When my husband told me he was helping his brother with roof repairs every night after work, I didn’t question it. But a chance encounter at the grocery store unraveled everything I thought I knew about where he was really going.
My husband, Rick, and I have what you’d call a very normal life. We met at a college mixer around our mid-20s, and things just kind of clicked after that. But little did I know that years later, he’d do something that would force me to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
When Rick and I got married, we settled in a modest four-bedroom house. Now we’re raising two teenagers, Luke and Tessa, who are 16 and 17, and they keep us constantly on the move. Between football games, school plays, SAT prep, endless laundry, and the usual teenage drama, our lives were busy in that predictable, comforting way.
Rick has always been the quieter one. He used to be steady, soft-spoken, and the type of guy who would refill your gas tank without telling you. My husband never used to forget my mom’s birthday and always picked up 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, lets me work from home. I used to trust him completely, but I had some doubts when I noticed that he started faltering in his routines and behavior.
When he told me he’d be helping his brother Stuart fix the roof on his house after work for a couple of weeks in the evenings, I honestly didn’t think twice; I had no valid reason to.
But now I realize that I should’ve followed my gut instinct.
“Stuart’s had a couple of leaks on his roof, babe,” he said while putting on his shoes one Monday morning. “He wants to get everything done before the fall rains hit.”
“Sure,” I replied, sipping my coffee. “Just don’t overdo it. That old ladder of his always makes me nervous.”
He gave me that half-smile of his and said, “We’ll be fine.”
I think what really threw me off Rick’s trail and assuaged my doubts was that Stuart also collaborated on his story. One afternoon, Stuart stopped by while picking up some equipment that Rick said he’d left in the garage.
He stood on our porch and said, “Yeah, we’ll be cutting it close before the weather changes. I’ll be picking him up after work so we can work on my roof; there’s a lot to finish before it rains. Rick’s a lifesaver for helping out.”
It sounded normal, responsible, even sweet, and all seemed perfectly reasonable. Who questions their husband when he’s supposedly helping family?
I even packed them some water bottles and energy bars the next night before they left, but Stuart’s arrival was their alibi.
The evenings went by just like that. Rick would come home around 5:30 p.m., change into old jeans and a T-shirt, and Stuart would swing by around 6:00 p.m. to pick him up. They’d wave, shout a quick goodbye, and disappear down the street in Stuart’s truck.
It wasn’t until one Thursday afternoon that the story was cracked open.
I was at the grocery store restocking our fridge, running into neighbors, and picking up that weird almond milk Tessa insists on. As I reached for a head of lettuce, I spotted Heather, Stuart’s wife.
We aren’t particularly close, so I was a bit reluctant to gain her attention. I’m not saying we didn’t get along; we did exchange pleasantries during holidays or school events, but most of the time when we came across each other, we usually just nodded and moved on.
However, this time, she surprised me by making a beeline for me, her expression tight and suspicious.
“Hey, Dina,” she said, with no smile. “Can I ask you something weird?”
“Sure,” I said, lowering my basket.
“Is my Stuart really helping Rick with your roof repairs?”
I blinked, trying to comprehend her question. “Wait… what? I thought my Rick was helping Stuart with your roof!?”
Her jaw dropped. “No! Stuart said Rick needed help with yours. Rick even asked me to let Stuart go every evening so they could finish faster. My husband told me he’d be home late because they were trying to finish before the rain.”
I stared at her, stunned. “Are you serious? That’s exactly what Rick told me! He even had Stuart pick him up from our house!”
Heather and I stood there, frozen—two women in a grocery aisle, realizing that we’d both been sold the same lie in reverse.
“What the hell are they doing?!” she whispered.
I felt heat rise in my chest. “Let’s find out the truth,” I retorted without even thinking.
This was the first proper and full interaction between Heather and me, and sadly, it involved spying on our husbands.
The next day, we made a plan.
Heather lied about needing to run some errands, and I used the same excuse. But we’d arranged to meet in the parking lot of the local store where we parked my car. We then drove back to my house in Heathert’s car to scout it out from a safe and hidden distance.
I felt ridiculous as we hid behind Heather’s car to get a better view and to avoid being seen.
Sure enough, by 6:00 p.m., Stuart pulled into my driveway in his white Chevy, and Rick came out a few minutes later wearing a change of clothes—not work boots and a flannel, but khakis and a clean polo.
“Those aren’t roof-fixing clothes,” Heather muttered.
We quickly jumped back into the car and followed them when they started driving. They didn’t drive toward Heather’s house, nor did they head to a hardware store. Instead, they cruised across town into a newer part of the city filled with sleek glass buildings and freshly paved sidewalks.
Finally, they turned into the valet line at a shiny new building I’d never noticed before. It had gold trim and soft lighting spilling out onto the walkway. The sign read: The Haven Spa & Club.
“No way,” Heather whispered, leaning forward.
We parked and waited. Through the glass entrance, we watched as Rick and Stuart handed over a keycard, laughed with the receptionist, and were given plush robes and slippers. A few minutes later, they strolled past the lobby into a hallway that led to the sauna and pool area.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “They’re not even trying to hide it!”
These fools were literally at a high-end relaxation club without us!
“Let’s get a closer look,” Heather said.
So, we snuck around to the side of the building and found a spot behind a decorative privacy hedge that still gave us a clear view through the glass windows. There they were, lounging near the pool, drinks in hand, not a care in the world.
I even brought binoculars, mostly as a joke, but they turned out to be useful. That’s when I noticed the logo on Rick’s spa pass clipped to his towel bag.
It matched the logo of his company.
“What is that?” Heather asked.
“That’s Rick’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 see if I can find any information about his company’s involvement with this spa thing.”
We went home furious but strangely calm.
Sure enough, when I got home, I opened my laptop and pulled up his company’s website. Right there 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, fully comped, for two!
I was beyond livid!
Out of everyone on this planet, he took his brother!? Not me, his wife of many years and the mother of his children.
I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I just stared at the screen and started making a quiet list.
Then I called Heather and filled her in; to put it mildly, she was beyond angry. She used some choice words that I can’t repeat here.
I told her my plan when she finally calmed down and asked her not to give anything away until it was in motion.
The next morning, I transferred my paycheck into a new personal account. Then I pulled out my savings and moved those over, too. I called our bank and removed myself from the joint account. I logged into our utility portals and moved every shared bill into Rick’s name, even the Netflix.
I’d already secured leave that morning, so I activated my out-of-office auto-reply. The company owed me a couple of days, and we weren’t that busy that month, so they granted it.
Heather and I booked a last-minute trip to the oceanfront, with cocktail service and a two-bedroom suite.
Before I left, I told the kids I needed an impromptu vacation, but they didn’t even stop playing their online games long enough to acknowledge me, you know, teenagers. I kissed them goodbye and left a note on the kitchen counter for my husband. It said:
“Gone on a two-week vacation with Heather. Please take care of the house and the kids — there’s food in the fridge for three days, after that you’re on your own. Don’t forget to take the trash out.”
When Rick came home that night, I was already gone.
The thing is, I earn more than Rick, and I pay for most of our vacations. And if he thought he could waste his free time and a gift meant for us on spa days with his brother instead of spending time with me, then I could waste his free time by forcing him to cover all the chores while I sip cocktails by the ocean with his brother’s wife.
Heather, a stay-at-home wife, said Stuart’s face turned white when she FaceTimed him after sending him a selfie of us holding piña coladas by the beach! She captioned it, “Your roof looks great from here!”
According to Luke, whom I had on a need-to-know basis, my husband spent the next few days muttering around the house, vacuuming furiously, and overcooking pasta. He left me a few voicemails that I didn’t listen to and sent a message saying he didn’t know how to apologize.
Oh, well!
