Don’t judge me—Travis is a lightweight when it comes to drinking.
We’ve been married for five years, so trusting him is second nature. It started as a joke when I had a marker in hand while he was getting dressed. I wrote on his chest, “This is my husband—touch him, and you’ll pay—M.”
“Micaela,” he said as he left, “I’m just going out for a few drinks. I’ll be back early.”
While he was out, I put up the Christmas tree and decorated the living room. But when Travis stumbled back home, clearly intoxicated, I helped him to bed and discovered a reply to my note.
“Keep the change,” it said.
I chuckled at the message, thinking nothing of it. But as I stayed up watching Christmas movies, the message kept replaying in my mind.
The next day, I asked Travis about the party. He told me they started at the office, then went to a bar for karaoke, and ended up at a club. When I brought up the note, he looked puzzled.
“Probably one of the guys,” he said. “There was a lot of drinking, and you know how the guys get.”
Still uneasy, I turned to my mom for advice on dealing with feelings of distrust. Her solution? Plant a GPS tracker in Travis’s car. I wasn’t keen on snooping, but I needed to quiet my nagging doubts.
For the week before his Christmas break, I monitored his movements from my laptop. Then, one evening, he called to say he needed to stay late for work. I believed him, but when I checked the tracker, his car was heading in the opposite direction of home.
I followed him and discovered his car parked in the driveway of a beautiful house. My heart raced as I watched from my car and saw him emerge with a woman. They hugged and kissed before he left.
Feeling my world crumble, I took photos of them together. The reality of my marriage falling apart hit hard. I approached the house, and Travis, caught off guard, could only watch as I walked toward them.
“So, you’re the woman who left a message on my husband?” I asked.
Instead of cowering, she confidently told me I deserved better. “Husbands like this deserve to be treated like spare change,” she said, glancing at Travis.
He, red-faced with anger and shame, shouted, “How dare you?”
But she had already shut the door. I left Travis standing there and returned to my car, where I found a text from my mom with the number of a divorce lawyer.
It was the painful Christmas gift I gave myself instead of the holiday celebration I had hoped for. As I face a new year of rebuilding and finding my own happiness, I realize how unpredictable life can be—even after five years of marriage.
If it were you, what would you have done?
