Margaret never imagined she’d come home to find her husband, Martin, digging frantically in their garden – alongside his ex-wife.
The sight of their dirt-stained hands and quiet whispers made her heart race, and when she confronted them, Margaret realized Martin wasn’t the man she thought she knew.
I’d heard of men cheating with co-workers, friends, even exes, but I never thought I’d be forced to doubt my husband, Martin, in this way.
I always thought he was perfect – the man I’d dreamed of.
We met two years ago, just after I’d ended a five-year relationship.
I was heartbroken and insecure, feeling completely lost when Martin came into my life like a breath of fresh air.
From the beginning, he was kind and attentive, always willing to listen to me unload my day, never distracted by his phone or looking bored.
He was everything I thought I needed.
What sealed my affection for him was when he showed up at my door with homemade chicken soup and a collection of my favorite romantic comedies.
“Everyone needs a little tenderness when they’re feeling down,” he said with his charming smile.
This is it, I thought. This is the man I’ve been waiting for.
One of the things that had charmed me about Martin was his nervous stutter.
When he was anxious or stressed, his words would stumble over each other, and I found it adorable.
It made him more real, more human.
Like that time, a month into our relationship, when he took me to a fancy Italian restaurant for our “monthiversary.”
He was passionately explaining his company’s new accounting software, waving his fork around, when it slipped out of his hand, splashing tomato sauce on his shirt.
His face went red as a tomato.
“S-sorry,” he stuttered, looking mortified. “I didn’t mean to m-muck it up.”
I reached across the table, took his hand, and smiled.
“It’s okay. Red suits you.”
He laughed, and the tension melted away.
In that moment, my belief that he was someone I could really be with solidified.
As our relationship grew, Martin opened up about his past, particularly his ex-wife, Janet.
He described her as someone who was constantly chasing “more”—more money, more status, more things.
“Nothing was ever enough for her,” he said, shaking his head.
Their marriage had collapsed under the weight of her demands, he said.
“I couldn’t keep up with her. I felt like I was drowning, and she kept dragging me down,” he confessed one night.
I had vowed never to be like that—I would love him for who he was, not for what he could give me.
So when he asked me to marry him a year into our relationship, I didn’t hesitate.
Our wedding was intimate and beautiful, and it was the happiest day of my life.
But last Tuesday, everything changed.
I had just come back from visiting my mother and had decided to surprise Martin with his favorite meal, lasagna.
As I pulled into the driveway, I slammed on the brakes when I saw two figures digging in our yard—Martin and Janet.
For a moment, I thought my eyes were deceiving me.
What were they doing together?
And why were they destroying my yard?
I got out of the car and walked straight toward them.
“What’s going on?” I asked, anger rising in my voice.
Martin froze, dropping the shovel.
“M-M-Margaret!” Y-you’re home early!”
His familiar stutter only confirmed my suspicions—he was hiding something.
All the worst thoughts flooded my mind.
Was he cheating?
Why was Janet here?
Why were they digging up our yard?
“We were just—” Martin began, but Janet interrupted him.
“She deserves to know, Martin,” she said, wiping her hands.
“We buried a time capsule here, ten years ago.”
“A time capsule?” I repeated, incredulous.
“Yes, from when we lived here together,” Janet explained, pointing to the metal box at their feet.
“We always planned to dig it up someday.”
Martin looked embarrassed.
“Y-yeah, we thought it would be fun to reminisce. »
I stood there, stunned.
“So you decided to destroy my garden for your little trip down memory lane?”
“I-I-I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t think,” I retorted before walking back into the house, slamming the door behind me.
Inside, I paced, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
How could Martin have kept this from me?
And why on earth would he prioritize his past with Janet over our life together?
I heard the front door open and low voices.
Then Martin called, “Margaret? Can we talk?”
I stepped into the hallway, where they stood with the muddy time capsule between them.
“What is there to talk about?” I asked coldly.
“Please, let us explain,” Martin pleaded.
“It’s not what you think.”
Janet interjected.
“We just wanted to go back in time.
There’s nothing more—”
“Fine,” I interrupted.
“Go on, dig into the past.
I’ll be outside.”
I walked out of the house, feeling a mixture of anger and betrayal.
As I looked at the mess they’d made of my yard, an idea formed in my mind.
I gathered wood for a campfire.
By the time the fire started to crackle, the sun had already set.
I could hear Martin and Janet laughing inside, probably about something from the time capsule.
I shouted, “Why don’t you bring this stuff in here?
We could make a campfire.”
They joined me, bringing the capsule with them.
I grabbed a handful of its contents—old photos, letters, trinkets.
Without hesitation, I threw them into the flames.
“What are you doing?” Janet exclaimed.
“Burnt bridges should stay burned,” I said firmly.
“It’s time to focus on the future, not the past.”
As I watched the fire devour their memories, I realized something—Martin was not the perfect man I thought I’d married.
He was flawed, just like everyone else.
Janet stepped back, her face pale.
“I think I should go.”
Neither Martin nor I stopped her as she left.
Once we were alone, Martin turned to me with tears in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Margaret,” he said.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
I didn’t know how to tell you about the capsule.
I was afraid you’d think I still had feelings for Janet.
I just wanted to get it out of the way before you got back.
I made a mistake.
Can you forgive me?”
“I don’t know,” I said, staring into the fire.
“You broke my trust, Martin.
That’s not something you can fix overnight.”
“We have a lot to talk about,” I continued.
“But not tonight.
Tonight, I need space.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Martin said, defeated, before heading back into the house.
I stayed by the fire as it slowly died.
The garden would have to be replanted.
New seeds, new life.
Maybe our relationship could be the same.
Only time would tell which path we would choose.
But one thing was for sure: Martin would never be the same in my eyes.
What would you have done in my place?