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?

The Promissory Note

Carol entered the apartment and threw the logbook on the table, right in front of Art. The dull thud sounded like a judge’s gavel. Art, who was sitting with the TV remote, jumped. He picked up the notebook, opened it to a random page, and his face instantly turned ashen. He flipped through the pages, and with each turn, he seemed to shrink, becoming smaller, more insignificant.

“Where? Where did you get this?” he croaked, not looking up.

“That doesn’t matter.” Carol’s voice was as hard as steel. “What matters is what’s written in it. You stole money from Ashley. From your own daughter.”

Art leaped to his feet, began pacing the room, clutching his head.

“Carol, I’ll return it all. I swear it was temporary. I just had debts. Debts for a coat, for a roof repair in Oakridge.”

Carol didn’t shout. Her calm scared him more than hysterics would have.

“You will return everything. To the last cent.”

“Of course. I’ll sell the car.” He grabbed her hands, looking into her eyes with dog-like devotion. “I’ll list it tomorrow. I’ll take out a loan. I’ll fix everything. Carol, honey, do you hear me? Just don’t leave. Don’t tell Ashley. Don’t ruin me.”

Fear sloshed in his eyes. A primal, animal fear. Fear of losing his comfortable life. Fear of scandal. Fear of what people would say. Carol saw that fear and mistook it for remorse. She took out a sheet of paper and a pen.

“Write.”

“Write what?”

“A promissory note. That you pledge to return the full amount you withdrew from the account within one month, and that you will cease all contact with that family completely.”

Art wrote quickly, sloppily, with misshapen letters. His hand was shaking. When he finished and handed her the paper, Carol saw he was crying again.

“I’m an idiot, Carol. I’m an idiot. I almost lost everything. Thank you for giving me a chance.”

The Calm Before the Storm

The following week passed like a strange, sweet dream. Art really did change. He came home at 6:00 on the dot. He brought groceries—expensive and delicious things they used to only afford on holidays. He fixed the dripping faucet in the bathroom himself, which had been leaking for 6 months. In the evenings, he sat with Ashley, helping her with her homework.

Carol, passing her daughter’s room, would hear their voices.

“Dad, look. This projection is wrong.”

“You’re right, Ash. Good eye. You’re so observant. Let’s redraw it.”

Ashley was glowing. She didn’t know the truth. She only saw that Dad had suddenly become attentive and caring. And Carol, watching her happy daughter, felt the knot of ice in her chest begin to melt. Maybe people do change. Maybe the fear of losing his family had really brought him to his senses.

Even Trudy traded her anger for kindness. On Saturday, she invited Carol for tea.

“Come in, Carol dear. Sit down.”

The mother-in-law poured tea into her best china. On the table were pastries from a fine bakery.

“I’ve been thinking… maybe we were too hasty. We’re all human. We all make mistakes.”

She pushed a bowl of jam toward Carol.

“Art told me everything. About the car, the money. He’s ready to do anything to save the family. And you know what? I support him. Family is the most important thing. And those youthful mistakes, well, they happen. The main thing is that he’s made a choice, and he chose you.”

Carol sipped her tea, listening to her mother-in-law’s measured voice, and felt the tension that had gripped her for the past few days release. She wanted to believe. God, how she wanted to believe that the nightmare was over.

“Do you really think so, Trudy?”

“Of course, dear. You are a wise woman. You were able to forgive. That is worth a great deal. Now we will fix everything. We will live better than before.”

That evening, the three of them had dinner together. Art joked, told stories from work. Ashley laughed, and her laughter filled the apartment with a living warmth. Carol looked at her husband. He seemed tired but calm. He really had put the car up for sale. She had seen the online ad. He had stopped hiding his phone, leaving it on the sofa, screen up. It seemed the storm had passed.

Before bed, Art hugged her.

“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear. “I will never let you down again.”

Carol closed her eyes. For the first time in a long time, she fell asleep without heavy thoughts. She thought about how tomorrow was Sunday, how they would go for a walk in the park, how Ashley would soon start college, and the money for her education would be there. That life, though cracked, had been pieced back together. She felt like a victor. She had won back her husband, her daughter’s future. She had saved her home.