The night before our first family vacation, my husband came home with his leg in a cast. I wanted to cancel, but he insisted I take the children. Then a stranger called and told me to come over because my husband was hiding something from me. What I saw when I arrived devastated me.
We had twin girls, and for most of their lives, vacations were something other people talked about.
From other families. The ones who didn’t sit around the kitchen table on Sunday nights with a calculator and a stack of bills, deciding which ones could wait another week.
There were never any “extras”.
All that was left was to get to the next month.
Vacations were something other people were talking about.
So when my husband and I were promoted that year, just a few weeks apart, it seemed unreal to me.
That night we sat at the kitchen table, with the girls coloring among us, and I said it out loud for the first time.
“What if we actually go somewhere?”
My husband looked up and smiled. “Like… a real vacation?”
My husband and I were promoted that year.
“Real ones,” I said.
For the first time, we planned a family trip.
I booked everything myself: the flights to Florida, a beachfront hotel, and a small spa package that I felt almost guilty about clicking “confirm”.
I even booked activities for children with names like Explorer Club and Ocean Day.
I checked the booking emails more than necessary. Just to make sure they were real.
For the first time, we planned a family trip.
I started counting the days like a child.
She crossed them off the calendar in the hallway, where the girls could see them. They screamed every morning.
“How many more, Mom?”
I didn’t realize how much I needed the break until I had something to look forward to.
But the night before leaving, everything started to fall apart.
I started counting the days like a child.
That day my husband arrived home late.
I heard the front door open. Then something rattled against the wall. Heavy. Unsteady.
When I entered the hallway, he was standing, using crutches.
His leg was in a cast.
For a second, my brain… stopped.
When I entered the hallway, he was standing, using crutches.
“What happened?” I asked him.
He looked tired. Quieter than usual. His hair was disheveled and his shirt was wrinkled.
“A woman hit me with her car on my way to work. She wasn’t going fast. I’m okay.”
I stared at the cast. White. Thick. All over my calf.
My heart sank.
I started crying immediately.
I stared at the plaster cast.
I didn’t even try to stop it. The tears came pouring out, hot and fast, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe properly.
“My God, you could have died!” I put my arms around him.
“I’m so glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you. We’ll cancel everything. I’m not going to leave you like this.”
The girls stayed behind me, suddenly silent. Watching.
The tears flowed, hot and fast.
But he shook his head.
“No. You and the girls must leave anyway.”
I looked at him. “What?”
“You need it. They need it. And I’m fine. I can manage on my own, and I don’t want to ruin it for the rest of you.”
She gave me that calm and reassuring smile she used when she wanted me to stop worrying.
He shook his head.
“Send me pictures of the beach,” she added.
I wanted to argue. I wanted to stay, to make sure she was okay.
But part of me was already thinking about the hotel and the non-refundable deposit. The girls’ faces when I told them we weren’t going.
So I didn’t argue as I should have.
The next morning, we left.
I wanted to stay, to make sure she was okay.
At the airport, the girls bounced between the seats, clutching their little backpacks. I smiled at them, took pictures, and tried to catch the Christmas spirit.
At the hotel, they ran straight to the pool.
I sat on a sun lounger, watching them splash and shout with joy; it was their first vacation.
I tried to be present. I really did.
Then my phone rang.
I tried to catch the Christmas spirit.
It was an unknown number.
I almost didn’t answer, but something made me pick up.
“Hi, are you Jess?”
“Yes… who is it?”
There was a pause.
I almost didn’t answer, but something made me pick up.
“I don’t know if I should tell you this,” the woman said.
Her voice was careful. Nervous.
“But your husband asked me to put a fake cast on his leg so he wouldn’t have to go on vacation with you.”
Everything around me went silent. The pool. The children’s laughter. The sound of the waves in the distance. Everything disappeared.
“I don’t know if I should tell you this.”
“That?”
“Go home. Right now. Don’t tell her you’re coming. She didn’t fake that cast just to stay in bed. And what she’s hiding will surprise you.”
The line was cut.
I sat there, phone in my lap. My heart was beating so hard I thought I would faint.
I looked at the girls.
The line was cut.
They were splashing around happily, blissfully unaware.
I felt like vomiting.
So I gathered my things.
I didn’t explain to the girls why we were leaving early. I simply said, “We’re going home tonight,” and forced a smile as they zipped up their tiny suitcases again.
So I packed my things.
They cried. They begged.
They asked what they had done wrong.
“Nothing,” I told them. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
At the airport, my phone turned on.
It was a message from my husband.
They asked me what they had done wrong.
“How was the beach? Did the girls have fun?”
I turned the phone down and didn’t answer.
We stopped in the driveway just after nightfall.
A truck was driving away. A big one.
My chest tightened.
“Mom, why is there a big truck?” one of the twins asked.
A truck was driving away.
“I don’t know,” I said.
For once, I didn’t soften it or try to make it sound better.
I opened the door.
The hallway was chaotic.
There was a stack of cardboard boxes up to shoulder height. Packing foam was everywhere.
The hallway was chaotic.
A huge flat-screen television leaned carefully against the wall, and next to it was a brand-new, unopened multimedia console.
A huge armchair covered the coat closet.
Next to it was a mini fridge.
“Wow,” said one of the girls. “Is Dad building us a movie theater?”
Before I could answer, something moved.
A large armchair blocked the coat closet.
From the living room, I saw him bend down and stand up with a box in his arms.
With both hands: without crutches.
Then he headed towards the basement door with her.
One of the twins screamed.
“Dad! Your leg is better!”
He remained motionless.
I saw him bend down and stand up with a box in his arms.
I didn’t breathe as he slowly turned around.
She still had the cast on her leg, but she leaned on it and moved around easily.
“Oh,” she said casually. “Hello. You’re home early.”
“You go walking.”
He glanced at the girls and then back at me. “She’s… she’s better than she looks.”
“You told me you had been hit by a car.”
He was gaining weight and moving easily.
She exhaled. “Jess-“
“You told me you couldn’t come on vacation because you were injured.”
He took a smooth step forward. He wasn’t limping. No pain.
“I can explain it to you.”
“Please do it,” I said.
“You told me you couldn’t come on vacation because you were injured.”
He pointed down the hallway. To the empire of new things he’d built while I was gone.
“These things just arrived today. I was moving them downstairs.”
“Why? What is all this for?”
“To have a little space. A place to relax. Something for myself.”
“For you.” I looked at the armchair. Big enough to swallow a whole person. “And all for you.”
“These things just arrived today. I was moving them downstairs.”
He nodded. “I knew you’d be angry if I told you earlier.”
“So you lied.”
“I didn’t want to fight,” she said. “You’ve been stressed. I didn’t want to add to it. I just needed time to prepare this.”
I looked at the boxes again. Everything was new and expensive.
“How much?” I asked.
Everything was new and expensive.
She rubbed her face and looked everywhere but at me. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“How much. A lot.”
“A few thousand. Finally, we have some income available. I thought…”
“Did you think you’d spend it in a man cave?”
“I deserved something!” she snapped. Then she softened immediately. As if she knew she’d gone too far. “I work hard too.”
He rubbed his face and looked everywhere but at me.
The girls were now silent. Standing behind me, but watching everything.
I took out my phone.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I started taking pictures of the hallway full of boxes and furniture.
“Jess, stop.”
I opened the family group chat.
I took out my phone.
His family and mine were in that chat. Everyone.
I shared the photos.
I got home early from the vacation my husband insisted I take alone. This is what I found. By the way, his leg isn’t broken. He was faking it so he could set up a man cave.
The responses were instantaneous.
His sister: Are you kidding me?
I’ve shared the photos.
His mother: Why is there a television in the hallway?
My mother: Are you and the girls okay?
He answered the phone. I took a step back.
“You’re humiliating me,” he said.
“You humiliated me first,” I replied.
He answered the phone.
Her phone rang. She looked at the screen and then at me.
“You’d better answer. You and I have finished talking.” I turned to the girls.
“Get in the car. We’re going to Grandma’s.”
She got scared. “You’re exaggerating. It’s just one room.”
I stared at him.
“You’re exaggerating. It’s just one room.”
“It’s not just a room. It’s a lie, with props,” I said, pointing to the cast on her leg.
“It’s you spending our money without talking to me and doing crazy things to hide it. It’s you creating a space to lock your family up in the home we share.”
I left and didn’t look back.
***
That night, at my mother’s house, with the girls asleep in the guest room, I sat at the kitchen table looking at the phone.
The call from the woman who had warned me earlier was still in my call log.
I left and didn’t look back.
My thumb was circling me.
For the first time since the hallway, a new thought crept in. Silent. Poisonous.
What if this is worse than I thought? What if she and my husband…?
I exhaled and pressed the unknown number to call him back.
It rang twice.
I exhaled and pressed the unknown number to call him back.
“Hello?” a woman replied.
I straightened up. “You called me before. About my husband.”
“Yes,” the woman said quickly. “I was hoping you’d call back. I didn’t want to bother you again.”
There was a pause. Long enough for my chest to tighten.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“You called me earlier. About my husband.”
“I…” She hesitated. “I’m nobody in his life. Not like that.”
I closed my eyes. That almost made it worse.
“So, how do you know him?”
“I don’t know him,” the woman said. “Actually, I don’t. I work at a medical supply store.”
I opened my eyes.
That almost made it worse.
“Your husband came into our store asking for a leg cast. He said he only needed it for a few days. I assumed it was for a performance, or for work, or something harmless.”
A sigh was heard on the other end of the line.
“Then he mentioned that his wife was taking the kids on vacation and that it was the perfect opportunity for him. He said he’d treated himself to a big-screen TV, a new game console… that he was going to make some space to escape all the noise from you and the kids.”
“Your husband came to our store asking for a leg cast.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” the woman said softly. “About the children. About how carefree he was. It didn’t add up.”
“So you called me,” I said.
“Yes,” the woman replied. “I looked into it. Property records. Your name was listed on the house. I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t my house. I almost didn’t call, but I would have wanted to know if it were me.”
“So you called me.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see it.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I hope you’re well. You and your daughters.”
I looked down the hallway, where a nightlight glowed dimly under the guest room door.
“We will be,” I said.
The call ended.
“Thank you.
For a moment I sat there, letting the last pieces fall into place.
I had planned it so carefully.
He’d faked an injury, sent the girls and me away, and spent thousands of dollars on a private getaway. All so he could have what? A man cave? A throne room?
No.
So that we can disappear from our marriage without actually leaving.
I had planned it so carefully.
I got up, turned off the kitchen light, and headed into the hallway.
Tomorrow I’d decide what came next. Maybe lawyers. Or therapy. Or something else entirely.
Tonight, all I needed to know was this: I didn’t need a break.
I needed a way out.
And now everyone saw it.
Tomorrow I would decide what would come next.
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