For two months, my husband, Jake, left every Sunday to “help his brother fix his car.” He’d return late, tired, and dusty. At first, I didn’t question it, but as weeks passed, I began to wonder how broken Mike’s car really was.
I asked Jake about it, but he dismissed my concerns, claiming the car was old and needed extensive work. However, I noticed he never brought parts or explained what repairs were being done.
Then, at the grocery store, I ran into Mike’s wife, Sarah. When I mentioned Jake working on Mike’s car, she was confused. “Mike’s car is fine,” she said. It became clear Jake had been lying.
Sarah and I followed Jake the next Sunday. He drove for almost an hour before stopping at a charming yellow house. A little girl ran out, calling Jake “Daddy.” I was heartbroken—Jake had a secret family.
But then he explained. He’d been renovating the house as a surprise for us—a dream home. The little girl was the daughter of a worker. I was furious, relieved, and in love all at once. Jake promised to be more careful with surprises, and we spent the day dreaming about our future in our new home.
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