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

A red mailbox. Peeling paint on the fence. The wind chime with seashells hanging crookedly on the porch.

Erika’s house.

Erika.

The girl who stood up at our wedding and told an entire room that she loved my husband. The same Erika who tried to kiss him, half-drunk and emotional, outside the reception hall as I stood just around the corner.

Dan swore that was the end of it. Swore he’d never speak to her again.

And I believed him.

So what the hell was he doing here?

My heart banged against my ribs. I clutched the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping me upright. Nausea twisted through me, hot and sour.

My palms were damp with sweat.

I watched him walk up to the door, easy, unbothered… and knock.

An older woman opened it. Her gray hair was pinned back neatly.

She wore a wrinkled cardigan, and gave him a smile like she was expecting him. Then she stepped aside and let him in.

That was it. That was my limit.

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