Jack’s Sick Day
Jack never missed work—not for illness or even his mother’s death. So when he called in sick one Tuesday morning, hunched and coughing at the kitchen table, I knew something was wrong.
“I feel awful,” he said.
“You look worse,” I replied, handing him Tylenol.
I took over the chaotic morning routine with our three kids. But when I opened the door to leave, I froze. A life-sized white statue of Jack stood on the porch—perfect down to his scar and nose.
“Is that… Dad?” Ellie whispered.
Jack appeared behind us, went pale, and without explanation dragged the statue inside. “I’ll handle it,” he muttered, avoiding my eyes.
“You’re going to have to do better than that, Jack.”
The Note
As we loaded into the car, Noah tugged on my sleeve. “Mom,” he whispered, “this was under the statue.” It was a wrinkled note:
“Jack,
I’m returning the statue I made while believing you loved me.
Finding out you’ve been married for nearly ten years destroyed me.
You owe me $10,000… or your wife sees every message.
—Sally”
I smiled at Noah, hid the note, and drove the kids to school. By 10 a.m., I was sobbing in a parking lot. By noon, I was at a lawyer’s office.
The Truth
At home that night, Jack had passed out at the table. His laptop was open. I found emails:
“Please don’t do this.”
“My wife can’t find out.”
“I still love you, Sally.”
I saved everything.
The Ending
Sally agreed to testify. In court, Jack said nothing. The judge awarded me full custody, the house, and ordered Jack to pay Sally.
“I never meant to hurt you,” Jack said.
“You never meant for me to find out,” I answered—and drove away.
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