When I entered the kitchen, I was stunned to find a poster of my husband’s ex-wife fixed to our fridge. What began as his twisted way of “encouraging” me quickly evolved into a scheme that deeply made him regret his actions.

That morning, after a restless night with our baby Ava, I felt utterly exhausted. I stumbled into the kitchen, longing for a quiet moment with my coffee.

However, what greeted me on the fridge stopped me cold — a large photo of Monica, Eric’s ex-wife, was taped prominently on it.

“Morning, babe,” Eric called out, not even lifting his eyes from his phone.

“Don’t call me babe. What on earth is this?” I demanded, pointing at the photo, my voice shaking with emotion.

He looked briefly at the poster, then back at me, nonchalantly. “Just some motivation for you. So you remember what a real woman is supposed to look like.”

His audacity left me speechless with rage. I stood there, unable to form words, while he nonchalantly sipped his coffee.

“You can’t be serious, Eric,” I finally whispered, barely audible.

He just shrugged, dismissive. “Thought it might help. Get you back in shape. For your own good.”

I left the kitchen to hide my tears. Ava’s cries from the living room snapped me back to reality, a constant reminder of my daily grind of caregiving.

Later, as Ava slept, I mulled over Eric’s cruel words. He needed to understand the extent of his insensitivity. That’s when an idea took shape.

I looked up Monica’s number. We were not close, but polite enough from a few encounters. After a moment’s hesitation, I dialed her number.