My husband Mark and I have a small cottage in the countryside. We used to go there almost every weekend to plant flowers, work in the garden, grill meat, and just relax, far away from the hustle and bustle of the city.
But at some point, everything changed. Mark refused to go more and more often. There was always an excuse: urgent work, fatigue, headache, “maybe next time.” At first, I didn’t think much of it.
Until one day our neighbor from the village called me.
‘Listen,’ she said nonchalantly, ‘I saw your husband near the house yesterday.’
At first, I didn’t understand at all what she meant.
‘You are mistaken,’ I replied. ‘He was working all day.’
‘No, I’m sure of that. He came out of the house and was taking things out of his car for quite a while,’ she said calmly.
I hung up, but inside I felt a knot in my stomach. Unpleasant thoughts flooded my mind. Why was he there without telling me? Why did he keep his travels secret? And most importantly: what was he doing there?
The following weekend, Mark said again that he wasn’t going anywhere.
‘Maybe I’ll just go alone then, just to get some fresh air,’ I suggested cautiously.
He froze immediately.
‘No,’ he said too quickly. ‘I don’t want you to go there. I feel better when you stay home.’
And then I understood. If nothing strange was going on, he wouldn’t forbid it. When Mark left the house, I decided to follow him. He got into his car and drove towards the village.
I waited a moment and then drove after him.
As I approached the house, my heart pounded in my throat. My hands trembled. I felt like I was about to discover something terrible, but I couldn’t stop. I walked to the door, took a deep breath, and went inside.
