When my husband Marcus mentioned he was helping his brother with the roof every evening after work’ I honestly didn’t think twice about it. But a chance encounter at the grocery store blew up everything I thought I knew about where he was really going.
My husband, Marcus, and I have what you’d call a pretty regular life. We met at a college mixer when we were both in our mid-twenties, and things just kind of clicked after that. I just never imagined that years later, he’d pull a stunt that would force me to teach him a lesson he would never, ever forget.
When Marcus and I got married, we bought a decent four-bedroom house. Now we’re in the thick of raising two teenagers, Luke and Tessa, who are 16 and 17, and they keep us constantly moving. Between football games, school plays, SAT tutors, a never-ending pile of laundry, and the usual teen drama, our lives were busy, but in that comfortable, predictable way.
Marcus has always been the quieter one. He used to be steady, spoke softly, and was the kind of guy who would fill up your gas tank without even mentioning it. He never forgot my mom’s birthday and always remembered to grab the dog’s medication on his way home from work.
He works as a project lead at a civil engineering firm, and I’m in marketing at a software startup, which, thankfully, allows me to work from home. I used to trust him completely, but I started getting a strange feeling when I noticed his routines and behavior beginning to slip.
When he told me he’d be helping his brother Pierce fix his roof in the evenings for a couple of weeks, I honestly didn’t give it a second thought; I had no good reason to doubt him.
But looking back now, I definitely should have followed my gut.
“Pierce has a couple of leaks on his roof, babe,” he said while pulling on his shoes one Monday morning. “He wants to get everything sealed up before the fall rains hit.”
“Sounds good,” I replied, sipping my coffee. “Just don’t push yourselves too hard. That old ladder of his always makes me nervous.”
He gave me that little half-smile of his and said, “We’ll be careful.”
I think the thing that really threw me off Marcus’s trail and calmed all my doubts was that Pierce completely backed up his story. One afternoon, Pierce stopped by to pick up some equipment that Marcus claimed he’d left in our garage.
He stood on our porch and said, “Yeah, we’re cutting it close with the weather changing. I’m grabbing him right after work so we can get up on my roof; we have a ton to finish before the rain comes. Marcus is a total lifesaver for helping out.”
It sounded so normal, responsible, even sweet, and the whole thing seemed perfectly believable. Who questions their husband when he’s just helping out family?
I even packed them water bottles and energy bars the next night before they left, and Pierce showing up became their perfect alibi.
The evenings rolled by like clockwork. Marcus would get home around 5:30 p.m., change into old jeans and a T-shirt, and Pierce would swing by about 6:00 p.m. to pick him up. They’d wave, shout a quick ‘bye, and drive off down the street in Pierce’s truck.
It wasn’t until a Thursday afternoon that the truth finally spilled out.
I was at the grocery store, just stocking up the fridge, running into a few neighbors, and picking up that weird almond milk Tessa has to have. As I reached for a head of lettuce, I spotted Astrid, Pierce’s wife.
We aren’t super close, so I was a little reluctant to catch her attention. We got along fine—we’d exchange pleasantries at holidays or school events—but usually, if we ran into each other, we’d just nod and keep moving.
This time, though, she surprised me by making a beeline for me, her face looking tight and worried.
“Hey, Noemi,” she said, no smile at all. “Can I ask you something really strange?”
“Sure,” I said, setting my basket down.
“Is my Pierce actually helping Marcus fix your roof?”
I blinked, trying to figure out what she was talking about. “Wait… what? I thought my Marcus was helping Pierce with your roof!?”
Her jaw dropped. “No! Pierce told me Marcus needed help with yours. Marcus even asked me to make sure Pierce was free every night so they could wrap it up faster. My husband said he’d be home late because they were trying to finish before the rain started.”
I just stared at her, totally stunned. “Are you serious? That is exactly what Marcus told me! He even had Pierce pick him up from our place!”
Astrid and I stood there, frozen solid—two women in the grocery aisle, realizing we’d both been fed the exact same lie in reverse.
“What the heck are they doing?!” she whispered intensely.
I felt a surge of heat in my chest. “We’re going to find out,” I shot back without even thinking.
This ended up being the first proper conversation Astrid and I ever had, and sadly, it involved planning to spy on our husbands.
The next day, we made a plan.
Astrid lied about having to run some errands, and I used the same excuse. But we met up in the local store’s parking lot, left my car there, and then drove back to my house in Astrid’s car to stake out the place from a safe, hidden distance.
I felt ridiculous hiding behind her car just to get a better look and avoid being seen.
Sure enough, right at 6:00 p.m., Pierce drove into my driveway in his white Chevy, and Marcus came out a few minutes later, dressed up—not in work boots and a flannel, but nice khakis and a clean polo shirt.
“Those are not roof-repair clothes,” Astrid muttered.
We quickly got back into the car and followed them as they drove off. They didn’t head toward Astrid’s house, nor did they go near a hardware store. Instead, they drove across town and into a newer part of the city full of sleek glass buildings and brand-new sidewalks.
Finally, they pulled into the valet line at a fancy new building I’d never noticed before. It had gold trim and soft light pouring out onto the walkway. The sign read: The Haven Spa & Club.
“No way,” Astrid whispered, leaning forward.
We parked and watched. Through the glass doors, we saw Marcus and Pierce hand over a keycard, laugh with the receptionist, and be given big, plush robes and slippers. A few minutes later, they walked right past the lobby and down a hallway that clearly led to the sauna and pool.
“Are you actually kidding me?” I said. “They’re not even trying to be sneaky!”
These idiots were literally at a high-end relaxation club without us!
“Let’s sneak closer,” Astrid insisted.
So, we crept around the side of the building and found a spot behind a decorative hedge that still gave us a clear view through the big glass windows. There they were, chilling by the pool, drinks in hand, looking completely relaxed.
I had even brought binoculars, mostly as a joke, but they turned out to be useful. That’s when I spotted the logo on Marcus’s spa pass clipped to his towel bag.
It was the same as his company’s logo.
“What is that?” Astrid asked.
“That’s Marcus’s firm’s logo,” I said slowly. “They must have given him this. I think we’ve seen enough. Let’s head home, and I’ll try to find some info about his company giving out spa memberships.”
We drove home mad, but surprisingly calm.
Sure enough, when I got home, I opened my laptop and found his company’s website. Right on the front page was a recent post congratulating my husband for “exceptional leadership in project delivery.” The reward? A one-month premium membership to The Haven Spa & Club, completely paid for, for two people!
I was absolutely beyond furious!
He took his brother out of everyone on this planet!? Not me, his wife for all these years and the mother of his children.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just stared at the screen and started making a quiet list.
Then I called Astrid and gave her the update; she was, to put it mildly, seriously angry. She used some colorful language I can’t repeat here.
I told her my plan once she had calmed down and asked her not to let on about anything until I set it in motion.
The next morning, I transferred my paycheck into a new, private account. Then I took out my savings and moved those over, too. I called our bank and removed myself completely from the joint account. I logged into all our utility accounts and put every shared bill into Marcus’s name, even the Netflix.
I had already asked for time off that morning, so I put up my out-of-office auto-reply. The company owed me a couple of days, and since we weren’t busy, they approved it.
Astrid and I booked a last-minute trip to an oceanfront resort, complete with cocktail service and a two-bedroom suite.
Before leaving, I told the kids I needed a sudden vacation, but they didn’t even stop playing their video games long enough to look up—teenagers, right? I kissed them goodbye and left a note on the kitchen counter for my husband. It said:
“Gone on a two-week vacation with Astrid. Please take care of the house and the kids — there’s food in the fridge for three days, then you’re on your own. Don’t forget to take the trash out.”
When Marcus came home that night, I was already gone.
Here’s the thing: I earn more than Marcus, and I pay for most of our vacations. And if he thought he could use his free time and a gift meant for us on spa days with his brother instead of spending time with me, then I could definitely use his free time by forcing him to handle all the chores while I sipped cocktails by the ocean with his brother’s wife.
Astrid, who is a stay-at-home mom, said Pierce’s face went white when she FaceTimed him after sending a selfie of us holding piña coladas on the beach! She captioned it, “Your roof looks great from here!”
According to Luke, whom I only gave the bare minimum info, my husband spent the next few days grumbling around the house, vacuuming way too aggressively, and consistently burning the pasta. He left me a few voicemails that I never listened to and sent a text saying he didn’t even know how to begin apologizing.
Oh well.