A Stranger’s Note on My Husband’s Car Made Me Call My Lawyer

It was a typical Monday morning, and I was in full mom mode, getting the kids ready for school. Everything was going well until something unusual caught my attention—a bright pink sticky note on my husband Thomas’s car. My heart raced as I walked closer to check it.

“I’ll be right there, kids!” I called, trying to keep my voice calm. “I just need to look at something on Dad’s car.”

“Okay, Mom!” Natasha, my daughter, replied from the backseat.

The note said: “Sorry, I scratched your car last night. You shouldn’t park on the street, though! -Neighbor from 283. Here’s my number if you need anything!”

I felt confused. We don’t live near any house numbered 283, and Thomas always parks in our garage. Why would this note be on his car?

“What was it, Mom?” Natasha asked as I got back into the driver’s seat.

“Just a note stuck on Dad’s car,” I lied, trying to sound casual.

Thomas had just returned from a business trip that morning. His car should have been parked at the airport all weekend. A strange feeling settled in my stomach. Something wasn’t right.

“Have a great day, kids!” I said as I dropped them off at school.

“Don’t forget, we need to make sixty cookies for school tomorrow,” Natasha reminded me.

After leaving them at school, I went to the grocery store to pick up cookie ingredients, but my mind was somewhere else. What was Thomas hiding? I tossed ingredients into the cart, barely focusing, and decided to call him.

“Hi, honey,” I said when he picked up.

“Hey, Sierra,” he replied. “I’m about to go into a meeting. Can we talk later?” Then he hung up, just like that.

“What’s going on?” I mumbled to myself, tossing a pack of gummy worms into the cart for Jake, my son.

Later, after picking up the kids, I made sandwiches while Natasha and I baked cookies for her class.

“Is everything okay, Mom?” Natasha asked as she stirred in the chocolate chips. “You’re not helping Jake with his homework.”

“Everything’s fine,” I assured her, though my mind was racing.

That night, after putting the kids to bed, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. I decided to call the number from the sticky note. The phone rang twice before a friendly voice answered.

“Hello, is this house 283?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“Yes, it is! Who’s this?” the woman replied.

“I’m Sierra. I found your note on my husband’s car this morning. Could you tell me more about what happened?”

There was a brief pause before she spoke. “Oh, yes! I’m Jane. I accidentally scratched his car last night. I live at 283 Elm Street. Are you new to the area?”

My heart pounded. “No, we’re not new,” I said, forcing a smile she couldn’t see. “Thomas must have been visiting a friend. Don’t worry about the scratch. It’s not a problem.”

“Oh, are you sure?” she asked. “I’m happy to pay for the damage.”

“It’s fine,” I insisted. “But could you tell me where exactly he was parked?”

There was a moment of silence before Jane replied softly. “He was parked right outside my house, across from the park. Next to a house where a woman lives. I’m really sorry.”

“Thank you, Jane,” I said, quickly ending the call.

Thomas had lied. He wasn’t on a business trip. His car wasn’t at the airport. He was at some woman’s house. But I needed proof before confronting him. I climbed into bed next to him, my heart racing, and tried to sleep.

The next morning, I gave the kids their breakfast, all the while trying to decide my next step. After dropping them off, I drove to Elm Street, guided by my GPS. I found the park and the nearby house. Gathering my courage, I knocked on the door. A woman in her thirties answered, looking curious.

“Hi, can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m Sierra,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I believe my husband, Thomas, was with you this weekend?”

Her eyes widened. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my God, I didn’t know he was married. Please, come in. I’m Mary.”

My heart ached as I stepped inside. My wedding ring felt heavy on my finger. “He didn’t tell you about us? His family?”

Mary shook her head. “No, he said he was single. We met at a local market, and we’ve been seeing each other for a few months. But he always said work was busy, so we didn’t see each other often.”

I took a deep breath. “Mary, I need your help. I need proof of his cheating for my divorce lawyer. I can’t stay with a man like this, especially with my kids involved. Will you help me?”

Mary’s expression turned determined. “Of course,” she said. “We’ll catch him in the act.”

That evening, Mary texted Thomas, inviting him over for dinner. “I’ll tell him I cooked,” she said as I left her place. “He never misses a meal.”

I left the kids with my mother and drove to Mary’s house, ready to catch Thomas. When he arrived, Mary greeted him at the door with a kiss. My stomach churned, but I took the picture anyway. Then, I stepped out of my hiding spot.

“Thomas,” I said, my voice filled with anger. “What is this?”

He went pale. “Sierra, what are you doing here?”

Mary crossed her arms and glared at him. “You lied to both of us, Thomas. How could you? And you have kids?”

He stammered, trying to explain. “It’s not what it looks like,” he finally managed.

“Save it,” I snapped, holding up my camera. “I have all the proof I need. I’m filing for divorce.”

“Sierra, please,” he begged, trying to follow me as I walked to my car.

I ignored him, climbed in, and drove away, ready to return to my children.

In the weeks that followed, Mary and I formed an unexpected friendship, united by our shared betrayal. Surprisingly, my kids quickly grew to like her too.

When the divorce papers were finally signed, I felt a huge sense of freedom and strength. My heart had been shattered, and my home was broken. But as I healed, my children brought joy and laughter back into my life.

And Thomas? He moved back in with his parents. He didn’t even try to make things right.

What would you have done?