a heart heavy with betrayal, I contemplated my next course of action. It was then that the damp footprints leading to the spare room seized my attention, further corroborating my suspicions. Tracing the trail, I uncovered a pink bath towel clandestinely nestled within the closet, irrefutable evidence of another woman’s intrusion into our home.

With trembling resolve, I approached the closet, dread coursing through my veins. Yet, I faltered, unable to muster the courage to confront the truth. Collapsing to the floor, I sought solace in the emptiness surrounding me.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I poured out my anguish to the void. “I believed ours was a flawless marriage,” I confessed, my voice faltering. “Thus I endeavored to salvage this union to the best of my ability. I thought I possessed the fortitude to confront his infidelity. But I fear I lack such resilience. Perhaps you are more alluring than I…”

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That’s when Karmen appeared

At that moment, the closet door creaked open, and Karmen, Damon’s paramour, emerged, mirroring my shock. “I’m deeply sorry,” she uttered, her regret palpable. “I was unaware of his marital status.” Her contrition touched me. She exuded sincerity and remorse. “This isn’t your fault,” I reassured her.

“Where do we go from here?” Karmen inquired, her voice tinged with trepidation. “We cannot allow him to evade accountability. He… instructed me to conceal myself here so that you wouldn’t discover me.” Karmen’s words ignited a spark within me. Wiping away my tears, I felt a newfound resolve. “I have an idea,” I declared, already formulating a plan.

Meanwhile, oblivious to our scheming, Damon lounged downstairs, savoring his drink.

“Guess who?” Karmen teased Damon in the living room, covering his eyes with her hands. Damon’s astonishment was palpable. He believed Karmen had departed. “What on earth? You were supposed to leave!” he exclaimed, his panic escalating. From my concealed vantage point upstairs, I observed their interaction, gratified by the progression of our plan.

“I refuse to remain a clandestine affair, Damon,” Karmen proclaimed assertively. “It’s either me or her, and I demand your decision now!” Damon pledged to seek a divorce and offered to drive Karmen home. Witnessing my husband capitulate on our marriage pained me deeply, yet I had resolved that he was undeserving of me.

He draped a blanket over Karmen and instructed her to conceal herself in the car to avoid detection. Unbeknownst to him, the figure clandestinely concealed in the rear seat was me. Believing I remained ensconced in the shower, Damon departed to retrieve the car keys.

Within the confines of the vehicle, Damon incessantly disparaged me, spewing vitriol about my appearance and comparing me unfavorably to Karmen. Beneath the blanket, I clutched my phone, recording every damning word. As he initiated the car, I emerged from beneath the blanket.

His startled gaze met mine as Karmen approached his window, karma soon to follow

He was dumbfounded, realizing his clandestine indiscretions had been laid bare. “Thanks to Karmen’s corroborative evidence and my recording, I will strip you of everything, including our business, Damon!” I asserted confidently. Despite his entreaties, insisting he could rectify the situation, Karmen and I disregarded him.

“He means nothing to me now,” Karmen affirmed. Together, we confronted Damon for the final time. “You shall have your divorce,” I stated calmly. “I will instruct our business attorney to prepare the requisite documents. I trust she will be eager to oblige. And remember our prenuptial agreement? Oh yes, retain the car. It may serve as your abode should you fail to secure alternative accommodation!” With that, I turned my back on the man I had once loved.

As Karmen and I departed, hand in hand, I realized that despite the anguish, I was not alone. We would reconstruct our lives. Strengthened and enlightened by the revelation, we forged ahead with newfound determination.

3. Unveiling Deception: The ‘Spectral’ Encounter in Our Home

Unveiling Deception: The 'Spectral' Encounter in Our Home
Image Credit: Pixabay Pexels

On an ordinary day, my son Jeffrey returned home unexpectedly from school. Upon entering, he was greeted by the soft melodies of Billie Holiday resonating from my bedroom. Little did he know, Harold, my second husband and Jeffrey’s stepfather, was clandestinely rendezvousing with Jezebel, his mistress.

“This is so risky! What if we’re caught?” Jezebel whispered to Harold, her voice laced with apprehension. Harold brushed aside her concerns with nonchalance, “She’s never home this early. We have plenty of time.”

However, their tranquility was abruptly shattered by the creaking of the front door. Jeffrey had returned. Their hearts raced as they heard his approaching footsteps. “Who could it be?” Jezebel inquired nervously, her voice barely above a whisper.

It couldn’t possibly be my wife,” Harold asserted. “She informed me she’d be working late. Quick, hide—” But his words were cut short by Jeffrey’s voice penetrating the room. “Harold? Are you here?” Jeffrey’s innocent inquiry reverberated through the bedroom. At that moment, Harold realized he could no longer evade the truth.

“Why are you home, Jeffrey?” Harold’s voice quivered with feigned composure. “The school sent us back because of a lockdown scare. They suspected there was a threat on campus. Harold, who is this lady?” Jeffrey’s gaze fixated on Jezebel, his curiosity piqued.

And what did my husband do?

He denied Jezebel’s existence. “Jeffrey, you must be imagining things,” he insisted. “You’re still shaken from the incident at your school.” However, Jeffrey persisted, his gaze unwavering. “But I see a lady right there, Harold.”

With a heavy sigh, Harold drew Jeffrey closer. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured, attempting to assuage Jeffrey’s concerns. “Close your eyes and count to ten. The ‘ghost’ will vanish if you do. Remember, if you can’t see the ghost, it can’t see you.”

I couldn’t fathom Harold’s audacity in instructing Jeffrey to close his eyes and count to dispel the ‘apparition.’ As Jeffrey complied, Jezebel concealed herself, only to reappear when he reopened his eyes, leaving him to believe he possessed supernatural abilities.

I banished the ghost?” Jeffrey’s jubilant exclamation echoed through the room. “Indeed! You exorcised the ghost. You’re a courageous young lad, Jeffrey,” Harold affirmed, coaxing Jeffrey into secrecy and rewarding him with unrestricted screen time.

Yet, during dinner that evening, Jeffrey recounted his day, recounting the ‘spectral’ encounter he had witnessed

She was a woman with voluminous, curly hair, Mom,” he recounted. “She?” I echoed, exchanging a meaningful glance with Harold. I was aware that Harold remained at home throughout the day, ostensibly searching for employment. Was he betraying me? The truth would soon unravel, albeit in an unexpected manner.

“He’s likely in shock, Charlotte,” Harold interjected hastily. “Go ahead and watch cartoons, Jeffrey. Have you finished your meal?” Once Jeffrey had retired for the night, Harold persisted in attributing Jeffrey’s delusion to the trauma he had endured at school. Nevertheless, I sensed a disquieting undercurrent.

“I’ll arrange for Jeffrey to see the school counselor,” I informed Harold. “Given that you’re currently unemployed, perhaps you can accompany him to the appointment.“I’m actively seeking employment, Charlotte!” Harold retorted almost indignantly. “Don’t attempt to assert authority over me simply because you provide for us!

“I understand. However, perhaps you could allocate less time to frequenting Moe’s Diner and devote more attention to Jeffrey,” I suggested tersely. Following dinner, as I tucked Jeffrey into bed, I urged him to speak openly with the counselor at school. “It might help you comprehend what’s transpiring, sweetheart, alright?”

“Okay, Mom,” Jeffrey responded earnestly, bidding Harold and me goodnight. “I believe it’s imperative that we seek professional assistance for Jeffrey’s well-being,” I remarked to Harold as we settled in the living room.

Once again, Harold dismissed the notion, but I remained resolute

“I’ll schedule an appointment with the psychologist, and I’ll personally escort Jeffrey since you seem disinclined to do so.” The subsequent day, I consulted with Dr. Warren, who advocated for regular therapy sessions to address Jeffrey’s concerns.

“Don’t fret,” Dr. Warren reassured me. “Jeffrey’s experiences align with a classic case of Kleinian Projective Identification, wherein a child projects emotions onto external entities, often resulting in delusions. We can address this effectively.”

“I merely seek what’s best for Jeffrey,” I murmured anxiously. “If you believe you can aid him, we’ll pursue any necessary measures.” My apprehensions for Jeffrey’s well-being were palpable. Following Dr. Warren’s consultation, I treated Jeffrey to lunch, where he once again purportedly encountered a ‘ghost’ in the form of Jezebel, our waitress with frizzy hair.

When Jezebel inadvertently dropped our food, I chose to remain silent

Comforting Jeffrey, I assured him that the ‘ghost’ had vanished. As Jeffrey diverted his attention to his dessert, an epiphany struck me. The identity of the ‘ghost’ haunting my son’s imagination became unmistakably clear—Jezebel from Moe’s Diner, a frequent haunt of my husband.

Jeffrey, would you like to invite Harold to join us for lunch?” I proposed, masking my apprehension. “Do you think he’d enjoy it?” With lukewarm enthusiasm, Jeffrey nodded in acquiescence, prompting a smile from me. “However, my phone’s depleted. Would you mind if I borrowed the waitress’s phone to make a brief call to my office?” I inquired.

Approaching Jezebel, I feigned an excuse. “Excuse me, my phone’s nearly dead. May I use yours to make a quick call to my workplace?” “Certainly, feel free,” she responded, extending her phone. Dialing Harold’s number, I was stunned when the caller ID on Jezebel’s device flashed “Loverman.” Startled, I terminated the call hastily, concealing my distress as I returned to the table.

The truth had been unveiled

With a feeble smile, I encouraged Jeffrey to conclude his meal promptly, arranging a playdate for him before departing alone. Nestled on the sofa, I reached for my phone and contacted a moving company. Before long, movers arrived, packing Harold’s belongings. Upon his arrival, Harold was aghast. “Charlotte, what’s happening? Why are these individuals handling our possessions?” he demanded, bewildered.

Emulating the charade Harold had once played with Jeffrey, I countered, “Harold, what individuals? I don’t see anyone. You must be seeing phantoms. Oh, and just to clarify, those aren’t our belongings; they belong solely to you.”

Harold’s countenance paled, his voice trembling – karma was on his back

The tables had turned. “Charlotte, you must believe me. I never intended for any of this to occur. I was wrong, but I—” “I will never forgive you for what you’ve done to my child,” I interjected, cutting him off. “The time for deceit and betrayal is over. Do you know what you are to me now? A specter!”

Informing him that his possessions were being consigned to storage as we were no longer cohabitating, I declared, “Furthermore, in consultation with Dr. Warren, criminal charges for emotional abuse have been initiated. The authorities will be arriving shortly.” As Harold grappled with the ramifications, two officers materialized, apprising him of his rights before escorting him away; justice had prevailed.

Turning towards the door, I closed my eyes and counted to ten—my personal ritual to banish Harold’s specter. Upon reopening my eyes, I beheld Jeffrey, who rushed to embrace me. Clutching him tightly, I realized that although the path ahead was uncertain, we were united and prepared to confront whatever challenges lay in wait with fortitude and affection. These narratives offer poignant reminders that while cheaters may believe they’ve eluded retribution, karma invariably exacts its toll. Indeed, what one sows, one inevitably reaps.

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These fictional accounts were inspired by stories from around the web. Any similarities between this story and actual people are purely coincidental.