When my husband told me he was going to a childhood friend’s funeral, I didn’t question it for a second. Why would I? We’d been married for twenty-one years. I trusted him. I believed him.
But later that same day, a trip to our quiet country house turned into something out of a nightmare.
I found him standing behind the shed… holding a gasoline can.
And I wish to God I hadn’t seen what he was trying to burn.
Twenty-one years of marriage can disappear in a single breath. I never thought that would happen to me.
My name’s Alice. I’m 46 years old. And last Saturday destroyed everything I thought I knew about my life.
Jordan and I first met in a cozy little bookstore downtown when I was twenty-five. He was browsing the cooking section, I was balancing a ridiculous pile of recipe books in my arms… until they slipped and tumbled to the floor.
“Let me help you with those,” he’d said with that boyish smile, crouching down to gather the books.
We ended up going for coffee that same afternoon. He made me laugh so hard my sides hurt. We talked for three straight hours without even noticing the time.
A year later, we were married in a small church. My mom cried happy tears the whole time, and his father gave a toast so heartfelt I still remember every word. It felt like the perfect start to our forever.
We built a life. Two children, now grown—Amy, living in Oregon, and Michael, who moved to Texas with his girlfriend last year. Our golden retriever, Buddy, still bounds to the door when we come home. Sundays were for family cookouts, and Christmas mornings… pure magic.
Ours wasn’t a whirlwind, movie-style romance—it was the solid, steady kind. Dependable. Safe. Or so I thought.
A month ago, Jordan came home looking worn and heavy-hearted.
“I need to drive upstate this weekend,” he said, his voice tight.
“What for?” I asked, setting my coffee mug down.
“Eddie’s funeral. You remember me mentioning him from high school?”
I frowned. “I don’t think you ever talked about an Eddie.”
He shifted in his chair. “We stayed in touch online. Childhood friends. Cancer got him.”
“I’m sorry, honey. Do you want me to come with you?”
“No.” The word was sharp, too quick. Then he softened it. “I mean… you didn’t know him. It would be awkward. I’d rather process this alone.”
Something in his tone made me pause. But I didn’t push.
“Okay. When will you be back?”
“Sunday evening. I’ll just take my car, pack light.”
Saturday morning was gray and drizzly. Jordan kissed my cheek before leaving. His suitcase looked barely packed.
“Drive safe,” I called after him.
“Sure,” he replied, already reversing out of the driveway.
The house felt too quiet. I decided to take a drive out to our country house—just to check on the garden. Maybe pick some fresh tomatoes for when Jordan came home.
It’s a peaceful forty-five minutes along winding country roads, the kind where you can see old barns and rolling hills for miles.
But when I pulled up the gravel driveway… my heart nearly stopped.
Jordan’s car. Parked near the shed.
I gripped the steering wheel so tight my knuckles hurt.
“What the hell…?” I whispered.
For two whole minutes, I just sat there, staring. Then I climbed out, calling, “Jordan?” as I stepped onto the porch.
No answer. The house was empty. His keys weren’t there.
I circled around to the back… and that’s when I saw him.
Jordan was behind the shed, pouring gasoline on something. The sharp chemical stench hit me instantly.
“JORDAN?! What the hell are you doing?”
He jumped like I’d caught him in the middle of a crime. The gas can slipped from his hands.
“Alice?? Oh my God—you shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you! You’re supposed to be at a funeral!”
He stepped sideways, blocking whatever he’d been dousing. “I was. It’s… nothing. I stopped here on my way back.”
“It’s three o’clock!”
“The service ended early. Just… burning weeds. Lot of ticks out here.” He fumbled for matches, hands trembling.
“Don’t you dare!” I shouted.
But the match was already lit. One second, the flame danced in his fingers… the next, it hit the ground.
WHOOSH.
Orange fire tore across the earth, heat slamming into my face.
“Are you insane?!” I yelled, trying to push past him.
“Stay back! It’s dangerous!” he shouted, but I shoved him aside.
The flames began to die down, revealing what he had tried to destroy.
Photographs. Hundreds of them.
I dropped to my knees. My jacket smothered the embers, my hands burning from the heat—but I didn’t stop. I had to see.
Jordan in a suit I’d never seen before. A dark-haired woman in a wedding dress beside him, smiling. Jordan holding a baby boy with the same gray eyes. Birthday parties. Christmas mornings. Beach trips.
All with her. And the boy.
My voice broke into a whisper. “No… no, no, no.”
I turned, but Jordan stood frozen, pale, not saying a word.
“There was no funeral.”
“Alice…”
“There was no Eddie.”
“Please, let me explain.”
“How long?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“Nine years,” he whispered. “Her name was Camille. Was.”
“Was?”
“She died two weeks ago. Car accident. Drunk driver. Tommy—our son—was with her.”
“Our… son?” My knees felt weak.
He nodded, tears spilling. “He was eight.”
“You had another life,” I said flatly.
“Not married… but yes.”
“And you hid them from me for nine years.”
“I told you I was visiting my brother,” he said miserably.
“Your brother lives in California.”
“I know.”
Every business trip, every late night, every “weekend away”—lies.
“Did you love her?”
“Yes. And I love you too. I know that sounds—”
“It sounds sick.”
He wiped his face. “I kept the lives separate. You never knew.”
“Until now. And now you’re here burning the evidence.”
“I couldn’t keep it. It hurt too much. But I couldn’t just… throw them away.”
“You could’ve told me the truth.”
“And lose you? Lose our kids? I couldn’t.”
“You already lost everything, Jordan. You just don’t know it yet.”
We drove home separately. My hands shook the whole way, those pictures replaying in my head like a cruel movie.
On the porch, he paced like a man waiting for his sentence.
“What happens now?” he asked finally.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you leaving me?”
“I don’t know,” I said again.
“I love you, Alice. More than anything. I know I don’t deserve forgiveness.”
“You’re right. You don’t.”
“But I need you. I can’t lose you too.”
I swallowed the urge to scream. “Don’t talk about them.”
“I have to. They were my life for nine years.”
“Then what about us, Jordan? What about our kids?”
He sat on the step below me. “How do I fix this?”
“I don’t think you can.”
“There has to be a way.”
“I need time,” I told him.
“How much?”
“Maybe forever.”
He nodded. “I’ll sleep in the guest room. Give you space.”
At the door, he looked back. “I’m sorry, Alice. More than you’ll ever know.”
The house felt strange as he walked inside—like it wasn’t ours anymore.
And the truth is… I still don’t know if I’ll ever be the woman who forgives him, or the woman who walks away.
Right now, I’m just the woman standing in the ashes of a life I thought was real.