I found out that my husband is renting a house on the outskirts of town – my heart nearly stopped when I visited it.

My marriage felt like a dream until I discovered that my husband had rented a secret house on the outskirts of town. What I found there revealed a heartbreaking truth, exposing the dark reality of the man I thought I knew.

For years, I thought my husband Stan and I were living a fairy tale. He was my soulmate, not just a partner with whom I shared a roof or a bed. I happily prioritized his desires, even putting off having children. One day, a forgotten phone revealed the painful truth: my husband wasn’t who I thought he was.

Stan and I met seven years ago at a press conference in Tokyo. We’ve been together ever since and married for five of those golden years. He seemed perfect in every way.

“Mindy, you wouldn’t believe the kind of day I’ve had,” Stan once said as he collapsed onto our plush sofa after a long day at work. “But seeing your face makes it all better.”

I smiled and sat down next to him. “Tell me about it. I want to hear everything.”

Those were the days when we couldn’t get enough of each other.

Stan loved me and showered me with lavish gifts, but after a while, his expensive presents bored me. I wanted him, his time, not these materialistic sparkling diamonds or opulent pearls.

“Another necklace?” I asked once, trying to hide my disappointment as I opened the velvet box.

Stan beamed, oblivious to my tone. “Only the best for you, my dear.”

I forced a smile, wishing he understood that his presence was worth more than any jewelry.

Stan worked in an office in a great position and made good money. But the thing is, he spent more and more time at work while I stayed home dusting, cooking, and cleaning.

Stan hardly had time for me anymore, and I missed the days we watched Netflix, baked together, or even slept in. Stan came home later and later, and I was almost always asleep.

He was completely focused on work, and while his career soared to new heights, our connection faded.

While I was already struggling with the fact that Stan wasn’t spending time with me, I noticed one fateful morning, shortly after my husband had left for work, that he had forgotten his phone on the table in his hurry.

I thought he would come back to get it, but he didn’t.

I went about my work, doing the laundry and filling the vases with fresh garden flowers when his phone suddenly buzzed. Curiosity got the better of me, and I impulsively grabbed it to check the message.

Stan had locked his phone, but he didn’t know that I had once seen his pattern lock and memorized it, even though I had never snooped on his phone or his privacy.

But something compelled me to check the message after I saw that it was written in all caps with the words “Last Reminder.”

So, I unlocked Stan’s phone and saw the message: “STAN! THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING TO PAY THE RENT FOR THE HOUSE, OR I’LL HAVE TO RENT IT TO SOMEONE ELSE! TOMORROW IS THE DEADLINE!”

My hands trembled as I read the message again. Stan had rented a house? Without telling me? I felt like I had been punched in the gut.

At that moment, he called my phone. “Hey, honey. I forgot my phone at home. I’ll be home late tonight… important client meeting.”

I swallowed hard and tried to keep my voice steady. “Okay!”

As I hung up, I wondered what Stan might be hiding from me.

The rest of the day flew by as I obsessively watched the clock. At exactly five o’clock, I took a taxi and directed the driver to Stan’s office, which I knew closed at half past five or six.

I didn’t take my car because it was a yellow Mini Cooper, and I didn’t want to risk Stan finding out that I was following him.

“I have to get there a little early,” I told myself, my heart pounding. “I need to find out what he’s up to.”

At exactly 6 p.m., I saw Stan leave his office, get into his car, and drive to the outskirts of town. Odd.

“Follow that car,” I instructed the driver, feeling like I was in a spy movie.

After what felt like an eternity on the road, Stan parked in front of a small, run-down house and went inside.

I asked the taxi driver to wait and gathered all my courage to follow Stan ten minutes later. My hand shook as I reached for the doorknob.

“This isn’t going to work,” I whispered to myself.

Slowly, I opened the door, and my breath nearly caught in my throat when I saw Stan sitting on a chair next to an easel with pictures. What was going on here?

I burst in, and Stan’s face went so pale he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“M-Mindy?” he stammered. “What are you doing here?”

I ignored his question and let my gaze wander around the room filled with canvases and paint tubes. “What on earth are you doing here, Stan? Why did you rent this house?”

Stan didn’t understand how I had found out until I told him about the message on his phone. He sighed deeply and let his shoulders drop.

“This house is my escape from the daily grind. I come here to recharge and refocus.”

I felt a wave of relief and confusion. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

A blush crept up his face, and he turned his gaze away. “I was ashamed of my hobby since I have a high-ranking job. I was afraid of your teasing.”

I moved closer, and my anger subsided. “Stan, I would never laugh at something that makes you happy. But why all the secrecy?”

Although I wanted to believe him, my instinct told me he was still hiding something from me. And I was right.

Just two minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

Stan jumped up, panic flashing across his face. “Mindy, maybe you should go home now. I can explain everything later.”

But I was already on my way to the door. “No, I think I’ll get my answers now.”

“Mindy, wait…”

Stan tried to stop me, but I walked over to the door and opened it, only to be left in shock.

A young, beautiful brunette stood in the doorway, chewing gum and eyeing me curiously.

“Who are you?” I asked.

She blew a bubble before answering, “I’m Luke’s girlfriend. He paints portraits of me. And who are you? What are you doing here?”

My world spun. “Luke? Girlfriend?” I stammered. When I found my voice again, I explained, “I’m his WIFE! And his name is STAN! Not Luke!”

The girl’s eyes widened in shock. Before I could process what had happened, Stan rushed past me, shoved the girl aside, and slammed the door shut.

Pale as a ghost, he turned to me. “Mindy, I can explain…”

I pulled away as he tried to touch my face. “What’s going on here, Stan? Who is she?”

My eyes wandered around the room, and for the first time, I noticed that all the easels were covered with beige cloths. With trembling hands, I pulled the cloth off the nearest easel.

My breath caught in my throat. It was a picture of a half-naked woman, the same woman who had just been at the door.

Tears streamed down my face as I moved from easel to easel, uncovering more pictures.

“Mindy, please,” Stan pleaded. “It’s not what you think…”

But I wasn’t listening anymore. I sank to my knees and pulled more canvases out from under the bed. They all looked the same—portraits of scantily clad women in suggestive poses. And then I found the photos.

“Oh God,” I gasped, staring at pictures of Stan… my Stan… in compromising positions with these women.

The truth hit me like a freight train. Stan had cheated on me.

“It was a mistake,” he kept saying, his words tumbling over each other. “A kind of obsession I can’t get over. Mindy, please…”

But I was already on my way to the door, my vision blurred by tears.

“Mindy, wait!” Stan called after me. “Let me explain!”

I ignored his pleas and stumbled out into the night. My whole body shook as I got into the taxi, Stan’s cries still ringing in my ears.

Overwhelmed, I raced home, packed hastily, and sought refuge at my aunt’s house. The next morning, I called my lawyer and initiated divorce proceedings.

It’s been two weeks since that day. While I wait for the divorce process to begin, I can’t stop shaking.

How could I have shared my life with someone like Stan? How could I have been so blind?

I reported him to the police, destroying his carefully maintained public image. It seemed like the only way to regain some power in this nightmare.

As I sit in my new apartment, staring at the walls, I can’t stop thinking about how quickly my “perfect” marriage shattered. It was as fragile as glass and splintered into a million pieces at my feet.

I don’t know how long it will take for these scars to heal. The betrayal runs deep and was committed by the man I adored, trusted, and loved.

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