A Mysterious Note on My Husband’s Car Forced Me to Seek Legal Advice
A Stranger’s Note on My Husband’s Car Made Me Call My Lawyer
Sierra discovers a sticky note on her husband’s car while she’s in mommy mode and rushing her kids off to school, which makes her wonder where he’s been all weekend. She calls the number on the note in search of answers, and as her marriage slowly comes apart, secrets start to surface.
That Monday morning was like any other. I was rushing to get the kids off to school on time, totally in my mommy mode. That’s when everything changed with a piece of pink paper.
I had just loaded the kids into the car and was going to load up their backpacks and lunchboxes when I noticed the vivid pink sticky note stuck to the back of my husband’s vehicle.
With my heart racing, I stopped and went to read it.
I told the kids to “sit tight.” “I’m heading here right now! All I want to do is look at Dad’s automobile.”
Natasha yelled, “Okay, Mom,” from the back seat.
I apologise; last night I scratched your automobile. However, you shouldn’t park on the street! -neighbour located at 283. If you need anything, my number is this!
A wave of nausea and confusion overcame me. That number doesn’t belong to a residence near us, yet my husband Thomas is constantly parked in our garage.
My daughter questioned as I slipped into the driver’s seat, “What was it?”
“Nothing,” I said to her. “Just a piece of paper that got stuck on Dad’s car.”
Tom’s car should have remained at the airport all weekend as he had just returned this morning from a work trip.
My head was racing, and I started to feel sick to my stomach.
I sensed that a change was on the horizon.
“Enjoy your day, babies!” At drop-off, I stated this as the kids got out of the car.
Natasha reminded me, “Don’t forget, we have to make cookies for school tomorrow.” “We need like sixty cookies, Mom.”
I had to get everything for the cookies we needed to bake, so I dropped the kids off and drove to the grocery shop.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” As I made my way through the baking aisle, a young woman questioned me. She fastened the supermarket apron firmly around her waist.
“No, thank you,” I answered without thinking. “I’m just browsing.”
But I was unable to concentrate at all. At what game was Thomas playing?
Going up and down the aisle, I loaded the cart with enough ingredients for everything we needed, paid, and left.
I made the decision to give Thomas a call to simply check in.
I said, “Hi, honey,” as soon as he picked up.
“Hey, Sierra,” he addressed her. “How are you doing? I’m about to enter a meeting. Later, I’ll talk to you.
He then ended the call.
“What on earth is going on?” As I scooped up some gummy worms for my kid Jake, I stated out loud.
Later, as Natasha and I prepared for her class, I picked up the kids and made toasted sandwiches.
“Is everything okay, Mom?” Asking while combining the chocolate chips was Natasha. “You’re not helping Jake with homework.”
I answered, “Everything is fine,” and returned my attention to my kids.
However, my thoughts continued to run and I was unable to stop it. My mind was racing with conspiracies that I was unable to put an end to.
That night, when I had put the kids to bed, I called the number listed on the note. Before a happy voice responded, the phone rang again.
“Hello, is this house 283?” Nervously, I asked.
The woman answered, “Yes!” “Who am I speaking to?”
Sierra, I uttered. I apologise, but this morning I discovered your message in my husband’s car. Could you elaborate on the incident for me?”
There was a silent moment.
Yes, I am Jane, that’s right. I really apologise for that. Last night, while I was parked, I unintentionally scratched his car. 283 Elm Street is my address. Are you a new resident of the area?”
My heart was racing.
“No, no,” I replied. “Thomas was probably simply going to see a friend. I saw the automobile, so don’t worry about the scratch. Everything is well.
She said, “Oh, are you sure?” “I’m sure that the insurance will cover it.”
I responded, “I’m sure,” as I turned to face the window. “But can you tell me where exactly he was parked?”
For a minute, there was silence.
Jane’s voice was softer when she talked.
“He was parked directly in front of my house. A woman’s house sits next to the small park across the street. I apologise,” she uttered.
I said, “Thank you, Jane.”
With my head spinning, I hung up. I had been duped by Thomas. He was not travelling for work. Not that he’d left the automobile at the airport, either.
He was at some woman’s place instead.
I was not ready to face my spouse just yet. First, I needed evidence. I threw myself into bed next to him and pushed myself to sleep.
I fed the kids cereal for breakfast the following morning while pondering my next course of action.
Driving to Elm Street, I dropped them off at school. The GPS said it would take me around twenty minutes to get there. I searched for the neighbouring house and the park.
I rapped on the door before I did anything further. A woman in her thirties opened the door a short while later.
She said, “Hey, how may I help you?”
“I’m Sierra,” I introduced myself. “I believe my husband, Thomas, was with you this weekend?”
She put her palm over her lips and her eyes grew wide.
“Oh my God. I was unaware that he was wed. Please enter. My name is Mary.
My wedding band seemed to tighten around my finger as my heart ached.
“He did not bring us up? His kin?” I enquired.
Mary gave a headshake.
“He informed me he was single, though. We’ve been dating for a few months after meeting at a neighbourhood market. But he acknowledged that things have been busy at work lately. Thus, our interactions have not been frequent.”
“Mary, please assist me. I need to provide my divorce attorney with proof of his adultery. This is not a man I can continue to be married to, especially with children. Could you please assist me?”
Mary gave me a determined expression.
Naturally, she replied. “We need to catch him in the act.”
Mary was going to text Thomas later that night to invite him over. She sincerely wanted to eat dinner with him at home, she told him.
She said, “I’ll tell him that I cooked,” as I was leaving her house. “That usually gets him here.”
With the intention of catching Thomas in the act, I drove to Mary’s house after leaving the kids with my mother. Mary gave him a door kiss as he got there.
I took the shot while feeling queasy. I then emerged from my hiding spot.
“Thomas,” I insisted upon. “What the hell is this?”
His countenance became pallid.
“Sierra, what are you doing here?”
Mary glared at him while crossing her arms.
“Thomas, you lied to both of us,” she remarked. “How were you able to? And you’re a parent?”
He stumbled, searching for the perfect words, but none came to mind.
His words, “It’s not what it looks like,” came out at last.
I said, “Save it,” while grasping my camera. “I have all the evidence I require. I’m prepared to initiate a divorce.”
Asking to follow me to the car, “Sierra, please,”
I dismissed him and entered, eager to get home and see my kids.
Over the next few weeks, our mutual betrayal brought Mary and I together as odd companions. What surprised me the most was how devoted my kids became to her so fast.
I had the greatest sense of empowerment and relief the day the papers were finally signed.
Yes, my house was destroyed along with my heart. My children, however, intervened while I was trying to mend myself, prepared to bring the joy that only children can to my life.
What about Thomas? He returned to live with his parents. He didn’t even try to improve the situation.
Though it has been fictionalised for artistic purposes, this work draws inspiration from actual individuals and events. For reasons of privacy protection and story improvement, names, characters, and details have been changed. Any likeness to real people, alive or dead, or real events is entirely accidental and not the author’s intention.
The publisher and author disclaim all liability for any misinterpretation and make no claims on the veracity of the events or character portrayals. The thoughts represented in this story are those of the characters and do not necessarily represent the viewpoints of the author or publisher. The story is offered “as is.”
