It was a regular Monday morning, and I was in full mom mode, trying to get the kids ready for school. Everything was going smoothly until something caught my eye—a bright pink sticky note on my husband Thomas’s car. My heart skipped a beat as I walked over to see what it was.
“I’ll be right there, kids!” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady. “I just need to check something on Dad’s car.”
“Okay, Mom!” Natasha, my daughter, replied from the backseat.
The note read: “Sorry, I scratched your car last night. You shouldn’t park on the street though! -Neighbor from 283. This is my number in case you need anything!”
Confusion hit me like a wave. We don’t live near any house numbered 283, and Thomas always parks in our garage. So why would his car have a note like this?
“What was it, Mom?” Natasha asked as I climbed back into the driver’s seat.
“Just a piece of paper stuck on Dad’s car,” I lied, trying to sound casual.
Thomas had just come back from a business trip that morning. His car was supposed to be parked at the airport all weekend. A sinking feeling settled in my stomach. Something was definitely off.
“Have a great day, babies!” I said as I dropped the kids off at school.
“Don’t forget, we need to make sixty cookies for school tomorrow,” Natasha reminded me.
After dropping them off, I headed to the grocery store to pick up cookie ingredients, but my mind was elsewhere. What was Thomas up to? I threw the ingredients into the cart, barely paying attention, and decided to call him.
“Hi, honey,” I said when he answered.
“Hey, Sierra,” he replied. “I’m about to go into a meeting. Can we talk later?” Then he hung up, just like that.
“What’s going on?” I muttered to myself, tossing a pack of gummy worms into the cart for Jake, my son.
Later that day, after picking up the kids, I made sandwiches while Natasha and I baked cookies for her class.
“Is everything okay, Mom?” Natasha asked as she stirred in the chocolate chips. “You’re not helping Jake with his homework.”
“Everything’s fine,” I assured her, though my mind was spinning.
That night, after putting the kids to bed, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. I decided to call the number on the sticky note. The phone rang twice before a cheerful voice answered.
“Hello, is this house 283?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Yes, it is! Who’s this?” the woman replied.
“I’m Sierra. I found your note on my husband’s car this morning. Can you tell me more about the incident?”
There was a brief pause before she spoke. “Oh, yes! I’m Jane. I accidentally scratched his car last night. I live at 283 Elm Street. Are you new to the neighborhood?”
My heart raced. “No, we’re not new,” I said, forcing a smile that she couldn’t see. “Thomas must have been visiting a friend. Don’t worry about the scratch. It’s no big deal.”
“Oh, are you sure?” she asked. “I’m happy to cover the damage.”
“It’s fine,” I insisted. “But could you tell me where exactly he was parked?”
There was a moment of silence before Jane answered, her voice softer. “He was parked right outside my house, across from the park. Next to the house where a woman lives. I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you, Jane,” I said, quickly hanging up.
Thomas had lied to me. He wasn’t on a business trip. He hadn’t left his car at the airport. He was at some woman’s house. But I needed proof before confronting him. So, I climbed into bed next to him, my heart pounding, and forced myself to sleep.
The next morning, I gave the kids their cereal, all the while trying to figure out my next move. After dropping them off, I drove to Elm Street, guided by my GPS. I found the park and the house next to it. Steeling myself, I knocked on the door. A woman in her thirties opened it.
“Hi, can I help you?” she asked, her expression curious.
“I’m Sierra,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I believe my husband, Thomas, was with you this weekend?”
Her eyes widened in shock. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my God, I had no idea he was married. Please, come in. I’m Mary.”
My heart ached as I stepped inside. My wedding ring felt like a chain around my finger. “He didn’t mention us? His family?”
Mary shook her head. “No, he told me he was single. We met at a local market, and we’ve been seeing each other for a few months. But he did say that work was hectic, so we didn’t see each other often.”
I took a deep breath. “Mary, I need your help. I need evidence of his cheating for my divorce lawyer. I can’t stay married to a man like this, especially with my kids involved. Will you help me?”
Mary’s eyes filled with determination. “Of course,” she said. “We’ll catch him in the act.”
That evening, Mary texted Thomas, inviting him over for dinner. “I’ll tell him I cooked,” she said as I left her home. “He never misses a chance to eat.”
I left the kids with my mother and drove to Mary’s house, ready to catch Thomas in the act. When he arrived, Mary greeted him at the door with a kiss. My stomach churned, but I took the picture anyway. Then, I stepped out of my hiding place.
“Thomas,” I said, my voice shaking with fury. “What is this?”
His face turned ghostly pale. “Sierra, what are you doing here?”
Mary crossed her arms and glared at him. “You lied to both of us, Thomas. How could you? And you have children?”
He stumbled over his words, trying to find an excuse. “It’s not what it looks like,” he finally managed to say.
“Save it,” I snapped, holding up my camera. “I’ve got all the proof I need. I’m filing for divorce.”
“Sierra, please,” he pleaded, trying to follow me as I walked to my car.
I brushed him off, climbed into my car, and drove away, ready to get back to my children.
In the weeks that followed, Mary and I became unlikely friends, bonded by our shared betrayal. Surprisingly, my children quickly grew fond of her too.
When the divorce papers were finally signed, I felt a huge sense of relief and empowerment. Yes, my heart was broken, and my home had fallen apart. But as I healed, my children brought joy and laughter back into my life.
And Thomas? He moved back in with his parents. He didn’t even try to make things right.
What would you have done?
