When my husband claimed he was assisting his brother with barn repairs every evening after work, I didn’t doubt him. But a random meeting at the farmers’ market revealed the truth about where he was actually spending his time.
My husband, Gideon, and I lead what you might call an ordinary life. We crossed paths at a university book club in our mid-20s, and our connection just fell into place. Little did I know that years later, he’d pull something that would push me to deliver a lesson he’d never forget.
When Gideon and I tied the knot, we moved into a cozy three-bedroom farmhouse. Now we’re raising two teenagers, Levi and Mara, who are 15 and 17, and they keep our days packed. Between track meets, debate club, college prep courses, piles of dishes, and typical teen antics, our life was hectic but familiar in a warm, grounding way.
Gideon has always been the reserved one. He used to be dependable, quiet, the kind of man who’d check your car’s oil without making a fuss. He never missed my dad’s birthday and always grabbed the cat’s food on his way back from work.
He’s a site manager at a construction company, and I work in digital advertising for a tech firm, which, luckily, allows me to work remotely. I used to have complete faith in him, but I started to waver when I noticed he was slipping in his usual habits and demeanor.
When he mentioned he’d be helping his brother Silas with barn repairs after work for a few weeks in the evenings, I didn’t give it a second thought; there was no real reason to.
But now I see I should’ve trusted my instincts.
“Silas has some rotting beams in his barn, hon,” he said while lacing up his boots one Tuesday morning. “He’s aiming to get it all fixed before the winter storms roll in.”
“Alright,” I said, stirring my tea. “Just don’t push yourself too hard. That rickety ladder of his always gives me the jitters.”
He flashed that familiar lopsided grin and said, “We’ll manage.”
What really threw me off Gideon’s trail and eased my suspicions was that Silas backed up his story. One afternoon, Silas swung by to pick up some tools that Gideon said he’d left in the shed.
He stood on our porch and said, “Yeah, we’re racing against the weather. I’ll be grabbing him after work so we can tackle my barn; there’s a ton to do before the snow hits. Gideon’s a godsend for pitching in.”
It sounded practical, dutiful, even touching, and everything seemed completely logical. Who doubts their husband when he’s supposedly lending a hand to family?
I even packed them some water bottles and granola bars the next evening before they headed out, but Silas’s visit was their cover.
The evenings passed like that. Gideon would get home around 5:00 p.m., swap his work clothes for old jeans and a flannel, and Silas would roll up around 5:45 p.m. to pick him up. They’d wave, call out a quick farewell, and head off down the road in Silas’s pickup.
It wasn’t until one Saturday morning that the facade started to crumble.
I was at the farmers’ market restocking our pantry, chatting with vendors, and grabbing that fancy oat milk Mara swears by. As I reached for a bunch of kale, I spotted Faye, Silas’s wife.
We aren’t super tight, so I hesitated to catch her eye. We got along okay, swapping small talk at family barbecues or school fundraisers, but usually, we’d just exchange a nod and keep moving.
This time, she caught me off guard by heading straight for me, her face tense and wary.
“Hey, Iris,” she said, skipping the smile. “Can I ask you something odd?”
“Go ahead,” I said, setting down my tote.
“Is my Silas really helping Gideon with your barn repairs?”
I blinked, struggling to process her words. “Hold on… what? I thought my Gideon was helping Silas with your barn!”
Her mouth fell open. “No way! Silas said Gideon needed help with yours. Gideon even asked me to let Silas head out every evening so they could wrap it up fast. My husband said he’d be late because they were rushing before the snow.”
I stared at her, floored. “You’re kidding! That’s exactly what Gideon told me! He even had Silas pick him up from our house!”
Faye and I stood there, rooted in place—two women in the middle of a bustling market, realizing we’d both been fed the same lie, just flipped.
“What on earth are they up to?!” she hissed.
My stomach churned with anger. “We’re going to find out,” I snapped without hesitation.
This was the first real, in-depth conversation Faye and I ever had, and unfortunately, it was about tailing our husbands.
The next day, we hatched a plan.
Faye fibbed about needing to pick up some supplies, and I used the same excuse. But we’d agreed to meet in the parking lot of the local co-op where we left my car. We then drove back to my house in Faye’s SUV to stake it out from a discreet distance.
I felt absurd as we crouched behind Faye’s SUV to get a clear view without being spotted.
Right on cue, by 5:45 p.m., Silas pulled into my driveway in his silver Ford, and Gideon emerged a few minutes later in a fresh outfit—not work boots and a jacket, but chinos and a crisp button-down.
“Those aren’t barn-fixing clothes,” Faye grumbled.
We hopped back into the SUV and tailed them as they drove off. They didn’t head toward Faye’s place, nor did they stop at a lumberyard. Instead, they cruised to a glitzy part of town with modern steel buildings and pristine walkways.
Eventually, they pulled into the valet lane of a sleek new complex I’d never seen before. It had chrome accents and warm lighting spilling onto the sidewalk. The sign read: The Oasis Wellness Retreat.
“No freaking way,” Faye whispered, leaning forward.
We parked and waited. Through the glass doors, we watched as Gideon and Silas flashed a keycard, chuckled with the front desk staff, and were handed plush robes and slippers. A few minutes later, they sauntered past the lobby toward the spa and lounge area.
“Are you serious?” I said. “They’re not even pretending!”
These idiots were literally at a fancy wellness retreat without us!
“Let’s get closer,” Faye said.
So, we crept around to the side of the building and found a spot behind a landscaped bamboo screen that still gave us a good view through the glass walls. There they were, sprawled by a heated pool, cocktails in hand, looking like they owned the place.
I’d brought binoculars, half as a gag, but they came in handy. That’s when I spotted the logo on Gideon’s spa pass clipped to his duffel.
It matched his company’s logo.
“What’s that?” Faye asked.
“That’s Gideon’s firm’s logo,” I said, piecing it together. “They must’ve given him this. I think we’ve seen enough. Let’s head back, and I’ll dig into what his company has to do with this spa nonsense.”
We drove home, seething but oddly composed.
Sure enough, when I got home, I opened my laptop and checked his company’s website. Front and center was a new post praising my husband for “outstanding project management.” The prize? A one-month elite membership to The Oasis Wellness Retreat, fully paid, for two!
I was absolutely furious!
Out of everyone in the world, he chose his brother!? Not me, his wife of years and the mother of his kids.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just glared at the screen and started plotting quietly.
Then I called Faye and filled her in; to say she was pissed would be an understatement. She let loose some colorful language I won’t repeat here.
Once she cooled off, I shared my plan and asked her to keep it under wraps until everything was set.
The next morning, I moved my paycheck to a new personal account. Then I transferred my savings there too. I called our bank and removed myself from the joint account. I logged into our utility portals and shifted every shared bill to Gideon’s name, even the Hulu subscription.
I’d already requested leave that morning, so I turned on my out-of-office email reply. The company owed me some days, and things were slow that month, so they approved it.
Faye and I booked a last-minute getaway to a beachfront resort, complete with cocktail service and a two-bedroom villa.
Before I left, I told the kids I was taking a spontaneous trip, but they barely looked up from their video games, you know, teens. I gave them a quick hug and left a note on the kitchen table for my husband. It read:
“Off for a two-week getaway with Faye. Please handle the house and kids — there’s food in the pantry for three days, then you’re on your own. Don’t forget to feed the cat.”
When Gideon got home that night, I was already gone.
Here’s the thing: I earn more than Gideon, and I cover most of our family trips. If he thought he could squander his free time and a gift meant for us on spa days with his brother instead of spending time with me, then I could make him regret it by leaving him to handle all the household chores while I sip margaritas by the sea with his brother’s wife.
Faye, a stay-at-home mom, said Silas’s face went pale when she FaceTimed him after sending a selfie of us with margaritas on the beach! She captioned it, “Your barn looks amazing from here!”
According to Levi, whom I kept in the loop on a need-to-know basis, my husband spent the next few days grumbling around the house, scrubbing floors aggressively, and burning spaghetti. He left me a few voicemails I didn’t bother listening to and sent a text saying he wasn’t sure how to make things right.
Oh, well!