When I finally realized my dream and bought a house for my husband and me, that very same day, he declared..

Will call when I get there. Love, J.” I ran my hand over the paper, noticing faint traces of erased words. What had he written first? And why erase it? That day was busy: I got the keys, entered the house as its rightful owner, toured the rooms, and made plans.

That evening, back at our rental, I realized James hadn’t called. Odd—he always let me know when he arrived safely. I tried calling him, but his phone was off or out of range.

Worried, I called his mother. Patricia answered after several rings, her voice tinged with annoyance. “Hello? Hi, Patricia, it’s Sarah.

Just checking if James got there okay.” A pause. “James?” Her surprise sounded genuine.

“He was supposed to come?” My heart sank. “Yes, he left this morning. Said he was going to help fix your roof.”

“Roof?” Her tone sharpened. “What roof? My roof’s fine.”

“If this is a joke, Sarah, it’s not funny.” “It’s not a joke,” I said, flustered. “He said he was going to you, took two suitcases, left early.” “I don’t know where he went, but it wasn’t here,” she snapped.

“Strange that a wife doesn’t know where her husband is.” She hung up, leaving me stunned. If James didn’t go to his mom’s, where was he? And why lie? I spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning, checking my phone every half hour.

James didn’t call, and his phone stayed off. In the morning, I called in sick to work, telling my boss I wasn’t feeling well. My mind raced—accident on the road? Or… something I didn’t want to consider.

Could he be with someone else? Was he leaving me? Around noon, my phone rang. I grabbed it, nearly dropping it. James? No, Emma—her voice full of concern.

“What’s wrong? You didn’t reply to my texts, didn’t show up to work.” I broke down, unable to hold back tears. Through sobs, I told her about James’s odd behavior, the suitcases, the call to his mom.

“Calm down,” Emma said firmly. “I’m coming over, and we’ll figure this out.” Half an hour later, she was at my place with a bag of groceries and a bottle of bourbon.

She made me wash my face, brewed strong tea, and poured a splash of bourbon into my cup. “Drink,” she ordered. “And tell me everything, from the start.”

I recounted how James had changed recently, the overheard calls, the suitcases, and his lie about visiting his mom. Emma listened silently, occasionally asking clarifying questions. When I finished, she shook her head thoughtfully.

“In my line of work, I’ve seen stories like this before. It usually means one of two things: either he’s got another woman, or he’s up to something he doesn’t want you to know about. Something he thinks you’d disapprove of.”

“Another woman?” My throat tightened. “We’ve been together eight years, things are good.” “Were good,” Emma corrected.

“If it’s not that, then it’s the second option,” she said, pouring more tea. “He’s planning something big and doesn’t want you to know. Something serious, if he’s willing to lie and vanish for days.”

“But what?” “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “But I’ve got a bad feeling. Remember those calls with his mom? The plan you weren’t supposed to suspect?”

I nodded. “It might be about the house,” Emma continued. “Maybe he wants to… I don’t know.

Sell it? Use it as collateral? Or something else, not what you planned?” “But the house is in your name,” I pointed out. “He can’t do anything without your consent.” “He can if he doesn’t know that,” Emma said, eyeing me. “You didn’t tell him it’s in my name.”

I shook my head. “I was afraid he wouldn’t understand. Thought I’d tell him later, after we moved in.”

“Then he thinks the house is yours,” Emma reasoned. “As your husband, he believes he has some rights to it. Not full, but enough to, say, leverage his share, sell it, or…”

She trailed off, but I knew where she was going. “You think he wants to take the house?” “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But something’s off. His lies, his behavior, those suitcases.

He’s gearing up for something big.” We spent the evening tossing around theories, trying to make sense of it. Emma suggested hiring a private investigator to track James, but I refused—it felt too extreme.

I still hoped there was a simple, harmless explanation. As Emma was about to leave, my phone rang. James’s name flashed on the screen.

“It’s him,” I whispered, my heart pounding. “What do I do?” “Act normal,” Emma advised. “Don’t let on you suspect anything.

Just ask where he is and when he’s coming back.” I took a deep breath and answered. “Hello?” “Hey,” James’s voice was overly cheerful.

“Sorry I didn’t call sooner, bad reception here. Everything okay?” “Yeah, fine,” I said, trying to sound casual. “How’s your mom? The roof?” A pause.

“Good,” he said finally. “The roof was a hassle, but I fixed it. Mom says hi.”

So he was still lying. I glanced at Emma, who sat nearby, listening intently. “When are you back?” “That’s what I wanted to talk about,” he said, his tone turning coaxing.

“Some things came up. I need to stay a few more days. A week, tops.” “What things?” I kept my voice steady, though anger and hurt boiled inside. “It’s complicated,” he dodged. “I’ll explain when I’m back.

How about you? All good?” “Yeah, great,” I played along. “I’ve got news too. I got the house keys.

It’s all finalized, the house is officially ours. Cool, right?” “Really?!” His voice carried what sounded like relief. “That’s awesome.

So when I’m back, we can start moving?” “Exactly,” I said. “When are you back, exactly?” “Next Friday,” he said quickly, as if he’d planned it. “You okay? Need anything?” “All good,” I assured him. “See you Friday.” After a brief goodbye, I hung up and looked at Emma.

“He’s lying. He’s been lying this whole time.” “Looks like it,” she nodded.

“The question is, why? And what do we do next?” I sank into a chair, drained. “I don’t know. I have no idea what to do.”

Emma sat beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Listen,” she said softly but firmly. “Whatever’s going on, you’re not alone.

I’m with you. We’ll handle this together, like we always have. Okay?” I nodded, tears streaming down my face.

“I think you should move into the house now,” Emma continued. “First, it’s your house. You have every right to live there.

Second, it’ll make you feel stronger—on your turf, your rules. Third, it’ll catch James off guard when he comes back. Might force him to show his hand sooner than he planned.”

Moving in without waiting for James felt right. Why stay in a rental when I had my own house? Plus, there, I’d feel in control, not like a victim. “You’re right,” I said, wiping my tears.

“I’m moving. Tomorrow.” “That’s my girl,” Emma smiled encouragingly.

“I’ll help with your stuff.” Each morning that week, I woke with one thought: what’s happening to my life? Moving into the house saved me from spiraling…