Margaret never imagined she’d return home to see her husband, Martin, desperately tearing up their lovely garden with his ex-wife by his side.

The quiet urgency in their voices and the soil on their hands suggested secrets hidden for years.

When she confronted them, Margaret came to see that Martin wasn’t the flawless man she believed him to be.

I once believed my husband, Martin, was the perfect man—kind, attentive, and a comforting presence during a painful breakup.

We met through a friend, quickly fell in love, and bonded over small quirks and shared vulnerability.

Martin’s stories about his difficult marriage to his ex-wife, Janet, made me feel lucky to have someone so genuine.

However, everything shifted one Tuesday when I returned home early to surprise Martin with dinner.

Instead, I was sh0cked to find him in our yard with his ex-wife.

I sat in the car for a moment, blinking rapidly, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me. But no, they were there, digging up all the flowers I had worked so hard to grow.

At that point, I got out of the car and marched over to them.

“What’s going on here?” I demanded, my voice trembling with anger.

Martin’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. “M-M-Margaret!” he exclaimed, dropping the shovel with a clang.

“Y-you’re h-home e-early.”

He’s stammering.

At that moment, all my worst fears came rushing in. Martin only stammered when he was truly stressed or nervous. But why?

What was he hiding?

Was he cheating on me with Janet? Had they never really broken up? Or was it something even more sinister?

Why else would they be digging up our yard in secret?

“W-we were just…” he started, but Janet cut him off.

“Oh, you didn’t tell her?” she began. “Love, she DESERVES to know that 10 years ago we buried a time capsule.”

“A time capsule?” I repeated numbly.

“Yes, we buried one when we were still together. When we lived here,” she revealed, gesturing to a muddy metal box near her feet.

“We always planned to dig it up someday.”

Martin nodded, “Y-yeah. We, uh, we thought it would be fun to look back on our memories.”

“Your memories,” I echoed. “So, you decided to destroy my garden for your little trip down memory lane?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Martin stammered.

“I d-didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t think,” I snapped before storming into the house.

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