My Husband Started Bringing Home Flowers Every Friday – One Day I Found a Note in the Bouquet and Followed Him After Work
I told work I was sick. Parked across from his office. Waited until I thought I’d lose my mind.
At 2 p.m., Dan walked out—hours early—and drove across town. Not to a florist. Not home.
The one person from his past I’d hoped never to see again—Erika. The woman who once drunkenly confessed her love for him at our wedding. The same woman who’d tried to kiss him after the reception. That woman.
He parked in her driveway.
My heart pounded so loudly I could barely think. I watched him walk up to the door. An older woman answered, smiling warmly, and let him inside.
Before I could stop myself, I marched toward the house and rang the doorbell.
“My husband just walked into your house,” I blurted. “I need to know what’s happening.”
The older woman’s face softened. “He’s not cheating on you,” she said quietly. “Come in. You should see for yourself.”
The house smelled of lavender and homemade soup. Family photos and cross-stitch frames lined the walls. She led me into the living room—where a hospital bed sat by the window.
Dan was beside it, reading aloud.
Only she looked nothing like the woman who once threatened my peace. She was thin, fragile, her hair uneven and short, eyes bright but unfocused. She clutched a teddy bear like a child.
Erika’s mother spoke softly. “She had a car accident 14 months ago. Severe brain injury. She has the mind of a little girl now. She doesn’t remember most of her life. But she remembers Dan. They were childhood friends. She asks for him constantly.”
I felt something inside me break open—not jealousy, not relief, but something in between.
