Every Time My Husband ‘Works Late,’ He Ends up at the Same Address – So I Drove There Myself

He hesitated, then admitted: “I know I should have told you. But I was afraid you’d be upset. That you’d think I was wasting time when I should be working more.”

My chest tightened.

I had spent weeks tormenting myself, imagining the worst. But all along, he had just been giving a few lonely kids the warmth of a father figure.

“Caleb, you know me better than that,” I whispered.

“I do,” he admitted. “I guess I was ashamed. It felt selfish spending time here when we have our own problems. But these kids, Em…” His voice softened. “They needed someone.”

Tears burned my eyes. I felt like a fool.

“I’m so sorry, Caleb,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I thought…”

“I can guess what you thought,” he said, moving to sit beside me. He gently took my hands. “And I understand why. I should have told you from the start.”

I wiped my tears, glancing toward the kitchen, where I could hear the children’s voices.

“Can I stay?” I asked. “Can I… help?”

His face softened. He smiled. “I’d like that.”

We sat with the kids that night, talking, laughing, and sharing stories. Jake was guarded at first, watching me with cautious eyes. But as the evening wore on, he began to open up.

“Mom tries,” he told me as the little ones colored at the coffee table. “But she’s all we’ve got since Dad left. Someone has to make money.”

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