While Sierra is in full mom mode, trying to get her kids ready for school, she finds a sticky note on her husband’s car that makes her question where he had been all weekend. Wanting answers, she calls the number on the note, and slowly, the secrets in her marriage begin to unravel.
It was a typical Monday morning, and I was in the zone, focused on getting the kids to school on time. But everything changed when I spotted 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 the bright pink sticky note plastered on the trunk of Thomas’s car. My heart pounded 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 washed over me. We don’t live near a house with that number, and Thomas always parks in our garage.
“What was it?” my daughter asked when I slid into the driver’s seat.
“Nothing, honey,” I said, trying to sound calm. “Just a piece of paper that got stuck on Dad’s car.”
Tom had just returned from a business trip that morning, so his car should have been parked at the airport the entire weekend. My mind raced, and a sinking feeling settled in my stomach. I knew something was about to change.
“Enjoy your day, babies!” I said as the kids got out of 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 dropping the kids off, I drove to the grocery store to get everything we needed for the cookies. As I wandered up and down the baking aisle, my mind was elsewhere. What was Thomas up to? I filled the cart with ingredients and then decided 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 muttered, tossing gummy worms into the cart for Jake, my son.
Later, I picked up the kids and made toasted sandwiches while Natasha and I baked for her class.
“Is everything okay, Mom?” Natasha asked as she mixed in the chocolate chips. “You’re not helping Jake with homework.”
“Everything is fine,” I said, trying to focus on my children. But my mind was still racing, unable to shake the gnawing feeling that something was wrong.
That evening, after tucking the kids into bed, I dialed the number on the note. The phone rang twice before a cheerful 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 silence. When Jane spoke again, her voice was softer. “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 said, hanging up, my mind reeling. Thomas had lied to me. He wasn’t on a business trip. He hadn’t even left the car at the airport. Instead, he was at some woman’s house. I didn’t want to confront him yet. I needed proof first. So, I got into bed beside him and forced myself to sleep.
The next morning, I gave the kids cereal for breakfast while trying to decide my next move. After dropping them off at school, I drove to Elm Street, about twenty minutes away according to the GPS. I found the park and the house next door. Steeling myself, I knocked on the door. A few moments later, a woman in her thirties 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 over for dinner. “I’ll tell him I cooked,” she said as I left her home. “That usually gets him here.”
I left the kids with my mother and drove to Mary’s house, ready to catch Thomas in the act. When he arrived, Mary greeted him with a kiss at the door. My stomach turned, but I snapped the picture anyway. Then, I stepped out of my hiding place.
“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 brushed him off and got in, ready to head home to my children.
In the following weeks, Mary and I became unlikely friends, bonded by our shared betrayal. The most surprising thing was how quickly my children got attached to her.
On the day the papers were finally signed, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief and empowerment. Sure, my heart was broken, and so was my home. But as I worked to heal myself, my children stepped in, filling my life with the joy that only they could bring.
As for Thomas? He moved back in with his parents. He didn’t even put up a fight to make things better.
What would you have done?