My Husband Cheated for Six Years. I Did Nothing—Until He Collapsed and I Said One Sentence Russell Mercer collapsed beside the dining table six years after Leona discovered his affair, and the first name he tried to say was not his mistress’s.

By December, news of Russell's stroke had spread throughout the neighborhood.

One afternoon, Mrs. Anders from across the street knocked on the door carrying a covered glass casserole dish filled with baked lasagna.

"Leona, honey!" Mrs. Anders gushed as Leona opened the door. "I've been thinking about you so much! How is poor Russell doing? It must be so exhausting taking care of him after such a terrible tragedy!"

Leona looked at the casserole dish, then at the curious eyes of her neighbor, who was practically leaning over her shoulder to peek into the hallway.

"He is recovering slowly, Evelyn," Leona said politely, not stepping aside to let her in.

"You are such an saint," Mrs. Anders gushed, patting Leona's arm with fabricated sympathy. "Standing by his side through all of this! Most wives would have broken down! You two are such a strong couple!"

Leona looked at Mrs. Anders for a long, quiet moment. The neighborhood had watched Russell come and go at odd hours for six years. They had whispered behind their curtains, pitying "poor Leona" while pretending nothing was wrong to keep up appearances.

Leona took the casserole dish from her hands.

"I am not a saint, Evelyn," Leona said, her voice crystal clear. "I am simply making sure he stays alive long enough to hand over what he owes me."

Mrs. Anders blinked, her warm smile freezing into an awkward mask of shock.