“If You Hadn’t Come Home Early, You Wouldn’t Have Known,” My Husband’s Excuse

It was a chilly Wednesday afternoon when I, Valentina, decided to surprise my mother with a visit at the hospital. She had been feeling under the weather lately, and nothing cheered her up like her favorite homemade chicken soup. I planned to swing by our house first, gather the ingredients, and cook at her place so she wouldn’t have to worry about anything upon her return home.

As I turned my car into the driveway, I noticed another car parked beside my husband Nathan’s. It was unusual for him to have guests over on a weekday. Curiosity piqued, I quietly unlocked the front door and stepped inside.

The sounds of laughter echoed from the living room, a stark contrast to the usual quiet of our home. I tiptoed closer and peered around the corner, my heart sinking as I saw Nathan and a woman sitting far too close on the sofa. They were sharing a bottle of wine, and her hand rested on his knee.

I cleared my throat loudly, making my presence known. The woman, whom I recognized as Piper from Nathan’s office, jumped up, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Nathan, looking equally startled, stammered, “Valentina! You’re home early.”

“Yes, I came to make some soup for Mom,” I replied, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. “Who’s your friend?”

Nathan hurriedly introduced Piper, explaining she had just come over to discuss some urgent work matters. His words felt hollow, and the atmosphere was tense. Piper excused herself, mumbling something about needing to leave, and I watched her hasten out the door.

Once we were alone, I confronted Nathan. “Is there something you need to tell me?” I asked, the hurt evident in my voice.

Nathan sighed, running his hands through his hair. “If you hadn’t come home early, you wouldn’t have known,” he began, his voice a mix of frustration and guilt. “It’s not what you think, Valentina. It’s just… we’ve been spending a lot of time together at work, and things got a little out of hand today.”

The simplicity of his confession did nothing to soothe the sting of betrayal. “Out of hand?” I echoed, my mind racing with images of their closeness on the couch.

“We were just talking, and one thing led to another,” Nathan tried to explain, his words faltering under my gaze.

I shook my head, feeling a profound sense of disillusionment. “I need some time to think,” I said quietly, turning away from him to head to the kitchen. The plans of cooking for my mother felt hollow now, overshadowed by the betrayal in my own home.

Nathan didn’t stop me as I walked away. The house felt colder, the silence now a reminder of the distance between us. I spent the night at my mother’s, leaving Nathan alone to ponder his actions. The next few days were a blur of confusion and heartache. Conversations with Nathan were strained, each of us tiptoeing around the shattered pieces of our trust.

In the end, the breach was too great to mend. The love and trust I had for Nathan had been irrevocably damaged by his thoughtless actions. The home we had built together now felt like a strange place, filled with echoes of what could have been.