Sierra is in full mom mode, trying to get her kids ready for school, when she notices a sticky note on her husband’s car, which makes her wonder where he has been all weekend. Wanting answers, she dials the number on the note, and the mysteries of her marriage gradually unravel.
It was a usual Monday morning, and I was fully focused on getting the kids to school on time. However, everything changed when I noticed a piece of pink paper on my husband’s car. I had just put the kids in the car and was about to load their lunch bags and backpacks when I noticed a bright pink sticky note on Thomas’ car trunk. My heart raced as I walked over to read it.
“Sit tight,” I told the kids. “I’m coming now! I just want to see what’s on Dad’s car.”
“Okay, Mom,” Natasha 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 nausea overwhelmed me. We don’t live near a house with that number, and Thomas usually parks in our garage.
My daughter questioned, “What was it?” as I climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Nothing, honey,” I said, attempting to appear calm. “Just a piece of paper that got stuck on Dad’s car.”
Tom had just returned from a business trip that morning, therefore his automobile should have been stored at the airport all weekend. My mind raced, and a horrible feeling settled into my gut. I knew something was about to change.
“Enjoy your day, babies!” I stated as the kids exited the car at drop-off.
“Don’t forget, we have to make cookies for school tomorrow,” Natasha reminded me. “We need like sixty cookies, Mom.”
After putting the kids off, I drove to the grocery shop to collect the ingredients for the cookies. As I walked up and down the baking aisle, my thoughts were elsewhere. What was Thomas up to? I filled the trolley with ingredients before deciding to call Thomas to check-in.
“Hi, honey,” I said when he picked up.
“Hey, Sierra,” he replied. “Are you okay? I’m just getting into a meeting now. I’ll talk to you later.” And he hung up.
“What on earth is going on?” I grumbled, placing gummy worms into the trolley for my kid, Jake.
Later, I picked up the kids and prepared toasted sandwiches, while Natasha and I baked for her class.
“Is everything okay, Mom?” Natasha inquired as she stirred in the chocolate chunks. “You’re not helping Jake with homework.”
“Everything is fine,” I answered, attempting to focus on my children. But my mind was still racing, unable to shake the nagging suspicion that something was amiss.
That evening, after putting the kids to bed, I called the number on the note. The phone rang twice before a pleasant voice answered.
“Hello, is this house 283?” I asked, nervously.
“Yes!” the woman replied. “Who am I speaking to?”
“Sierra,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I found your note on my husband’s car this morning. Can you tell me more about the incident?”
There was a brief pause. “Oh, yes, I’m Jane. I’m really 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?”
My heart pounded. “No, no,” I said, forcing a smile even though she couldn’t see it. “I’m sure Thomas was just visiting a friend. Don’t worry about the scratch, I saw the car. It’s all good!”
“Oh, are you sure?” she asked. “I’m sure that the insurance will cover it.”
“I’m sure,” I said, turning to look out the window. “But can you tell me where exactly he was parked?”
There was a moment of stillness. Jane said again, this time in a quieter tone. “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 sorry,” she said.
“Thank you, Jane,” I murmured, hanging up. My mind was reeling. Thomas lied to me. He was not on a business trip. He hadn’t even left his automobile at the airport. Instead, he was visiting a woman’s house. I did not want to confront him yet. I needed proof initially. So I crawled into bed with him and forced myself to sleep.
The next morning, I offered the kids cereal for breakfast while I considered my next move. After dropping them off at school, I drove to Elm Street, which was around twenty minutes away according to the GPS. I located the park and the house next door. I gathered my courage and knocked on the door. A few moments later, a woman in her 30s opened the door.
“Hi, can I help you?” she asked.
“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 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, and my wedding ring felt tighter on my finger. “He didn’t mention us? His family?” I asked.
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 now. But he did say that work has been hectic recently, so we haven’t seen each other very often.”
“Mary, I need your help. I need evidence of his infidelity for my divorce lawyer. I can’t stay married to a man like this, especially with my kids. Can you help me?”
Mary looked at me with determination. “Of course,” she said. “We need to catch him in the act.”
Later that evening, Mary texted Thomas, inviting him to supper. “I’ll tell him I cooked,” she remarked as we left her house. “That usually gets him here.”
I left the kids with my mother and headed to Mary’s place, prepared to catch Thomas in the act. When he arrived, Mary kissed him at the door. My stomach churned, but I took the photo anyhow. Then I went out of my hiding spot.
“Thomas,” I demanded, my voice shaking with anger. “What the hell is this?”
His face turned pale. “Sierra, what are you doing here?”
Mary crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You lied to both of us, Thomas,” she said. “How could you? And you have children?”
He stammered, trying to find the right words, but there were none. “It’s not what it looks like,” he finally managed to say.
“Save it,” I said, holding up my camera. “I have all the proof I need. I’m ready to file for divorce.”
“Sierra, please,” he said, trying to follow me to the car.
I shook him off and got in, ready to get home to my children.
In the ensuing weeks, Mary and I became unlikely friends, united by our mutual betrayal. The most shocking thing was how fast my kids grew bonded to her.
On the day the documents were eventually signed, I felt a surge of relief and empowerment. Sure, my heart was broken, as was my house. But while I fought to mend myself, my children stepped in and filled my life with joy that only they could provide.
As for Thomas? He moved back in with his parents. He didn’t even fight to set things right.
What would you have done?
