When my husband, Rick, told me he was helping his brother with roof repairs every night after work, I didn’t think anything of it. It seemed like a harmless favor, and I trusted him completely. But a chance encounter at the grocery store would soon unravel everything I thought I knew about where he was really going.
A stressed-out man | Source: Pexels
A suspicious woman | Source: Pexels
My husband and I live what most would call a very typical life. We met at a college mixer in our mid-20s, and from there, things just clicked. We got married, bought a modest four-bedroom house, and settled into a routine. Over the years, we've raised two teenagers, Luke and Tessa, who keep us constantly on the move. Between football games, school plays, SAT prep, endless laundry, and teenage drama, our life was busy—but in the most predictable, comforting way.
Rick has always been the quieter one, steady and soft-spoken. He was the kind of man who’d refuel your car without a word, who’d remember your mom's birthday and pick up the dog’s medication on his way home from work. I admired his thoughtfulness and took comfort in his dependability.
Rick works as a project lead at a civil engineering firm, while I work from home in marketing at a software startup. I used to trust him completely, but recently, I noticed changes in his routine. Small things that didn’t add up.
One evening, Rick told me he’d been helping his brother Stuart with roof repairs for a couple of weeks. He’d work after his regular hours, he explained, trying to get everything done before the fall rains arrived. I thought it sounded normal enough. But looking back, I realize I should have trusted my instincts.
A man smiling | Source: Pexels
“Stuart’s had some leaks on his roof, babe,” Rick said as he was putting on his shoes one Monday morning. “He wants to get everything fixed before the rain hits.”
“Sure,” I said, sipping my coffee. “Just don’t overdo it. That old ladder of his always makes me nervous.”
Rick flashed me his usual half-smile. “We’ll be fine.”
The whole thing seemed harmless, especially when Stuart corroborated Rick’s story. One afternoon, Stuart stopped by to pick up some equipment Rick had left in our garage.
“Yeah, we’re cutting it close before the weather changes,” Stuart said, leaning against the porch railing. “I’ll be picking Rick up after work, so we can finish the roof before it rains. Rick’s really been a lifesaver helping me out.”
Everything seemed perfectly normal, even responsible, and I had no reason to doubt it. Who would question their husband when he’s supposedly helping family?
The evenings passed with no suspicion. Rick would come home around 5:30 p.m., change into old jeans and a T-shirt, and by 6:00 p.m., Stuart would pick him up. They’d wave goodbye and head out to tackle the roof.
But everything changed one Thursday afternoon when I ran into Heather, Stuart’s wife, at the grocery store. We weren’t close, but we exchanged pleasantries when we bumped into each other during school events or family gatherings. This time, however, Heather made a beeline for me with an expression I couldn’t quite place—concern? Discomfort?
“Hey, Dina,” she said, no smile in sight. “Can I ask you something weird?”
“Sure,” I said, lowering my basket.
“Is my Stuart really helping Rick with your roof repairs?”
I blinked, confused. “Wait... what? I thought Rick was helping Stuart with your roof repairs?”
Heather’s jaw dropped in surprise. “No! Stuart said Rick needed help with yours. Rick even asked me to let Stuart go every evening so they could finish faster. My husband told me he’d be home late because they were trying to get everything done before the rain.”
I stood there in shock, my mind racing. “That’s exactly what Rick told me! He even had Stuart pick him up from our house!”
We stood frozen in the aisle—two women, realizing we had both been fed the same lie, but in reverse.
“What the hell are they doing?” Heather whispered.
I felt a fire ignite in my chest. “Let’s find out the truth,” I said, suddenly resolute.
And so, a partnership was born—not the kind of collaboration I would have ever expected, but one born of mutual suspicion and the need for answers. We quickly devised a plan to follow them.
The next evening, Heather and I made excuses about errands. We parked in the lot of a nearby store and then drove to my house in Heather’s car, trying to stay out of sight as we set up our “stakeout.”
At 6:00 p.m., just as we had predicted, Stuart pulled into our driveway, and Rick followed shortly afterward, dressed in khakis and a clean polo—not the typical roof-repair attire.
“Those aren’t roof-fixing clothes,” Heather muttered under her breath.
We hopped back into the car and followed them, but instead of heading to Stuart’s house or a hardware store, they drove to a new part of town, past sleek glass buildings and freshly paved sidewalks. They eventually pulled into the valet line of a building I’d never seen before, with gold trim and soft lighting spilling out onto the walkway. The sign read: The Haven Spa & Club.
“No way,” Heather whispered, leaning forward.
I was beyond stunned. We parked the car, then found a spot behind a decorative hedge for a clear view of the glass entrance. Through the windows, we saw Rick and Stuart laughing with the receptionist, then being handed plush robes and slippers. They strolled into the spa area, like they were regulars.
I couldn’t believe it. They weren’t even trying to hide it.
“They’re at a spa club?!” I said, shocked.
“Yes,” Heather whispered, her voice full of disbelief. “They’re not even pretending!”
I brought binoculars, more as a joke than anything, but they ended up being useful. Through the lenses, I noticed something startling—Rick was carrying a spa pass with his company’s logo on it.
“What is that?” Heather asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“That’s Rick’s firm’s logo,” I said slowly. “They must have given him this as a reward or something.”
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. These two were wasting time at a luxury spa while feeding us lies about roof repairs!
We decided we’d seen enough and headed back to my house, both of us seething.
That evening, I sat down at my laptop and pulled up Rick’s company website. Sure enough, on the front page was a post congratulating him for “exceptional leadership in project delivery.” And the reward? A one-month premium membership to The Haven Spa & Club—fully comped, for two.
I was furious. I couldn’t believe that out of everyone on this planet, Rick chose to share this perk with his brother instead of me, his wife of many years.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. I simply made a list of what I needed to do next.
I called Heather and shared my plan. To say she was livid would be an understatement.
The next morning, I transferred my paycheck into a new personal account, moved all my savings over, and called the bank to remove myself from the joint account. I switched all our bills to Rick’s name, even the Netflix subscription.
I booked a last-minute trip to the oceanfront with Heather, reserving a two-bedroom suite with cocktail service.
I didn’t even say goodbye to the kids—typical teenagers—they didn’t even look up from their games. I left a note for Rick: Gone on a two-week vacation with Heather. Please take care of the house and the kids. There’s food in the fridge for three days, after that, you’re on your own. Don’t forget to take the trash out.
By the time Rick got home, I was already gone.
The thing is, I earn more than Rick, and I’m the one who usually pays for our vacations. If he thought he could squander his free time and a company reward on a spa day with Stuart instead of spending time with me, then I could do the same.
Heather, in her own way, got her revenge too. She FaceTimed Stuart after sending him a selfie of us holding piña coladas by the beach. She captioned it, "Your roof looks great from here!"
Meanwhile, back at home, Rick was vacuuming furiously, muttering to himself and overcooking pasta. He left me a few voicemails that I ignored and sent a text saying he didn’t know how to apologize.
Oh well.
