He Cheated in Orbit, So I Gave Him All the Space He Wanted

My husband cheated on me 250 miles above the Earth.

There was nowhere for me to go. There was nowhere for him to go, either.

I keep the International Space Station alive. Robotics, thermal loops, the busted toilet, the whole floating deathtrap. My husband Colt keeps the cameras alive — he's the swaggering commander with the jaw, the docuseries, the book deal, and a wife who does all the work and gets none of the credit.

Then, three days before the crew swap, I caught him tangled up with the crew's influencer "citizen astronaut" on a maintenance feed they were certain nobody was watching.

I couldn't storm out. I couldn't call my sister. I couldn't even cry without half of Houston hearing it. I was stuck in a tin can with the man who betrayed me, the woman he did it with, and three coworkers who couldn't leave either.

So I did the only powerful thing available to me.

Nothing.

I smiled. I floated. I played the invisible support wife for seventy-two more hours — while the one good man aboard quietly finished his pre-departure checks, and my husband's ego built toward the grand finale he'd been dying to film.

Because in three days, I was getting on a capsule and going home. But he's not.

Colt always said he wanted space.

...and he's going to get all of it.

A laugh-out-loud, red-hot revenge story. Cold revenge, hot nights — and a landing he never sees coming.