She Fucked My Husband. She Stole My Ring

I was just trying to clean some teeth when I met the girl who wrecked my marriage.
Paisley-Rose Henderson. Eighteen, all blonde hair and fake lashes, working afternoons at Dairy Queen. She had that small-town princess attitude that made you want to crown her—or strangle her.
"I have this loose tooth," she said, settling into my dental chair like she owned it. "Coach Brock says he has the same problem. Probably from all the... biting." Her voice dripped with implication.
Coach Brock. My husband. Father of my son. The man who promised me forever in this gossip-soaked town.
Paisley kept going, inspecting her perfect nails. "He's so sweet to me," she said. "Says I deserve pretty things. Not like some older women who’ve given up on themselves."
That’s when I saw it—the Tiffany bracelet I’d been saving for, now on her wrist. Bought with money from our joint account.
My phone buzzed: “BTW, your silk robe fits me perfectly. Pink really is my color! 😘” Attached was a photo—her wearing my robe, sitting on my kitchen counter. The same spot where I made Brock coffee every morning.
Then: “Don’t worry about Tyler adjusting—I’ll be such an amazing stepmom!”
My hands shook. Not with fear. With rage.