My Husband Started Bringing Home Flowers Every Friday – One Day I Found a Note in the Bouquet and Followed Him After Work

“I’m sorry.”

But my mind was still tangled with one thing.

“The flowers?” I asked. “Why were they sometimes unwrapped? And bruised?”

Erika’s mom smiled gently.

“Those are from my garden. I cut them for Dan to bring to you. He insists on bringing you something, even though he’s here helping us.”

Dan rubbed the back of his neck.

“I guess I’m not great with flower transport,” he joked weakly.

I let out a breath. My shoulders sagged, and my lungs finally opened up.

But there was one more thing.

“The note,” I pressed again. “That was your handwriting, wasn’t it?”

The woman’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh no! I left that for Dan, just a reminder to come Friday. I must’ve dropped it in the wrapping.

I’m so sorry.”

Dan shook his head. “I didn’t even see it. I just grabbed the bouquet and ran late, like always.”

For a second, no one spoke.

And then I laughed. A soft, wet, trembling laugh. Because for a whole week, I’d imagined affairs.

Secrets. Another woman.

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