After We Got Married, I Moved Into My Husband’s House — Then Our Neighbor’s Dog Exposed What He Was Hiding Behind the Locked Basement Door

He rubbed a hand over his face, eyes darting around the room like he was seeing it for the first time.

“I love you. All of this…” He paused, struggling. “I didn’t know what to do with it.

Getting rid of it felt like… like erasing her. Like telling Ethan his mother didn’t matter anymore.”

Rex suddenly snarled.

He dove into the stacked boxes, toppling them.

A small animal screamed.

Michael rushed over just as Rex reemerged with a dead rat in his jaws.

Michael stared at it in horror. “Oh God.

No. No, no…”

I could hear them now that I wasn’t entirely focused on the shock of finding all those bins and boxes buried in the basement. Little claws scratching against plastic and wood, soft rustling sounds coming from multiple directions.

I turned to Michael. “This is what happens when you leave things too long. You’re going to have to do something about this, or the rats will do it for you.”

The metaphor wasn’t lost on either of us.

He sank onto the bottom step, head in his hands.

I stepped back, arms crossed, trying to protect myself from the hurt.

“Love isn’t the issue. Secrecy is. I won’t live in a house with locked rooms or locked grief.”

I took a breath, steadying myself.

The ultimatum hung between us.

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