My husband is a handy-man when it suits him, apparently. He never seems to have the time or the inclination to hang a simple shelf for me, or fix the perpetually dripping faucet in our bathroom. But, the MOMENT his ex-wife, Liz, calls with some kind of emergency? He’s out the door in five minutes flat, tools in hand, ready to save the day. At first, I tried to be understanding. I told myself that they had a history, and it was probably just a friendly thing. But then it started happening every week. A leaky sink, a broken remote, a busted sprinkler. Each time, he had some flimsy excuse ready. His favorite? “You know I co-owned that house with her. I’m protecting my investment.” It sounded reasonable enough, I suppose, but the frequency of these “emergencies” started to raise some serious red flags. It got to the point where I was starting to resent Liz and her constant demands on my husband’s time and energy. I mean, couldn’t she call a plumber? Or a handyman of her own? Was my husband the only person in the entire city capable of fixing a leaky faucet? Clearly not. The issue wasn’t ability, it was his willingness, a willingness he did not extend to me. What was I supposed to think? Was he still in love with her? Was he using these “emergencies” as an excuse to see her? My mind was racing with questions, and I didn’t know what to believe. I tried talking to him about it, but he always brushed it off, telling me I was being ridiculous and insecure. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on. I just didn’t have any proof. And then he crossed the line.
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It happened on our anniversary. We had planned a romantic dinner at our favorite restaurant, the one we went to on our first date. I had made reservations weeks in advance, and I was really looking forward to it. I had even bought a new dress. But then, as we were getting ready to leave, Liz called. Apparently, her garage door opener had broken, and she couldn’t get her car out of the garage. My husband immediately started to get ready to go, and he mumbled something about protecting his investment. I was furious. “Are you serious?” I asked. “It’s our anniversary! Can’t she call someone else?” He hesitated, a guilty look on his face. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, and then he was gone. I sat there in my new dress, tears streaming down my face. I was beyond frustrated, and I felt completely betrayed. He had chosen her over me, again. I was officially done being reasonable. This needed to stop. I stewed over this for a week, plotting my next move.
After he’d missed our anniversary dinner to fix Liz’s garage door opener, I had enough. I couldn’t take it anymore. The constant excuses, the endless favors, the blatant disregard for my feelings – it all had to stop. I needed to know what was really going on, and I was determined to find out the truth, even if it meant risking everything. So, when she called again, this time claiming she had a “flooded kitchen drain,” I decided to take matters into my own hands. I nonchalantly said, “Let’s go. I’ll ride with you.” He seemed surprised, almost panicked. He hesitated, his eyes darting around the room. “You want to come with me? Are you sure?” he asked, his voice strained. I just shrugged and smiled sweetly. “Of course,” I said. “I want to make sure your investment is protected.”
The ride over to Liz’s house was silent, filled with a tension that I could practically taste in the air. My husband seemed nervous, fidgeting in his seat and avoiding eye contact. I tried to act casual, making small talk about the weather and the traffic, but inside, I was a bundle of nerves. I had no idea what I was going to find when we got there, but I knew that whatever it was, it was going to change everything. I had to prepare myself for any scenario, from an innocent plumbing issue to a full-blown affair. The possibilities swirled in my head, each one more unsettling than the last. Finally, we pulled up to her house. It was a quaint little bungalow, much smaller than the house we shared. My husband parked the car and turned to me, his face pale and drawn. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. I took a deep breath and nodded, bracing myself for the unknown.
The door opened before we even had a chance to knock. Liz stood there, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed, wearing a flirty sundress. She greeted my husband with an overly enthusiastic hug, completely ignoring my presence. It was then that I knew something was definitely amiss. I INSTANTLY understood I was absolutely right for coming with him, because to my SHOCK, inside I saw… a perfectly normal, functional kitchen. There wasn’t a drop of water on the floor, and the sink was completely dry. “I don’t understand,” I said, my voice trembling. “You said you had a flooded kitchen drain.” Liz just giggled nervously and looked at my husband. That’s when I heard noises coming from down the hallway.
My husband started to turn pale as he tried to smile through the situation, as I marched down the hall towards where the noise was coming from. I followed the faint hammering to the back of the house, where my confusion quickly turned to rage and heartbreak as I saw… [“A FULLY FURNISHED NURSERY”]. The walls were freshly painted with a baby-friendly mural, complete with a changing table, a crib, and shelves filled with baby clothes. My brain struggled to comprehend what I was seeing. How could this be? My husband knew that I wanted to wait a few years before starting a family. But here it was, a baby room. But, who’s baby?
It turns out my husband wasn’t fixing Liz’s sink. He was secretly helping her set up for a new baby, and he’s the father. She was never in distress from water or broken garages, she was pregnant and in need of his help! He missed dinner on our anniversary so that he could finish painting the baby’s room. When confronted, he sobbed and begged for my forgiveness, and explained that it was a complete accident, and that they weren’t planning on having a child. He claims he never stopped loving me, but I can’t begin to imagine loving a man who would deceive me in this way. To this day, I don’t know what would have hurt more, finding out he was cheating on me or finding out he was keeping me from the one thing that I wanted most in this world.
