I was surprised to find a life-sized statue of my spouse on our porch the morning he was unwell for the first time. He turned white, brought it inside, and refused to explain. When I read the note underneath it, everything I knew fell apart.
Jack never took sick days, even when he suffered the flu last winter, cut his thumb cutting bagels, or lost his mother.
I was surprised when he indicated he would take a sick day on Tuesday morning.
“I feel terrible,” he muttered, rasping.
“You don’t look good either,” I remarked, throwing away burned toast. “Take Tylenol and go to bed. You can get soup later from the pantry.”
He nodded, and I resumed my morning routine of getting three kids ready for school.
Noah rushed down the stairs, backpack half-zipped, math worksheet in fist. Emma was upstairs, likely on her phone instead of brushing her teeth as I had asked three times.
“Emma!” I shouted. We leave 15 minutes!
I prepared lunches and found Emma’s favorite hair tie while practicing my 9:30 work meeting notes.
Jack sat at the kitchen table ready to fall over in a heavy breeze.
“Promise to call the doctor if you’re not better by midday, okay?” I leaned forward to touch his forehead.
A few minutes later, I led the three kids to the door, Noah whining about his scientific project, Emma texting while walking, and Ellie pleading for a pet snake for the 18th time that week.
“No snakes,” I murmured, reaching for the doorknob.
I opened the door to a skewed reality.
Jack was on our front porch.
It wasn’t Jack—it was a life-sized clay figure of him with a smooth white surface. Everything was exquisite, from the slight bend in his nose from breaking it playing college basketball to the tiny wrinkles in his eye corners and the small scar on his chin.
Gasped Ellie. “Is that… Dad?”
It was too weird for me to respond. Our porch felt like a pop-up art piece for my husband.
Emma’s phone dropped behind me. “What the—”
I automatically said “Language.” I called over my shoulder, still staring at the statue. “Jack! Get out!”
Noah approached the statue, hand extended. ‘It looks precisely like him.”
I held his wrist. “Don’t touch.”
Jack appeared at the door. He was already pale, but seeing the statue made it almost as white as his imitation. He staggered, appearing faint.
What’s this? I demanded. “Who made this? Why is it here?
Jack leapt forward and hugged the statue’s torso without replying. Straining muscles, robe flapping open, he dragged it inside, scraping hardwood floor.
“Jack!” I followed him into the living room. “What’s up? Who crafted that? Why is it here?
He avoided my eyes. It’s nothing. I’ll handle it. Just take the kids to school.”
“Nothing? That life-sized monument of you on our porch is nothing?
His voice broke as he begged, “Please.” “Just go.”
I approached to examine his face. In ten years of marriage, he’d never looked so afraid.
“The kids can’t be late again,” he said. “Please.”
I paused, then nodded. “Fine. But when I return—”
“I’ll explain everything,” he said. “Just go.”
My mind raced as I led the kids to the car. Emma was unusually silent. Noah kept asking unanswerable questions. Ellie appeared confused.
Noah pulled on my coat sleeve as I fastened Ellie into her booster seat.
“Mom,” he whispered, “this was under the statue.”
His palm shook as he handed me crumpled paper. The world shrank to me and this note as I unfolded it carefully.
Jack,I’m returning the statue I sculpted thinking you loved me.I was devastated to learn you’ve been married nearly ten years.You owe me $10,000. either your wife reads everything.This is your only warning.
Without love, Sally
I suddenly didn’t mind a life-sized statue of my husband on the porch.
Did you see this? While putting the note in my pocket, I questioned Noah.
Shaking his head. “Reading letters or notes for others is rude.”
That’s right.” Despite screaming inside, I smiled at him. “Get you guys to school!”
I dropped them off one by one and kissed them farewell. They disappeared into their buildings as I waved and smiled. I then sat in my car and breathed through my disbelief, sadness, and rage saved for the kids.
Sally. The statue. The note… I read it again after taking it out of my pocket. Words hadn’t altered magically.
Jack had an affair.
I snapped the note using my phone. Then I looked for divorce lawyers. I called the first female-named, well-reviewed one.
“I need to see someone today,” I told the receptionist. It’s urgent.”
I explained everything to Patricia two hours later.
She leaned back in her chair, steepled her fingers, and said, “This note suggests an affair, but unless we find Sally or undeniable proof, he can claim it’s fake.”
“That’s not good enough,” I responded.
“I understand your frustration, but we need proof. Texts, emails—proof of the affair.”
I nodded, planning. “I’ll find it.”
“Don’t do anything illegal,” she said. No account hacking or—
“I won’t break any laws,” I promised. “But I will discover the truth.”
In the evening, I planned.
I spent the day half-heartedly planning how to prove Jack’s affair, exploring social media for any artist named Sally who may be connected to Jack, and reading every Reddit thread I could find on how to prove a spouse’s affair.
When I entered the kitchen, I realized it was all for nothing.
Jack collapsed at the kitchen table with his laptop open. I stood there watching my husband, this stranger, sleep. This liar. This crook.
I strolled over to check the laptop.
His open email provided all the proof I needed.
His email to Sally must have started when we departed that morning. A long series of emails said the same thing.
Jack begged: Don’t blackmail me. I guarantee to pay for the sculpture! Do not inform my wife about us.
Another email: I love you. I can’t leave my wife yet. Not till they are older. Neither can I live without you. Please spare us. Sally, we have something great. Please stay with me as I keep it a secret till I’m free.
Felt nauseous. I wanted to wake Jack and confront him, but I took copies of every email and sent them to myself. I copied Sally’s email.
My hands held steady. My pulse wasn’t.
The next morning, I waited until Jack left for work and the kids were at school. I wrote to the female sculptor of my husband’s statue.
My name is Lauren. I think you know Jack, my spouse. I found your note and statue yesterday. Do you want to talk? I have some questions.”
Within minutes, she replied.
So sorry. I learned he was married last week. He informed me about his divorce.
You were together how long? I requested.
Almost a year. We met during gallery openings. My art is sculpture.
Still love him? I typed.
Sally replied quickly: No. I’ll never forgive him for lying about being single.
Take a deep breath and ask the only important question:
Would you testify in court?
One month later, I sat in court with Jack, my attorney to my left, and his lawyer across the aisle. My stomach twisted with anger, pain, and vindication.
Sally testified. She brought her own screenshots and photos of them.
The proof was strong.
Jack never glanced at me.
Not when the judge gave me the house or full custody of the kids. Not when the court ordered him to pay Sally $10,000 for the sculpture.
Patricia grabbed my shoulder outside the courthouse. “You did well there.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said. “He hurt himself.”
Jack left the building with bowed shoulders, looking older than 35. He approached me but halted at my expression.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he added.
My laughter was short and unpleasant. «You never meant for me to find out»
“Lauren—”
“Save it,” I said. “Your paperwork shows your visitation schedule. Friday, pick up the kids on time.”
He was alone with his regrets when I left.
