It was a chaotic Monday morning, and I was deep in mom mode, hustling to get the kids ready for school. My mind was set on the routine, but that all changed in an instant. As I was loading the car with the kids’ lunch bags and backpacks, something caught my eye—a bright pink sticky note stuck to the trunk of my husband Thomas’s car. My heart raced as I walked over to read it.
“Hold on, kids! I just need to check something on Dad’s car,” I called out.
“Okay, Mom!” my daughter Natasha 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 washed over me. A knot formed in my stomach. We didn’t live near any house with that number, and Thomas always parked in our garage. My mind was spinning.
“What was it, Mom?” Natasha asked when I got back in the car.
“Nothing important, sweetheart,” I replied, trying to sound calm. “Just a note that got stuck on Dad’s car.”
But inside, I was anything but calm. Thomas had just come back from a business trip that morning, so his car should’ve been parked at the airport all weekend. Something was off, and I could feel it.
“Have a great day at school!” I said as the kids hopped out of the car at drop-off.
“Don’t forget, we need sixty cookies for school tomorrow!” Natasha reminded me as she waved goodbye.
After dropping them off, I headed to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for the cookies. But as I wandered through the aisles, my mind kept going back to that note. What was Thomas up to? I needed to know, so I decided to call him.
“Hey, honey,” I said when he answered.
“Hi, Sierra,” he replied, his voice tight. “I’m about to go into a meeting. Can we talk later?” Then he hung up.
“What is going on?” I muttered under my breath, tossing some gummy worms into the cart for my son Jake.
Later, I picked up the kids and made toasted sandwiches while Natasha and I baked for her class.
“Mom, are you okay?” Natasha asked as she stirred in the chocolate chips. “You’re not helping Jake with his homework like you usually do.”
“I’m fine, sweetie,” I said, forcing a smile. But my mind was elsewhere, still racing, trying to piece everything together.
That evening, after the kids were in bed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong. So, I did something I never thought I’d do—I dialed the number on the note. The phone rang twice before a cheerful voice answered.
“Hello, is this house 283?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Yes! Who’s calling?” the woman replied.
“This is Sierra. 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 spoke. “Oh, I’m so sorry about that! My name is Jane. 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 skipped a beat. “No, actually. I’m sure Thomas was just visiting a friend. Don’t worry about the scratch, it’s all good!”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “I can have the insurance cover it.”
“I’m sure,” I said, glancing out the window, trying to keep my voice steady. “But, um, can you tell me where exactly he was parked?”
There was a pause before she spoke again, this time more softly. “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, Jane,” I managed to say before hanging up. My mind was reeling. Thomas hadn’t been on a business trip—he was parked outside some woman’s house. My heart pounded, and my hands shook, but I knew I needed proof before confronting him. So, I climbed into bed beside him and forced myself to sleep.
The next morning, I gave the kids cereal for breakfast, my mind racing as I tried to figure out my next move. After dropping them off, I drove to Elm Street, guided by the GPS. When I arrived, I found the park and the house next door. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door. A woman in her thirties answered, looking at me curiously.
“Hi, can I help you?” she asked.
“My name is Sierra,” I said, my voice trembling. “I believe my husband, Thomas, was with you this weekend?”
Her eyes widened in shock, 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 sank, and I could feel my wedding ring tighten around my finger. “He never mentioned me? Or our kids?”
Mary shook her head, looking guilty. “No, he told me he was single. We met at a local market, and we’ve been seeing each other for a few months. He did say work had been busy lately, so we haven’t seen each other much.”
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Mary, I need your help. I need proof for a divorce. I can’t stay married to him, not after this, especially with our kids. Can you help me?”
Mary looked determined. “Absolutely,” she said. “We need to catch him red-handed.”
Later that evening, Mary texted Thomas, inviting him over for dinner. “I’ll tell him I cooked something special,” she said as I left her house. “That always works.”
I left the kids with my mom and drove back to Mary’s place, ready to catch Thomas in the act. When he arrived, Mary greeted him with a kiss at the door. My stomach churned, but I took the picture anyway. Then, I stepped out of my hiding place.
“Thomas,” I called out, my voice trembling with anger. “What the hell is this?”
His face turned as white as a sheet. “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 kids?”
He stammered, trying to explain, but his words stumbled over each other. “It’s not what it looks like,” he finally managed to say.
“Save it,” I snapped, holding up my camera. “I have all the proof I need. I’m filing for divorce.”
“Sierra, please,” he begged, trying to follow me as I walked to my car.
I brushed him off and got in, ready to head home to my children.
In the weeks that followed, something unexpected happened—Mary and I became unlikely friends, bonded by our shared betrayal. Even more surprising was how quickly my children grew attached to her.
On the day the divorce papers were finalized, I felt a mix of relief and empowerment. My heart was still mending, but I knew I was on the right path. My kids, with their endless love and joy, became my source of strength and happiness.
And Thomas? He moved back in with his parents, not even trying to fix what he’d broken.
What would you have done?
