When I found myself locked out of my own home, I knew my marriage was over.
But what my cheating husband didn’t know was that I was about to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
“Jason, it’s almost nine. You promised you’d be home by six.” I tried to keep the hurt from my voice as my husband dropped his keys on the counter, not even looking at me.
“Work was crazy, Alice. What do you want me to do?
Tell my boss I need to leave early?” Jason loosened his tie, walking past the table where I’d set up a small birthday dinner for myself. Two candles stood next to a cake I’d picked up on my lunch break.
“Yes, actually,” I said, crossing my arms. “That’s exactly what you could have done.
Just once. Especially after you promised. It’s my birthday, Jason.”
He finally looked at the table and realized what he’d done.
“Oh, no. I forgot.”
“Clearly.”
“Come on, don’t be like that.” Jason ran his hand through his hair. “I’m working hard for us, you know that.”
I let out a fake laugh.
“For us?” I repeated.
“You’re never even here, Jason. We barely talk anymore. When was the last time we had dinner together?
Or watched a movie? Or did anything as a couple?”
“That’s not fair. I’m building my career so we can have a good future.”
“What future?
We’re living separate lives in the same house.” I felt tears threatening, but I refused to let them fall. “I make more money than you anyway, so let’s not pretend this is about providing for us.”
Jason’s face hardened. “Of course, you’d throw that in my face.
God forbid I try to catch up to my successful wife.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Save it. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” He walked away, leaving me standing alone next to my sad little birthday celebration.
I blew out candles and promised myself things would get better.
He was my husband.
I loved him. Marriage had rough patches, right? Everyone said so.
Little did I know I’d regret forgiving him so easily.
Jason and I had been married for three years, but the last year had felt like a slow, painful drift apart.
We didn’t have kids (thankfully, given what was coming) and my job as a marketing director provided the bulk of our household income.
Meanwhile, Jason worked in sales and constantly complained about the pressure, the hours, the commute… everything except what I later realized was the truth.
Three weeks after my ruined birthday, I came home early from work with a pounding headache. All I wanted was to collapse into bed with some painkillers and silence.
When I pulled into our driveway, I noticed something off about our front door. As I got closer, I realized the brass doorknob and lock had been replaced with a sleeker silver one.
“That’s weird,” I muttered.
When I inserted my key into the lock, it didn’t fit.
I tried again, wiggling it, but it was clearly the wrong size for this new lock.
Confused, I checked to make sure I was at the right house.
Of course, I was. This was my home.
That’s when I noticed the note taped to the door, written in Jason’s familiar scrawl.
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