Trust is fragile, and mine cracked a little more every Tuesday when my husband claimed he had to “work late.” By Valentine’s morning, I had brewed more than just coffee.
At 55, I never imagined I’d be secretly tracking my husband’s phone. But Sean and I had been married 20 years. He raised my daughter, Ruth, as his own — learning to braid her hair, cheering her milestones, loving her without hesitation. With her wedding coming up, life should’ve felt joyful. Instead, something felt wrong.
It started last February. Every Tuesday was “audit day.” Then he began guarding his phone — turning the screen away, grabbing it when it buzzed, even taking it into the shower.
A week before Valentine’s Day, a message lit up on the counter:
“Tuesday is on. Don’t be late. I’ve got NEW MOVES TO SHOW YOU. ❤️ — Lola.”
My stomach dropped. I snapped a photo and put the phone back.
The next Tuesday, I followed him. He didn’t go to the office.
And that’s when I knew — whatever was happening on Tuesdays wasn’t work.