My Husband’s Driver Warned Me Not To Get In The Car. I Followed Him To A Secret House And Found Him Playing ‘daddy’ With Another Woman. How Do I Take Him Down?

A Husband’s Strange Behavior

At home, it was warm, but the atmosphere was thick. In the kitchen, the television was on. Art was sitting at the table, engrossed in his phone. In front of him was a plate of cold dinner he hadn’t even touched.

Art was a handsome man. Even now, at 41, with a budding paunch and thinning hair, he retained that polished air of a mid-level manager that had once won Carol over. But today, something about him was different. He flinched when the front door slammed shut and quickly turned his phone screen down.

“You’re back?” he asked without looking at her. “Dinner looks great. Thanks. I’m just not hungry.”

Carol took off her coat, feeling the usual weariness in her legs.

“You look a little pale, Art. Did something happen at work?”

“No,” he answered too sharply. Then he caught himself and forced a smile. The smile came out crooked, a little guilty. “No, everything’s fine. Just tired.”

“Hey, Carol. Tomorrow I have to go to Oakridge. There’s a mandatory regional development seminar.”

Oakridge was a small town about 25 miles away. Art often traveled for work, but he usually complained about it. Today, however, he seemed nervous.

“Okay,” Carol turned on the electric kettle. “Do you want me to iron a shirt for you?”

“I’ll do it,” he jumped up.

Just then, his phone vibrated silently on the table. He snatched it as if it were a grenade.

“I’ll iron it myself. And you know what? I’ll give you a ride to work tomorrow. I have to leave early anyway.”

Carol froze, cup in hand. Art hadn’t driven her to work in at least two years, claiming it was out of his way and the traffic was bad.

“You want to drive me?” she asked again.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that? We’re a family, aren’t we?”

He came over and gave her a clumsy kiss on the cheek. His lips were dry, and his shirt smelled of a sharp, unfamiliar women’s perfume.

“Someone must have been smoking near him at the office,” she thought. “Or…”

Carol pushed the thought away. She was used to trusting. Trust was the foundation her marriage stood on, even when the passion had long since faded.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “That would be great. My legs are really aching.”

The Warning in the Dark

Later that night, when Art went to the bathroom, taking his phone with him, Carol realized she had forgotten to buy milk for Ashley. Her daughter, a bright girl, was in her room studying for exams, and Carol didn’t want to bother her.

She threw her coat on over her bathrobe and hurried out to the small 24-hour convenience store near their house. The street greeted her with a damp wind. The streetlight above the entrance flickered, casting trembling shadows on the sidewalk.

Carol bought a carton of milk and a loaf of bread and was just stepping back out onto the sidewalk when a figure detached itself from the darkness at the corner of the building. She let out a choked cry, clutching the groceries to her chest.

It was Walter, but he looked different now than he had an hour ago in the park. His face was ashen. His lips were trembling not from the cold, but from fear. He was breathing heavily, as if he had run the whole way.

“Walter, what are you doing here?”

He came closer and grabbed her by the sleeve of her coat. His grip was iron tight, desperate.

“Carol, listen to me,” he whispered, glancing up at the lit windows of her apartment. “Tomorrow, do not get in his car. You hear me? Do not get in.”

“What? Why?” Carol recoiled, frightened.

“He offered himself. He offered so he could control you. So he’d know exactly where you are.”

Walter swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively.

“Don’t you dare go with him. Tomorrow morning at 7:15, a public bus leaves for Oakridge. The same one regular folks take.”

“Why would I go to Oakridge? I have to get to work.”

“To hell with work!” The old man’s voice broke into a croak. “It’s a matter of life and death, Carol. The life you… you fool… think is yours.”

Carol stood frozen. The cold seeped under her coat, seizing her heart. She had never seen the kind, quiet Walter like this. Terror sloshed in his eyes.

“Get on that bus,” he repeated, releasing her sleeve and stepping back into the shadows. “Just sit and watch. You will understand everything when you see who is on that bus.”

He vanished into the darkness as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Carol alone under the flickering streetlight. In her hands was the carton of milk, and in her head, a ringing, terrifying void.

Up in her window, the silhouette of Art appeared. He was on the phone with someone again. Carol looked at the window, then at the empty street where the old man had disappeared. For the first time in many years, she felt the familiar, firm, and safe ground begin to crumble beneath her feet.