My husband hates sweets, yet he started coming home smelling like pastries, his shirts streaked with flour. Late nights and vague excuses fueled my suspicions, leaving me bracing for the worst—only to uncover a truth that moved me to tears.
Have you ever had a gut feeling that wouldn’t leave you alone? That’s exactly where I found myself. My name’s Kate, and at 28, I’ve been married to Luke for almost five years. We’ve had our ups and downs, but overall, we’ve been happy—or so I thought.
It began subtly: Luke would come home faintly scented with the unmistakable aroma of fresh-baked goods. Not every night, but often enough to make me notice. The odd part? Luke hates sweets. He’s a fitness enthusiast who avoids carbs like the plague. So why did he smell like a bakery? My mind spiraled. Was someone else baking for him—or worse, with him?
One evening, as he slipped off his jacket, the familiar scent hit me again. “Did someone bring pastries to work?” I asked, feigning casual curiosity.
“Pastries? You know I don’t eat that stuff,” he replied, avoiding my gaze. My chest tightened.
Then there were the signs I couldn’t ignore—flour smudges on his sleeves, a faint chocolate smear on his collar. Each time I asked, he’d shrug it off, but my suspicions only grew. I imagined him in a cozy kitchen with another woman, laughing, sharing stolen moments.
Desperate for answers but stuck in a demanding schedule, I turned to the one person I trusted: my mom, Linda.
“You want me to follow him?” she asked when I explained, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“I have to know, Mom,” I said, fighting tears. “Something feels off.”
Linda hesitated, then nodded firmly. “No one deceives my daughter. I’ll find out what he’s up to.”
For the next few evenings, she discreetly followed Luke after work. Each night, I paced the house, my stomach twisting in knots. Then, one evening, she came back, her face serious, her eyes misty.
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