12/12/2025
My husband started bringing home flowers every Friday—one day I found a note in the bouquet and followed him after work.
At first, I thought it was sweet. After sixteen years of marriage, unexpected flowers felt like a small miracle. Every Friday evening, right after work, Dan would walk through the door holding a bouquet — lilies, tulips, sometimes roses. He'd hand them to me with the same tired smile, saying, "You deserve these."
I'd put them in a vase on the kitchen counter, feeling oddly grateful, even guilty, forever complaining that romance had died.
But after a few weeks, I started noticing something odd. Some bouquets were already unwrapped, the stems damp and uneven, as if they'd been sitting in water somewhere else first. Once a petal was crushed—like someone had already handled it.
When I asked where he bought them, he always gave a different answer. "The shop near work." "That little place by the gas station." "Somewhere on Main."
Last Friday, while he was in the shower, I went to toss the old flowers—and found a small note tucked deep inside the wrapping paper.
It didn't have my name on it.
It said, "See you next Friday."
I was shocked and heartbroken, but at that moment, I knew I deserved to know the truth. So the next Friday, I took the day off, sent the kids to school, and went straight to my husband's office. His car was in the parking lot, so I waited.
Three hours before his work ended, he came out, got into his car, and drove off—in the opposite direction from our house. I followed from a distance.
Finally, he pulled over and got out.
My hands trembled. My stomach dropped.
I knew that house. ⬇️