I never thought I would be the type of person to suspect my own husband of cheating. I always believed in our love, in the strong bond we shared. But when he started coming home smelling like pastries and with flour on his shirts, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease creeping into my mind.
My husband, Luke, has always been health-conscious and despises sweets. So why was he suddenly bringing home the scent of freshly baked pastries? I tried to brush it off, but the signs kept piling up. Flour smudges on his cuffs, chocolate streaks on his collar. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong.
One evening, as he hung up his jacket, the sweet scent hit me again. “Did someone bring donuts to the office?” I asked casually, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Donuts? You know I hate donuts,” he replied, avoiding eye contact. My heart sank and my suspicions only grew. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being with someone else, laughing and baking in a kitchen while I was left out.
With my busy schedule, I didn’t have the time to follow him and see what he was up to. So, I turned to the one person I knew would help me: my mom, Linda. I confided in her and she didn’t hesitate to offer her help.
“Follow him?” she asked, her eyebrows raised. “Are you sure about this?”
“I just need to know,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes. “Something feels off and I can’t take it anymore.”
Linda discreetly followed Luke after work for a few days and sent me updates. Each night, I paced around our bedroom, my stomach in knots. Finally, one evening, she returned home with a serious expression and red eyes.
“Mom,” I said, panic rising. “Is he cheating?”