They say that secrets may ruin a marriage. When I found that my husband had secretly purchased a second home, I got ready myself for the worst. But nothing prepared me for what I discovered as I drove there. I ended myself crying at the sight, and there was nothing to console me.
Will and I were always partners in every sense of the word.
It started a few months after I became pregnant. Will began working late, but he didn’t get home until nearly midnight. At first, I told myself that he was merely worried about the baby and providing for us.
But eventually, the arguments began to wear thin.
One night, as we sat at the dinner table, I asked him directly, “Why are you working so late, Will? You’re never home most of the time.”
Image for illustrative purpose only.
He didn’t even look up from his plate. “It’s just a busy time at the office, Lizzie. You know how it is.”
He finally looked up, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. Was it guilt? Fear?
“You’re not alone, Lizzie,” he whispered, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “I promise you’re not alone.”
“Then why does it feel like you’re slipping away?” I asked, tears threatening to spill. “Every night, I lie awake wondering where you are, what you’re doing…”
He pulled his hand back as if burned. “I’m doing everything for us, Lizzie. Please… just trust me.”
A few weeks later, as Will fell asleep alongside me, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Normally, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but something made me look at the screen.
The message read: “Thank you for doing this. Love you. — P. 🤗”
My heart dropped. Who was “P”? Why were they saying they loved him?
I froze, staring at the phone as if it might explode. I knew I shouldn’t, but I unlocked it anyway, my fingers trembling.
In his messages, I found a file about a second house. A SECOND HOUSE!
“What the hell?” Who was he meeting?
Image for illustrative purpose only.
“Lizzie?” he mumbled sleepily. “You okay?”
I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Just the baby kicking,” I lied, placing a protective hand over my swollen belly. Our child. Our future. Was it all built on lies?
I couldn’t sleep that night. I grabbed my car keys, my voice breaking as I whispered to my unborn child, “Let’s go find out what Daddy’s been hiding.”
An hour later, I arrived. The house was stunning—a yellow, storybook-style mansion with white shutters and a wraparound porch. It looked like something from a dream.
Before I could even process what was happening, a little boy came running out the door. He sprinted straight toward me, grinning.
“Are you here to help us?” he asked, his face glowing with excitement.
“Help with what?” I stammered, completely thrown off.
“What are you doing here, Lizzie?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“No,” I said, stepping closer. “What are YOU doing here? Why do you have this house? And who is that boy?”
“Lizzie, please,” Will begged, his face ashen. “You shouldn’t be here. Not like this.”
