Off The Record
My Husband Brought Me Flowers Every Friday — Then I Found A Note Hidden In One Of The Bouquets
I initially believed the flowers were merely a kind gesture and a weary man’s attempt to cling to what little romanticism remained between us. However, I had no idea that a folded note hidden in the bouquet would lead me to follow my spouse throughout town and into a secret I never would have imagined.
The marriage transforms after sixteen years.
Not in grandiose fashions. The shift is sluggish. the less frequent brushing motion of your hands. The way “Did you pack the kids’ lunch?” is used instead of “good morning” You cease to notice it, just as you cease to notice a wall clock until it stops.
You get over anticipating surprises. You ignore minor issues because you believe they are simply part of life. Until something unforeseen occurs. All of a sudden, you’re at a loss for what to do with it.
I therefore experienced a strange lump in my throat when my husband, Dan, began bringing flowers home every Friday. As if something I had long suppressed was emerging.
He brought tulips—pink ones—when he first entered. He kissed my forehead and exclaimed, “For my girl!” I chuckled and inquired as to if he was in trouble. As he relaxed his tie and smiled, he simply replied, “You deserve these, Ada.”
The children moaned and sounded like they were gagging. I smiled at the flowers in the vase for too long, and I rolled my eyes. The mere sight of them restored my sense of being seen. Wanted. And maybe adored.
It was easy. However, it had significance. Even a $5 bouquet can feel like a lifeline when you’re overburdened with work, expenses, and feeding everyone.
I thought for a moment that perhaps we were returning.
But suddenly I became aware of something. Little, strange, disturbing things.
“Where’d you get these?” One evening, when I turned a lily stem that appeared to have been ripped off the bush rather than chopped, I asked Dan. It was covered in dirt.
He didn’t look up from his plate at all. “That little shop near work.”
He had claimed to have gotten them at the Main petrol station, with the exception of the previous week.
What about the week prior to that? “Some florist in Hillside,” he had remarked, dismissing it with a wave.
Even if the cracks were little, it’s difficult to ignore once you start seeing them. After that, you start to question what more you might have overlooked.
All I wanted was for it to be nothing. Yes, I did.
However, something slipped out of the wrapper last Friday when I picked up the bouquet to throw away the wilting petals before supper while he was taking a shower.
A note folded. written by hand. Not to me.
In sloppy, nearly infantile handwriting, there are only four words: “See you next Friday.”
I looked at it for what seemed like an eternity. My ears ringing. I had freezing fingertips. What about my heart? It was racing, my god.
The problem is that your brain tries to come up with reasons when you love someone for this long. It rushes to keep your heart safe. It might be a joke. An error, intended for another person.
But your stomach? Your instincts already know.
“Who is she?” As though saying it aloud may make it real, I whispered. “Is he… cheating on me?”
That night, I didn’t get any sleep.
Dan was lying next to me, snoozing quietly, not realizing that the lady he had vowed to be with forever was looking up at the ceiling and mentally reliving 16 years of marriage like a rerun of an old movie. One picture at a time: Sunday grocery runs, burnt toast, late-night baby feedings, and birthdays—all the little details that made up a life tormented me from every angle.
Was it all a lie? Was I a fool? Had something else blossomed behind my back and I had been staring in the wrong direction all along?
The question kept coming to mind: Would I rather know the truth? Or continue to act as though?
My chest hurt like I had been holding my breath all night, and my eyes were swollen by morning. I proceeded automatically. produced eggs. The toast was burned. I grinned at the children as if nothing were wrong with my world. Uncertain of what I had just placed in Emma’s backpack, I prepared her lunch and gazed blankly at the refrigerator.
I didn’t flinch when Dan kissed my cheek on his way to work. I gave him a kiss in return. I needed him to think I was all right.
I collapsed onto the couch as soon as the front door closed, as if my bones had failed to support me. All of a sudden, the home was too quiet. My hands were resting in my lap, but I kept thinking about the same thing: Who was he seeing? Was it a new individual? Or someone I knew already, but had allowed to get too close?
I kept thinking about that note: “See you next Friday.”
Who would abandon that for a married man? Furthermore, what sort of man brings it home?
I required clarification. I wanted to witness firsthand what was going on behind my back. Waiting for seven days was agony.
The following Friday, I sent the children to school after calling in ill and explaining that I had errands to go. I nearly believed the words that came out of my mouth because they were so fluid.
I drove to Dan’s office, and the closer I went, the faster my heart pumped. Like I was on an undercover operation, I parked across the street and waited, observing every movement through the windshield.
It was chilly. Unopened, my coffee sat in the cup holder, warming up to the point of being unusable. I was having trouble feeling my fingers.
The minutes passed slowly. The hours were hazy. Dan then left, three hours before his shift was scheduled to conclude.
Not a briefcase. No phone. All he had were his car keys and the same attitude at the end of the week, as if nothing had happened. As if he had no lady unfolding across the street while driving.
I started the engine and ducked a little.
He chose not to go home. Flowers didn’t stop him. He didn’t even look at his phone once.
He spent fifteen minutes driving into an area that I hadn’t visited in years. However, my stomach churned the moment he pulled onto that street. This was a location I knew.
A mailbox that is crimson. The fence’s paint is peeling. Seashells hanging crookedly on the porch jingle in the wind.
Erika’s home.
Erika. The girl who declared her love for my husband in front of the entire room during our wedding. The same Erika who, as I stood around the corner in the reception hall, half-drunk and sad, tried to kiss him.
That was the end of it, Dan vowed. He vowed never to talk to her again. And I had faith in him.
So why in the world was he here?
My ribs clattered against my heart. I gripped the steering wheel as if it were my only means of support. Hot, nasty nausea ripped through me. Sweat saturated my palms.
I saw him approach the door calmly and unconcernedly, then knock.
It was opened by an elderly woman. Her gray hair was nicely tied back. She smiled at him as though she was anticipating him and wore a cardigan that was crumpled. Then she moved to make room for him.
That was it. My limit was that. Before my head could keep up, my body moved. I marched across the street, rang the doorbell, and got out of the car. Because I would never do it if I didn’t do it now.
Once more, the elder woman opened the door. She was intrigued rather than shocked to see me.
Gently, “Good afternoon,” she said. “Can I help you?”
Before I could stop myself, I cracked my voice. “Yes. My husband is at YOUR home, but why? Is there anyone else present?”
She didn’t recoil. She just looked at me, and her expression changed. Her gaze grew softer.
“Dear…He’s not unfaithful to you,” she stated coolly. “You should come inside and see for yourself.”
The floor then abruptly changed. Just enough to make my breath catch, but not in a spectacular way.
I took over.
The scent of soup and lavender filled the home. She ushered me into a brightly lighted living room down a corridor past picture frames and doilies.
Dan was reading aloud from a book while seated on a chair near a hospital-style bed. Erika was on the bed.
Not the Erika I knew, though.
It was pallid and slender. She had short, asymmetrical hair. She clutched a stuffed teddy bear and gazed at the ceiling as if she was lost.
Startled, Dan turned. He got up swiftly and spoke quietly. “Ada… I can explain.”
My mouth became parched. “She… she’s sick?”
The elder woman, who I subsequently found out was Erika’s mother, nodded.
Softly, “Severe brain injury,” she said. “Last year, there was an automobile accident. She believes she is ten. Not much can be recalled. However, for some reason… She recalls Dan. Her companion from childhood. Nobody else.”
I was unable to talk.
Dan appeared to be a man without an umbrella caught in the rain.
His words, “I didn’t want to upset you,” “Not after everything that happened with her earlier. I assumed you would interpret it incorrectly.”
I looked at him, and then at Erika, who grinned at him as if he were everything.
I muttered, “You should’ve told me,”
“I know,” he replied. “I’m sorry.”
But one item remained entangled in my head.
“The flowers?” I inquired. “Why did they occasionally come unwrapped?” “And bruised?”
Erika’s mother gave her a soft smile. “My garden produced those. Dan brought them to you after I cut them. He’s here to aid us, but he insists on bringing you something.”
Dan gave his neck a quick rub. His joke was feeble. “I guess I’m not great with flower transport,” he said.
I exhaled. At last, my lungs opened up and my shoulders relaxed.
There was one more thing, though.
“The note,” I pushed once more. “That was your handwriting, wasn’t it?”
A hand shot to the woman’s mouth. “Oh no! Dan was reminded to come on Friday, so I left that for him. It must have fallen in the wrapping. I’m so sorry.”
Dan gave a headshake. “I was not even aware of it. As usual, I hurried after grabbing the bouquet.”
There was silence for a moment. Then I burst out laughing. A shaky, damp, soft laugh. Because I had fantasized about affairs for an entire week. Secrets. One more female.
But kindness was the only secret he was hiding.
I approached Erika and put my hand on hers. She gave me a blink. then grinned as like she liked me, even though she wasn’t sure why.
Whispering, “You’re pretty,” she said.
My throat constricted. “You’re sweet.”
Dan moved to stand next to me. “I wanted to protect you, Ada,” he answered without hesitation. “But I should’ve trusted you.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “You should’ve.”
However, I was no longer angry. How could I be?
Dan still comes to see Erika now, nearly every other day. I accompany him occasionally. I bring cookies. Sometimes flowers.
And when Erika, the girl I used to perceive as the danger, sees us, she beams. She asked if I wanted to be her best friend last week.
Yes, I replied. How could I not?
The sole familiar face becomes their entire world when someone’s mind is trapped in a period they hardly comprehend. And my partner, whom I suspected of being unfaithful, ended up being that type of face for someone else. He did not leave. He did not abandon her. He made the decision to be there in silence, expecting nothing in return.
Not all love is loud. Sometimes it’s just tulips on a Friday and the way a woman who has forgotten her own name is read Charlotte’s Web.
So, yes, I stalked my own spouse and almost ruined my marriage over a message in a bouquet of flowers. And my perspective on flowers will never be the same.
Sometimes the right truth might be found by following the wrong clues. If you’ve read this far, allow me to ask you a question: Have you ever assumed the wrong thing about a loved one?
Now Trending:
- He Told A Lost Boy, “I Can’t Read.” What He Found In A Rotten Attic Exposed A Secret That Could Topple A City
- She Fed A Stranger And Lost Her Job—What Stepped Onto Main Street The Next Morning Stopped A Town Cold
- They Skipped My Children’s Funeral For A Party—Then Learned My $5M Secret The Hard Way
Please let us know your thoughts and SHARE this story with your Friends and Family!
