When my daughter compared our gingerbread home to the “secret house Daddy takes me to every weekend,” I laughed it off until she mentioned a pretty lady with candy. A few days later, I found myself following my husband, although I’d never been a suspicious type of woman.

My husband, Mark, was the glue that held us together. He worked from home and took care of Emma, our six-year-old firecracker who never seemed to run out of energy or things to say.

Last year, on a day around mid-December, I made a rare escape from the hospital and promised myself the evening belonged to Emma. She had been asking to decorate a gingerbread house for weeks.

I couldn’t say no.

My daughter was extremely excited when I got home early and unearthed the gingerbread house kit from the pantry.

“Mommy, can we make it really pretty? With gumdrops and frosting and sprinkles and cookies?” she asked, jumping in place as I started putting the contents of the box on the counter.

“Of course, sweetheart. We’ll use every candy in the house and more if we have to,” I replied, ruffling her hair.

Soon, Emma’s giggles filled the kitchen while we spread frosting over the gingerbread walls and stuck gumdrops in neat little rows. For a second, I felt guilty, like I could be saving someone at that moment.

But I shook off the feeling when Emma beamed at me. “This is the best day ever!” she exclaimed.

My chest swelled with pride. “I’m glad, sweetie.”

After putting one last gumdrop on the roof, she stepped back to check out the house from all angles. “It’s so beautiful, Mommy. It’s like the secret house Daddy takes me to every weekend,” she said.

A chuckle escaped my lips before I could fully register her words. “I’m sorry, sweetie. What did you say?”

“The secret house,” she finally replied. “You know, the one with the pretty lady who gives me candy and calls me ‘dear.’ She’s really nice.”

My heart skipped a beat. “The pretty lady?” I asked, as calmly as I could.

Emma nodded and finally glanced up at me. “Yeah! Oh, wait.” She paused, her mouth dropping. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you. Daddy said it’s a secret. Oops! Are you mad?”

“Of course not, sweetheart,” I said with a forced smile. “Secrets are fun sometimes, right?”

Later that night, as Mark read Emma a bedtime story, I stood in our kitchen, replaying her words over and over. Was he… cheating?

My stomach churned at the thought, and my mind leaped to every worst-case scenario.

When we went to bed, I pretended to fall asleep right away, though I knew resting would be impossible. I wanted to confront him, but what if Emma had misunderstood?

I never had any reason to doubt Mark. Yet what else could involve a pretty lady and a secret house?

“Hey, baby, are you cheating on me?”

Not exactly words any spouse wants to hear. I needed answers or proof before accusing him of something so serious.

My daughter said Daddy took her to the house every weekend, so my best bet was the upcoming Saturday.

In the meantime, I was patient and pretended nothing was wrong. When Saturday morning came, I was ready. I told Mark there was an emergency at the hospital.

“I’ll probably be gone all day,” I added, hoping I was showing the right amount of concern for a fake patient.

Mark knew how long my surgeries could be, so he didn’t question me. He just gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “No worries, baby. I’ll keep Emma entertained.”

After closing the door behind me, I went to my car and drove it around the corner. There, I waited. Just ten minutes later, Mark came out of the house, leading Emma to his car.

I followed them at a distance, feeling my trembling hands on the steering wheel. Was I doing the right thing?

In fact, I recognized the area because I passed through it every day to get to work. The hospital was around five minutes away.

The thought of Mark’s mistress living so close to my work felt like another betrayal. But I couldn’t think about it just then. I pulled myself together and concentrated on driving slowly while trying not to be noticed behind him.

Finally, Mark turned into the driveway of a house that looked like it belonged on a Christmas card. It only made everything worse.

My daughter was right. It was similar to the gingerbread house. The only thing that could possibly make it better were Christmas decorations.

I was so swept in a vision of this house with twinkling lights that I missed it when Mark and Emma got out of the car. I snapped out of it and saw them walking up to the porch while a woman stepped out of the front door.

She had soft brown hair that fell in loose waves around her shoulders and a smile that could light up any room. When Emma got close, she leaned down for a hug and handed her a candy cane.

Mark greeted her with a warm, knowing smile and went into the house. That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. I pressed on the gas to get closer, then slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car. I barely remember putting it in park.

But it didn’t matter. “Excuse me,” I called out, stomping up to the woman and my daughter.

“Mommy!” Emma squealed, pointing behind her. “Look! The house!”

I stopped in front of them, breathless. “And you are?” I demanded.

“Lily,” she said, extending her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m the contractor working on the house.”

“Contractor?” I echoed, wrinkling my nose.

“Yes,” she said, nodding. Then she frowned. “Wait, you didn’t know about this? Oh, dear.”

Before I could respond, Mark appeared in the doorway. His face paled when he saw me.

“Eleanor, what are you doing here?”

Mark sighed and stepped closer. “I can explain.”

“You’d better,” I said, crossing my arms as Emma wrapped herself around my legs.

Lily cleared her throat. “I think I’ll let you two talk,” she said, retreating into the house.

Mark looked straight into my eyes, and his expression sent a jolt of confusion through me. Was that…disappointment?

“Eleanor,” he sighed, “this isn’t what you think.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “If you’d let me explain—”

“Then explain!” I interrupted, huffing.

He took a deep breath… and smiled. What?

“The house is for us, baby,” he confessed. “I bought it with my inheritance from my dad. I’ve been working with Lily to renovate it as a surprise for you. Well, for us. Sheis a contractor.”

I blinked. In all my scenarios, I hadn’t considered this. Yet, I’d just pictured myself living here.

The anger melted away from my body in a rush. “You… you did this for me?” I felt stupid for even having to ask again.

“For us,” he corrected gently. “For you, me, and Emma. There’s a reading nook by the window, and Emma has her own playroom. The kitchen is a dream. Our master bathroom has two sinks…”

My lips started shaking as he continued describing the house. “I don’t know what to say,” I murmured, afraid that I might not be able to contain my emotions.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Mark smiled, stepping closer. “I just wanted to make things easier for you.”

Just then, Emma tugged at my shirt, so I looked down. “See, Mommy? It’s just like the gingerbread house. We can decorate it with candy too! Lily has tons of candy!”

I exhaled and started to laugh, a few tears escaping. I quickly wiped them away before Lily came out.

Lily shook our hands, then walked to her car. When she was out of sight, Emma ran toward the house. “Come see the inside!”

But instead of following, I grabbed my husband’s jacket and pulled him to me for a quick, fiery kiss. “Thank you,” I whispered.

Mark blinked, stunned momentarily, then smiled tenderly.

“Come on!” Emma urged from the front door. We laughed, following her inside to see our new place.

Here’s another story: Mindy’s wedding was perfect, surrounded by loved ones, vows, and roses. Just as she was about to say “I do,” the church doors burst open and a little girl bolted toward the groom. A chilling silence filled the room when she looked up and asked: “Dad, are you going to do to her what you did to Mom?”

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.