Hubby:Hi, baby. Have you left work yet?
Me:I’m just about to pull out of the driveway. What’s up?
Hubby:I got you just in time then. Could you stop by the shops to pick up some more milk and Cheerios, please? Our son seems to think he can survive on a diet of nothing but cereal.
Me:LOL! I’ve already told him he can’t have them for breakfast, lunch,anddinner all in the same day.
Hubby:Might be time to take out thepadlock, then?
Me:LMAO! It’s okay. I’ll have another word with him. Anything else you need?
Hubby:Just your sexy self, home safe.
Me:Be there shortly.
Hubby:I love you x
Me:Love you, too!
I don’t know why, but knowing I don’t have to go straight home to face my husband brings an unexpected sense of relief. It’s as though the stranger’s cryptic message has burrowed into my mind, unsettling me enough to make me second-guess everything I thought I knew about Adrian. Which is ridiculous. There isn’t a thing I don’t know about him. I’ve known him since we were teenagers. He’s never kept secrets from me, and I’m certain he wouldn’t start now. He’s an incredible husband and a devoted father.
Whoever this Kaden Grant is, he can go to hell for making me doubt my own husband, even for a second.
I shift into reverse with a little more force than necessary and peel out of the driveway. As I head towards the plaza, I try to shove the stranger and his message out of my mind. But it’s hard to ignore the worry, confusion, and fear creeping in.
After arriving at the supermarket, it takes me twenty minutes to weave through the aisles, pay for the items, and dump them into the boot of my car.
Now, back in the driver’s seat, I don’t start the engine right away. Instead, I reach for my phone on the console, freshly connected to the charger. I switch it on, tap open my messenger app, and pull up the message I’ve been obsessing over for the past four days.
I’ve read it more than thirty times, yet I still can’t summon the courage to respond. How do you even reply to something like that? It’s not every day a stranger reaches out, hinting at secrets about your spouse, secrets you never even knew existed, and leaves you twisting in a mix of unease and disbelief.
And I can’t just pretend it never happened. Kaden’s message was deliberately vague, carefully worded to leave me questioning everything, and a part of me, desperately wants answers.
The only thing I’ve taken from his message is the part where he warns me not to mention it to Adrian. And I haven’t—nor do I intend to, because why stir up unnecessary tension? For all I know, this could be some cruel prank, designed to hurt and humiliate me.
Yet there’s that small, insistent voice at the back of my mind that whispers: what if it isn’t? What if Kaden really does know something about my husband that I don’t?
I scroll down to his contact details. He left a mobile number and an email address, both of which I’ve purposely ignored. But the curiosity is killing me. It’s been four days, and I’m onthe verge of ripping my own hair out if I don’t get answers. Enough time has passed that I think—hope—I’m finally ready to speak to him.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I copy the number and paste it into the keypad. My thumb trembles nervously over the call button, and after a full minute of doing nothing, I back out instead, quickly exiting the screen and watching it instantly go blank as my resolve drains away.
You can do this, Hope. Just hear him out and after that you’ll never have to hear from him again.
After five minutes of hesitation and doubt, I force myself to go through with it, but rather than calling, I open the text message option. With my nerves frayed, there’s no way I’d manage a single coherent word if I tried to speak to him at this moment.
In seconds, a new thread lights up on my screen, and my fingers take over, saying what my voice cannot.
Me:Hi Kaden, this is Hope Turner. I’m sorry for the delay in replying, but I needed a few days to process everything you threw at me—which, by the way, was a lot. I still don’t understand what your interest in my husband is, or why you felt the need to look into him at all. He has never been in any kind of trouble. Adrian is a devoted husband and father, well respected and loved byalmost everyone who knows him, so I’m at a loss as to what you think you have on him that could possibly justify this.
Me:And FYI, I know my husband VERY well. I certainly don’t need a complete stranger telling me otherwise. If this is some sick joke you think is funny, I sincerely hope you get the help you need. But if you’re actually being genuine, if you truly have information about my husband—then yes, I want to know what you know. That said, I will not meet you in person. I don’t know you from a bar of soap, and frankly, you could be a complete psycho.
There—it’s done. The floodgates are open, and all I can do now is wait for whatever follows.
I drop my phone back onto the console and turn the ignition on. The engine instantly rumbles to life, and a few minutes later I’m back on the road, the familiar stretch leading me home. But the closer I get, the heavier the silence in the car becomes, anticipation knotting my nerves.
I switch on the stereo and leave it on a random station, anything to drown out my incessant thoughts.
Just before I pull into the driveway, my phone rings. Kaden’s number flashes across the Bluetooth screen, like astark warning. On instinct, I quickly decline the call, my pulse thudding as the line goes dead.
