It was a typical Monday morning, and I was in full mom mode, hustling to get the kids ready for school. Everything was going smoothly until I noticed something strange—a bright pink sticky note on my husband Thomas’s car. My heart started pounding as I walked over to read it.
“Hold on a second, kids,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I just need to check something on Dad’s car.”
“Okay, Mom!” Natasha, my daughter, called out 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 and dread washed over me. We didn’t live near a house with that number, and Thomas always parked in our garage. So how could this note be on his car?
“What was it, Mom?” Natasha asked as I slid back into the driver’s seat.
“Nothing important, honey,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just a piece of paper that got stuck on Dad’s car.”
But inside, I was panicking. Thomas had just returned from a business trip that morning, so his car should have been at the airport all weekend. Why would there be a note from a neighbor on it? Something wasn’t adding up, and I had a sinking feeling that my world was about to change.
I dropped the kids off at school, doing my best to stay cheerful. “Have a great day, babies!” I said as they hopped out of the car.
“Don’t forget we have to make cookies for school tomorrow!” Natasha reminded me. “We need like sixty cookies, Mom.”
After dropping them off, I headed to the grocery store, but my mind was racing. What was going on with Thomas? I grabbed the ingredients for the cookies, barely paying attention to what I was tossing into the cart. Then, on a whim, I decided to call Thomas.
“Hey, honey,” I said when he picked up.
“Hi, Sierra,” he replied, sounding distracted. “Everything okay? I’m just about to head into a meeting. I’ll call you later, okay?” And with that, he hung up.
I stood there in the aisle, staring at the phone. Something was definitely wrong. “What on earth is going on?” I muttered to myself, tossing a pack of gummy worms into the cart for Jake, my son.
Later that afternoon, after picking up the kids from school, I tried to focus on our usual routine—helping with homework, making dinner, and baking those cookies with Natasha. But I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something was terribly wrong.
“Is everything okay, Mom?” Natasha asked, noticing my distracted mood as we mixed the cookie dough.
“Everything’s fine,” I said, trying to reassure her. But I knew that was far from the truth.
That evening, after the kids were in bed, I couldn’t take it anymore. I picked up the note and dialed the number. My heart raced as the phone rang, and after a couple of rings, a cheerful voice answered.
“Hello, is this house 283?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Yes!” the woman replied. “Who am I speaking to?”
“This is Sierra,” I said, trying to stay calm. “I found your note on my husband’s car this morning. Could you tell me more about what happened?”
There was a brief pause before she answered. “Oh, I’m so sorry about that. I accidentally scratched his car when I was parking last night. I live at 283 Elm Street. Are you new to the neighborhood?”
Elm Street? We didn’t live anywhere near there. My heart pounded in my chest. “No, we’re not new,” I said, forcing a smile she couldn’t see. “I’m sure Thomas was just visiting a friend. Don’t worry about the scratch—it’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, are you sure?” she asked. “I can definitely cover the repair costs.”
“I’m sure,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “But could you tell me exactly where he was parked?”
There was a brief silence before she answered. “He was parked right outside my house. There’s a small park across the street, and next to it is a woman’s house. I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you,” I said, hanging up the phone. My mind was spinning. Thomas hadn’t been on a business trip. He hadn’t even left his car at the airport. He’d been at some woman’s house. But who was she? I needed to find out more before confronting him.
The next morning, I got the kids ready for school and gave them cereal for breakfast, trying to keep things as normal as possible. But my mind was elsewhere, already planning my next move. After dropping them off, I drove straight to Elm Street, about twenty minutes away.
I found the park, and next to it, the house Jane had mentioned. My heart pounded as I walked up to the door and knocked. A few moments later, a woman in her thirties opened the door.
“Hi, can I help you?” she asked, looking at me curiously.
“My name is Sierra,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I believe my husband, Thomas, was with you this weekend?”
Her eyes widened, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my God. I had no idea he was married. Please, come in. I’m Mary.”
My heart sank as I stepped inside. The ring on my finger suddenly felt like a weight dragging me down. “He didn’t mention us? His family?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Mary shook her head, looking horrified. “No, he told me he was single. We met at a local market, and we’ve been seeing each other for a few months now. But he did say that work has been hectic recently, so we haven’t seen each other very often.”
I felt like the ground was crumbling beneath me. “Mary, I need your help,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I need proof of his infidelity for my divorce lawyer. I can’t stay married to a man like this, especially with my kids. Will you help me?”
Mary looked at me with determination in her eyes. “Of course,” she said. “We need to catch him in the act.”
Later that evening, Mary sent Thomas a text, inviting him over for dinner. “I’ll tell him I cooked,” she said as I left her house. “That usually gets him to come.”
I dropped the kids off at my mother’s and headed back to Mary’s place, preparing myself for what was about to happen. When Thomas arrived, Mary greeted him with a kiss at the door. My stomach churned, but I snapped the picture anyway. Then, I stepped out from my hiding spot.
“Thomas,” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “What the hell is this?”
His face drained of color as he turned to face me. “Sierra, what are you doing here?”
Mary crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You lied to both of us, Thomas. How could you? And you have children?”
Thomas stammered, searching for words, but nothing he said could make this right. “It’s not what it looks like,” he finally managed to say.
“Save it,” I said, holding up my phone. “I have all the proof I need. I’m filing for divorce.”
“Sierra, please,” he begged, trying to follow me as I turned and walked away.
But I didn’t look back. I got in my car and drove away, heading back to my children, knowing that I had made the right decision.
In the weeks that followed, Mary and I became unlikely friends, bonded by our shared betrayal. The most surprising thing was how quickly my kids warmed up to her. They adored her, and she became a comforting presence in our lives.
When the divorce papers were finally signed, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Sure, my heart was broken, and my home had been shattered. But as I began to heal, my children filled my life with the joy and love only they could bring.
And Thomas? He moved back in with his parents and didn’t even try to make things right.
What would you have done?