A Scale, Suspicious Notifications, and a Person with Keys to Our House: What I Found Behind My Husband’s Lies

It all began with a digital bathroom scale—an unexpected addition to our home. My husband, Justin, brought it in on a random Saturday afternoon. “We should focus on staying in shape together,” he said with an easygoing grin as if it were nothing important. Though I wasn’t particularly excited, I decided to go along with it. We each took a turn stepping on the device to try it out. Mine displayed 134.4 pounds, while his showed 189.5 pounds.

“Wow, I didn’t think I was that close to 190,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

I noticed his hand shake slightly as he stepped off.

“Justin? Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Uh, no. Just surprised, that’s all,” he replied, avoiding my gaze. “I used to be in great shape back in college.”

“We all change over time,” I reassured him, placing a hand on his arm. He pulled away ever so slightly, but I caught it.

I assumed that would be the end of it—just another gadget we’d forget about. However, a few weeks later, peculiar notifications began appearing on my phone. Since I had connected the scale to an app upon setting it up, it automatically logged new readings. One day, while I was at work, my phone pinged:

“Unidentified user: weight 152.1 lbs.”

At first, I thought Justin had used it, but that weight was far off from his. Then it happened again. And again. Three times a week. Same weight. Same time of day. Something wasn’t right.

During dinner one night, I brought it up casually.

“Hey, have you been using the scale when I’m not home?”

He didn’t even glance up from his plate. “Nope. Probably just the kids playing with it.”

“Three times a week? At the exact same time?” I pressed.

Justin exhaled sharply, dropping his fork onto his plate. “Nicole, why are you making a big deal out of a stupid scale?”

“I’m not! I’m just trying to figure it out. And the numbers don’t make sense. You’re 189.5 pounds, but the reading says 152.1. What’s going on?”

He shrugged, visibly annoyed. “Maybe they’re holding the dog or something. I don’t know. Why are you so fixated on this?”

That was my first warning sign. The way he dismissed it so quickly unsettled me. Still, I let it go to avoid an argument.

But the alerts persisted.

Some readings were random—189.5 pounds (Justin’s weight), 35.3 pounds, or even 24.2 pounds. Yet, 152.1 appeared consistently, three times a week, without fail.

One night, unable to sleep, the numbers haunted my thoughts.

“Justin?” I whispered in the darkness.

“Hm?” he muttered sleepily.

“Are you happy? With us, I mean?”

He turned over, suddenly wide awake. “Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been acting distant… like you’re keeping something from me.”

“Nicole,” he sighed, running a hand over his face, “it’s two in the morning. Can we not do this now?”

“If not now, then when?” I shot back, sitting up. “Every time I try to talk to you, you shut me down!”

“How much longer are you going to harp on this?” he groaned, throwing the covers off and leaving the room.

A few days later, while Justin was out running errands, I decided to take the scale to customer service, convinced it was defective. But when I described the issue, the employee ran a diagnostic test and handed it back with a casual shrug.

“It’s working just fine. Every recorded weight corresponds to someone actually stepping on it.”

A chill ran down my spine. Someone had been using it.

That evening, I confronted Justin. “The scale isn’t malfunctioning,” I told him. “So who keeps stepping on it? It’s consistently registering 152.1 pounds. It’s not you, it’s not me, and it’s definitely not the kids. And don’t even try to blame the dog.”

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. “Nicole, it’s just the kids. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Are you sure about that?” I challenged, narrowing my eyes. “Because I’ve been watching. They’re never home at that time.”

“Are you seriously spying on our children?” he barked. “What’s next? Hidden cameras?”

“Maybe I should install some!” I snapped, blinking back tears. “Since you refuse to be honest with me!”

“Drop it, Nicole!” he roared. “This isn’t some grand mystery. It’s just a scale!”

That was my second warning sign.

Then, the truth unraveled in a way I never anticipated.

While on a work trip, I received yet another alert: “Unidentified user: weight 152.1 lbs.”

I happened to be on the phone with my oldest son at the time.

“Hey,” I asked casually, “is someone using the scale right now?”

Silence.

“No one’s home, Mom. Dad left to run errands.”

I gripped my steering wheel, my knuckles turning white.

At 1:50 p.m., the alert came in. And at 1:53 p.m., I saw someone exit my house.

From behind, they seemed like a woman—lean, with a long ponytail swaying. But then they turned, and my breath caught in my throat. It wasn’t a woman. It was a man.

Fury ignited in my chest as I jumped from my car. “HEY! WHO ARE YOU, AND WHY ARE YOU COMING OUT OF MY HOUSE?!”

He turned, startled. “Oh, uh… you must be Nicole. Justin’s wife.”

My stomach knotted. “Who the hell are you? And why do you have keys to my house?”

He lifted his hands as if to calm me. “Justin probably didn’t tell you about me. Please don’t judge him—he was too embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed about what?” I demanded.

“I’m Derek,” he explained. “Justin’s old college friend. He reached out a few weeks ago. He was worried about his weight and fitness level. I’m a personal trainer and sports masseur.”

My head spun.

“You’re his trainer?” I repeated, incredulous.

“Yes. Justin didn’t want you to know because he was ashamed of gaining weight. After our sessions, I give him a massage to prevent soreness. Since he has to stay still for a while afterward, he asked me to lock up when I left. That’s why I have the keys.”

Suddenly, everything clicked—his secrecy, his avoidance, his frustration. Justin had been fired six months ago, and he must have felt awful about himself. I hadn’t even noticed how depressed he’d become.

When I walked into the house, Justin acted like nothing had happened. “Hey,” he said nonchalantly, tucking his phone away. “You’re back early.”

I folded my arms. “So… how long have you been hiding Derek from me?”

His face drained of color. “You… met Derek?”

“Yeah. The man sneaking into our house three times a week. Want to explain?”

Justin sighed, collapsing onto the couch. “I didn’t want you to know. I felt like a failure. I thought if I got back in shape, I could fix everything.”

“You should have talked to me!” I choked out. “Not made me feel insane.”

The next day, I threw Justin a surprise party with a banner: “Justin’s Fitness Journey.” He turned red as everyone cheered.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he whispered.

“You’re right,” I said. “But I wanted to remind you—you don’t have to hide from me.”

“Never again,” he promised.

“Good,” I smiled. “Because I already changed the locks.”