My husband is on night shift

My husband works nights. I go to sleep early, wake up early, and he usually comes home around 7 am. He’s been doing this for years. He’s a corrections officer at the local county jail. He’s been acting funny lately. He’s been skipping lunch. I’d put his lunch in his bag when he leaves for work, but he doesn’t eat it. I thought he found someone else to buy him lunch so I didn’t mind. It’s hard work, and he can eat at home. And he’s been leaving early. I give him a kiss goodbye and he’s out the door. It takes him an hour to get there, but he’s already clocked in 45 minutes after he’s left. He’s been doing this for a while. I know there’s a bar he likes to stop at sometimes after work. They have a drink special before close and he likes to unwind before coming home. I thought maybe he was going there before work now, meeting some guys before his shift. It made sense, he doesn’t like to keep people waiting so he leaves our house on time. It didn’t seem like he was doing anything wrong, and it wasn’t my business. But I was worried when he stopped eating. He’s an active guy, he needs to eat. I thought someone was buying him lunch, but I didn’t like the idea of depending on someone else. I liked bringing him lunch, our little tradition. And he was tired, he was irritable, he wasn’t acting right. I didn’t want to be the wife who accused her husband of cheating at every little thing. I’d upset him, and he’d be mad I didn’t trust him. But I needed to make sure he was okay, that he was eating. So one night I followed him. I tried to be quiet. I had never followed him anywhere, and I didn’t want him to hear me. I drove my car up the street, parked, and waited for him to leave. I saw his lights turn on, his garage open, and when he pulled out I followed him. He didn’t go to the jail. I watched as he drove his car down side streets, smaller and smaller. He turned into one of those cul de sacs, the kind that’s shaped like a circle. His car stopped in the middle of the cul de sac, under a big tree. I thought he must have been hiding from someone, he didn’t have anywhere to park. The houses were close together with no driveways, so they must not notice him there. He left his headlights on and put the car in park. He opened the driver door, and stepped outside, looking around. I ducked under my steering wheel. I didn’t want to be seen. But he didn’t see me. He didn’t look my way. He opened the back seat of his car, and my heart crushed. I knew. He pulled out a large bag. It must have been his lunch. And he walked towards one of the houses. My eyes welled with tears. I knew this was it, this was his affair. It was over. I started my car and drove away. I saw him in my rearview mirror. He didn’t notice me. I went home and went to bed. My husband came home a couple hours later. I was asleep, but I woke up to his weight on the bed, his arm around me. “Hey pretty lady,” he whispered. “How was your night?” “It was good,” I replied groggily. “Yours?” “It was good. I had a good night. Made some money, won some pool, had a drink,” he said. “You made money, or you spent some?” I asked. “A little bit of both,” he said. I went back to sleep. I didn’t know how to confront him. The next morning he left again. He was acting normal, not irritable like he had been. And he ate his lunch. I made him a sandwich, and he said it was perfect. He put the lunch in his bag and kissed me goodbye. “Be careful,” I said. “Come home to me.” “I always do,” he replied. And he left. I went back to bed. I was tired, and I didn’t have anything else to do. I slept until I heard his car pull up. I looked at the clock, it was 7 am. I got up, put on a robe, and went outside. The perfect housewife. “Hey pretty lady,” he said. “How was your night?” “It was good,” I replied. “Yours?” “It was long,” he said. “But I made it. Take my bag?” I took his lunch bag. I lifted it up, and it was heavy. “Did you eat your lunch?” I asked. “I tried,” he said. “But I didn’t finish it. I saved it for you.” I looked inside the bag. There was a lot of food, and a plastic container full of soup. Chicken noodle. But why would he bring home his leftover lunch? He knew I’d eat it in the morning. He didn’t know. I looked at my husband. The man I loved, the man I married. He didn’t know what I did. “I’ll eat it,” I said. “Good,” he replied. “I don’t want to waste it.” And he walked in the house. I stood in the driveway, staring at the bag. It was still cold. My husband was a good man. He was a hard worker, and he did his job well. He was good to me, and always made me smile. I looked around, and I felt nervous. I didn’t know what I was doing. I decided to drive to the cul de sac. I knew the way. I drove on the side streets, smaller and smaller. And I found it. I pulled up to the house he had gone to. My husband didn’t leave for work until 8. I had plenty of time. I parked my car in the street, and his lights shone on me. I got out of my car. I didn’t know what I was doing. But I had to. I had to see. I walked up the path, to the door. I lifted my hand to knock. And I stopped. I looked to my left. Something was there. A man, standing in the shadows. Watching me. “Hello?” I said. “Who’s there?” He didn’t answer. He didn’t move. “I’m looking for my husband,” I said. “Have you seen him?” He still didn’t move. I stepped closer to him. “Hello?” I said. “Is that you?” I didn’t see his face. It was dark. But he didn’t seem to have one. “Are you my husband?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. I looked closer. It wasn’t him. “I don’t understand,” I said. “You go home now,” he said. “Your husband will be home soon.”

My husband is on night shift

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