A Cactus, A Key, and a Secret Life: The Day I Discovered My Husband’s Double Life

With the apartment to myself, I decided to rearrange some furniture — something I’d been wanting to do for months. John, ever the traditionalist, hated change. He liked our home just the way it was. Especially his row of cacti, which lived like little soldiers along the bedroom windowsill.

He’d been collecting them for years. Watering, rotating, talking to them even. But none received the devotion “The General” did — a large, spiky specimen in a heavy clay pot. He left me handwritten instructions on how to care for it whenever he was away. And every time, I rolled my eyes. Who gets that attached to a cactus?

That morning, as I struggled to shift our antique dresser across the room, I realized the cacti would now be directly above the drawers. Risky. One wrong tug and I could brush against a needle. So, I decided to move them.

The smaller ones were easy enough. But when I got to The General, I hesitated. I grabbed my gloves and lifted it with both hands. It was heavier than I remembered — unnaturally so.

I was halfway across the room when I caught a glimpse of our wedding photo on the nightstand. We looked so young and in love in that picture. But lately, the spark had faded. John had grown distant. Distracted. But I’d chalked it up to work stress and time.

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