My Husband Rushed to Help His Ex Again—So I Decided to Tag Along

My Husband Kept Dropping Everything to Play Handyman for His Ex—So I Went with Him the Next Time She Called

I never imagined seeing my husband in a silk robe, with flawless hair and glossy lips, when I finally made the decision to go to his ex-wife’s house.

The expression on her face when she saw me standing next to him, however, was far more startling than that.

I stopped believing in coincidences the day I met Henry. At a bookstore, we ran into each other while grabbing the same battered copy of “The Great Gatsby.”

I still feel butterflies when hubby enters our front door after work, even after five years of marriage.

At least most days.

“Mel, have you seen my toolbox?” Henry came from the garage and called out.

While checking my watch, I stirred the spaghetti sauce that was simmering on the stove. Tuesday at 6:30 p.m. It was almost time for dinner.

I yelled back, “Under the workbench, where it always is,”

I could tell he had located it by the metallic clang of tools.

He then materialized in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a toolbox and holding car keys in his fingers.

“Going somewhere?” Even though I knew the answer, I still asked.

“Liz gave a call. She is concerned that there may be a severe problem with the strange sounds coming from her garbage disposal.

I put my wooden spoon down more forcefully than I should have. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He smiled at me apologetically. “When I return, I’ll reheat mine. No more than an hour should be needed.

Before I could answer, the front door closed.

Suddenly no longer hungry, I leaned against the counter and switched off the burner.

When I ask my husband to fix the dripping faucet in our bathroom or hang a bookcase, he doesn’t jump at the chance. However, when his former spouse called to report a broken towel bar? In only five minutes, he was out the door.

I tried to be cool at first.

I reminded myself that they had a shared past. In addition, he is “just helping.”

Then, within a few weeks, the third, fourth, and five requests arrived. leaky sink. The garage remote is broken. The sprinkler isn’t functioning.

Whenever he did, he would exclaim, “She has no one else, and I don’t want the house getting ruined.”

Instead of the three-bedroom colonial they had purchased together before to their divorce, you would believe he was referring to a national landmark. He insisted that she and he co-own the house “until the market improves.”

He had told me, “It’s just business, Melanie,” when we initially started dating. “We both invested in the property, and neither of us wants to sell at a loss.”

At the time, I trusted him. Five years later, though, I was beginning to have my doubts.

I put a hot cup of coffee on the nightstand next to our bed the following morning. Henry opened one eye and moaned.

“What time did you get in last night?” Perched on the edge of the mattress, I asked.

“Around eleven, I think.” He rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Her kitchen sink began to leak after the garbage disposal was fixed. The gasket had to be changed.

“Four hours to replace a gasket?”

He sipped his coffee. “She prepared the meal. It would have been impolite to leave.

I gazed at him. “She made you dinner.”

“Mel, that wasn’t planned. The time made her feel horrible.

Pushing back the curtains to allow in the morning sunlight, I got up and went to the window.

We needed to do something with our backyard. The deck was in dire need of a new coat of stain, and the flower beds were overrun with weeds.

However, Henry? He was too occupied.

“You know,” I continued softly, “our bathroom faucet has been dripping for three weeks.”

Henry let out a sigh. “I’ll get to it this weekend, I promise.”

However, he didn’t. Liz called on Saturday morning regarding a swaying banister.

I was sitting by myself on our couch one evening with a bottle of wine and an unopened cheesecake from our favorite bakery after hubby had skipped our anniversary dinner to fix Liz’s garage door opener.

I responded, “Just tell me the truth,” when he eventually entered the room at 10:30 p.m. “Are you still in love with her?”

Henry seems truly surprised. “What? No! How could you possibly think that, Mel?

“Let me see,” I said, crossing off justifications on my finger. “You run when she calls. You should drop everything to aid her. Her faulty cabinet hinge is an emergency, but our faucet has been dripping for weeks.

He sat on the couch next to me and had a slight sawdust odor.

“It’s not like that,” he remarked while stroking his hair. “She simply lacks the ability to maintain her house. You’re capable of doing stuff. You’re competent.

“So, I’m being punished for being self-sufficient?”

“No, that’s not what I—”

Henry, she’s playing tricks on you. You’re allowing her to do so.”

He clenched his jaw. “That is unfair. Sometimes she just needs assistance.

“Everyone needs assistance occasionally. However, the majority of us call a professional rather than an ex-spouse.

Henry promised to set better boundaries, and I pretended to trust him as the conversation came to a close as it always did.

A week later, Henry texted me when I was in the middle of a work presentation:

“Liz gave a call. The kitchen is flooding. I’m heading over immediately. It could be late.

Those words blurred as I peered at them.

Henry was packing his toolbox when I arrived home.

“Ready to go play hero?” Placing my laptop bag on the counter, I inquired.

He didn’t raise his head. “It’s not like that.”

With a “Fine,” I reached for my handbag. “Let’s go.”

He snapped his head up. “What?”

“Come on. You can ride with me.

“You want to come with me to Liz’s house?”

I remarked with a sardonic smirk, “I should be involved if we’re protecting your assets, right?”

After he paused, he slowly nodded. “All right. if that’s your preference.

With the exception of the radio playing gently in the background, the fifteen-minute journey to Liz’s house was quiet. I wondered how many times Henry had made this trip without me as I watched familiar areas pass by.

We arrived at a neatly painted colonial with well-kept plants.

Liz, in a silk robe, with flawless hair and glossy lips, opened the door. When she noticed me standing next to Henry, she froze.

“Oh,” she replied. “I didn’t know you were bringing company.”

I gave a charming smile. “Surprise.”

She gave Henry a quick look. “I didn’t think you’d bring your plus one to fix plumbing.”

Henry walked quickly by each of us and made his way to the kitchen.

He asked, not quite looking into our eyes, “Where’s the flooding?”

Liz remarked, “Right this way,”

I trailed them across a pristine living room. No indications of a woman experiencing a crisis over home maintenance were present.

The kitchen was just as spotless. The only sign of any “flooding” was a tiny, suspiciously fresh puddle under the sink. Five minutes before our arrival, I’d wager my wedding band wasn’t there.

Liz clarified, “It just started gushing,” “I was so scared.”

“I’m sure you were,” I leaned against the counter and whispered. “Good thing Henry’s always on call.”

Henry gave me a cautionary glare in return before focusing on the pipes. “It’s just a loose connection,” he responded after some time had passed. “Hand me the wrench from my toolbox, would you?”

I grabbed the toolbox and carried it over before Liz could move. “Here you go, honey.”

I took a moment to glance around while he worked. There were no indications that a male had entered the house. No additional toothbrush, no razors in the restroom, and no men’s shoes near the door.

Liz had a new partner who was incompetent at house repairs, so she wasn’t phoning Henry. She wanted him here, which is why she was phoning him.

“Would either of you like something to drink?” Liz inquired. “I made fresh lemonade.”

I said, “No, thank you,” before Henry could respond. “We have dinner plans.”

Henry raised his head, perplexed. He remained silent despite the fact that we had no plans for dinner.

After a few minutes, he declared, “All done,” and shut the cabinet under the sink. It was only a tenuous link. It should be all right now.

Liz said, “My hero,” and touched his arm. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Interjecting, “You’d call a plumber,” “Like the rest of us do.”

I took a folded piece of paper out of my handbag and gave it to Liz as Henry washed his hands in the restroom.

As she unfurled it, her eyes narrowed. “What’s this?”

I said, “Resources,” plainly.

It included a neat list of three trustworthy plumbers, two electricians, a gardener, and a screenshot of the most widely used dating app with the words “friendly matches nearby!” circled.

I had added, “If you continue calling my husband, I’ll assume you can’t read,” underneath it all.

Her face reddened.

In a low voice, she snarled, “You think you’re so clever,” “You have no idea what Henry and I shared.”

I grinned and said, “I know exactly what you shared,” “The past. The present and the future are what we have in common.

“Every time I call,” she said. “He comes running.” “What does that tell you?”

“That he’s loyal and kind,” I answered. “And that you’re exploiting those qualities.”

“You don’t need a man,” I replied at a regular volume as soon as I heard the bathroom door open. You require upkeep.

Henry returned to the kitchen, glancing uncertainly between us. “Everything okay?”

With a “Perfect,” I put my arm around his. “Ready to go home?”

At first, the drive back was calm. Henry cleared his throat after that. “That was… awkward.”

Was it? I found it to be instructive.

He gave me a look. “What does that mean?”

I took out a second piece of paper from within my bag. It was a divorce lawyer’s business card. On the back, I had even put the address.

When we came to a stop at a red light, Henry gazed at it. “Really? Are you issuing me a deadline?

“This is not a demand. A decision. The card was put on the dashboard by me. “If you want to keep fixing her house, you can live in it too.”

Henry remained motionless as the light turned green. Behind us, an automobile honked.

He finally said, “I didn’t realize how it looked,” as he gradually accelerated. “She really does need help—”

“So do I,” I said, cutting in. “I need my hubby to be there. Our dripping faucet is fixed by whom? Who attends anniversary dinners?

He remained silent for a while. After examining the lawyer’s card, he placed it inside the glovebox.

When he said, “I’ll call her tomorrow,” “Tell her I can’t be her handyman anymore.”

“You’d do that?”

He grabbed my hand as he reached across. “Mel, you are my choice. I always have.

Three months have passed since then. Since then, we haven’t returned to Liz’s.

She found someone, I heard. One of the numbers I provided her was a highly capable individual. Apparently, he bought her flowers and installed a new water heater.

What about us? Finally, my faucet was fixed. What about my husband? Let’s assume that he now understands who is actually in control of this marriage’s toolbox.