I came home a day early and caught my husband, Dane, digging a hole in our frozen backyard like he was racing the clock. He jumped when he saw me and gave me a boring excuse that almost made me feel stupid for asking. Almost.
That night, one small detail didn’t add up. So I went back outside with a flashlight.
I stepped closer.
And that’s when I saw it—black plastic, half-buried in the frozen dirt.
A contractor bag.
Tied tight.
My stomach dropped.
“Dane,” I said. “What have you done?”
He jumped like I’d screamed.
Then he went pale.
Completely.
“YOU’RE HOME?!” he blurted.
“Yes,” I said. “Why are you digging?”
He looked at the hole. Then at me.
Then back at the hole.
I stared at him. “And what does it look like, Dane?”
He swallowed hard. “Okay.
Okay. Don’t freak out.”
He rubbed his hands on his jeans, smearing mud. “There was a dead animal.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“A raccoon. Or a possum. Something.” He spoke fast.
“I found it by the fence. I didn’t want the kids to see it.”
I stared at the bag again.
No smell.
No fur.
No mess.
Just… a clean black bag, tied like a gift.
“You’re burying it,” I said.
He nodded hard. “Yes.
It’s gross. I’m trying to handle it.”
It was the kind of explanation that made me feel stupid for panicking.
I let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”
His shoulders dropped like he’d been holding up a building.
“Okay?”
“Okay,” I repeated. “Finish. Then wash your hands.”
“I will,” he said quickly.
I turned and walked inside, telling myself to calm down.
Business trip.
Early flight. You’re tired. You’re jumpy.
Then I saw it.
A manila envelope on the kitchen counter.
Neat.
Intentional.
Dane’s full name written across it, and paperwork lying next to it.
Storage unit paperwork.
A receipt.
A key taped to a card.
My throat went tight.
Why would my husband need a storage unit?
We had a garage. An attic. A shed.
A whole life of places to put things.
I heard the back door open.
I left the papers where I’d found them, like nothing had happened.
Dane came in, cheeks red from the cold, and scrubbed his hands at the sink like he was trying to erase the last ten minutes.
He didn’t look at me.
“How was your trip?” he asked, too casually.
“It ended early,” I said. “So I came home.”
“Right,” he said. “Surprise.”
His eyes flicked—quick—to the counter.
To the envelope.
Then away.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
