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

And what kind of man brings it home?

I needed answers. I wanted to see with my own eyes what was happening behind my back. Those seven days of waiting were torture.

I called in sick the next Friday, then sent the kids to school, telling them I had errands.

The words rolled out of my mouth so smoothly that I almost believed them.

I drove to Dan’s office, and my heart beat faster the closer I got to there. I parked across the street and waited, watching every movement through the windshield like I was on some undercover sting.

It was cold. My coffee, untouched, sat in the cup holder going from warm to useless.

I could barely feel my fingers.

Minutes dragged. Hours blurred. And then, three hours before his shift was supposed to end, Dan walked out.

No briefcase.

No phone. Just his car keys and that same end-of-the-week swagger, like everything was just fine. Like he didn’t have a woman unraveling behind the wheel across the street.

I ducked slightly and started the engine.

He didn’t head home.

He didn’t stop for flowers. Not once did he even check his phone.

He drove for 15 minutes into a neighborhood I hadn’t stepped foot in for years. But the second he turned onto that street, my stomach twisted.

I knew this place.

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