After fifteen years of marriage, Nat thought she knew everything about her husband, Matt; there was comfort in knowing someone so well you could finish their thoughts. They built a quiet, stable life with their teenage daughter, Lily. But lately, small, growing changes became impossible to ignore: Matt came home late, stayed glued to his phone, stopped talking at dinner, and, most crucially, changed his decade-old phone passcode from their wedding date to something new. That small change hit Nat harder than expected. When she asked him what was wrong, he muttered about a “work emergency,” grabbed his keys, and was gone. Nat felt uneasy, wondering if he was hiding something, maybe even someone, but she knew she and Lily would manage, relying on her mom’s old house—worn out, but theirs.
Nat went upstairs, half-listening for his car, which never came. She eventually fell asleep, only to be jolted awake by a strange, low mumbling from Matt’s side of the bed. It was incoherent, whispered words slipping out between breaths. Nat whispered, “Matt?” but he didn’t move. She leaned closer, her heart racing, realizing he was sleep-talking—something he had never done in fifteen years. The next morning, as Matt dressed for work, Nat followed him and said, “You were talking in your sleep last night,” suggesting it was a sign of stress. Matt gave a short laugh, dismissing her worries, claiming it was just big deadlines and long hours at work, and he was tired. Nat nodded slowly, pretending to believe him, but the way he avoided her eyes made it impossible to trust his explanation.
That night, Matt returned home late, his tie loose and shoulders slumped, barely acknowledging Nat before heading straight for the shower. Nat noticed his jacket draped over the chair and a faint glow through the pocket fabric: his phone. Before she could stop herself, Nat pulled it out. The screen lit up with a new message, and though the phone was locked, the notification name made her stomach twist: “Emma,” her best friend. Everything around her went silent as her mind raced. Nat was frantically trying to guess the passcode when Lily walked in. “Mom, what are you doing?” Lily frowned, stating, “That’s Dad’s phone. That’s wrong. You should put it back.” Shaken, Nat put the phone back, realizing how guilty she sounded. Matt emerged from the bathroom, picked up the jacket, and glanced at Nat casually, asking, “Everything okay?” She forced a smile, lying, “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
Later that night, Nat woke up again, pulled from sleep by Matt’s quiet, murmuring voice. This time, the words were clearer: “She won’t suspect a thing. We’ve hidden it well.” Nat’s breath caught; the pieces clicked together—the late nights, the locked phone, the messages from Emma. She lay frozen, believing, He’s cheating on me. The next morning, Matt seemed unusually cheerful, casually suggesting he and Lily go to the market. Nat found this suspicious, as he never volunteered for grocery shopping. After they left, Nat grabbed her keys and followed them, staying a few cars behind. They did not go to the market. Instead, Matt drove into a quiet street, stopping in front of Nat’s mother’s old house—the one Lily had inherited.
Nat stopped at the corner, gripping the steering wheel. The house looked completely different; the faded blue paint was gone, replaced with fresh cream, the porch repaired. It looked alive, as if someone had been taking care of it. Then the front door opened, and Emma stepped out. Nat watched in disbelief as Emma hugged Matt, and then Lily. The three of them went inside together. He rebuilt my childhood home to live there with my best friend. A rage-filled Nat marched to the house, pushing the door open without knocking. “How could you do this? Build yourself a new life in my mother’s house, with her?” she shouted. Emma froze, and Lily stared, confused. Nat accused him of cheating and dragging their daughter into it, but Matt quickly pleaded, “Nat, please. We did all this for you.”
Nat scoffed, demanding an explanation that could justify the betrayal. Matt took a deep breath. “We were fixing up the house for your birthday. It was supposed to be a surprise.” Lily added softly, “Mom, you’re always talking about this place… I thought, maybe you should have it back.” Nat stood in silence, her pulse hammering. She looked around; everything was exactly as she had described it years ago. “Oh my God,” she whispered, covering her face. “I’m such an idiot.” Matt stepped closer, smiling gently, “I’m just glad to know you still get jealous.” He pulled Nat into a hug, and she let herself sink into it, realizing that true love wasn’t about never being afraid, but about choosing to trust, even when it terrified her.
