Arthur’s discovery of a love letter in his wife Emily’s jeans ten years after their wedding led him on a quest to salvage their marriage, only to unearth a truth that shattered his plans and their life together.
My name is Arthur, and I’ve been married to Emily for a blissful ten years. We have a wonderful six-year-old daughter and live in a cozy home that’s always been our happy place.
I work from home as a graphic designer, which allows me to spend lots of time with my family.
A man working on his laptop | Source: Pexels
While I spend most days in my pajamas, Emily dresses up every morning before leaving for the local college where she works as a tutor. She’s passionate about her job, and I believe she’s really good at it.
Lately, though, I started to feel a change in the air. It wasn’t anything specific Emily said or did. I felt there was a newfound coldness in our relationship.
Previously, we used to chat about everything—the mundane details of our day, our daughter’s latest antics, or plans for the weekend. With time, these conversations faded and were replaced by polite nods and routine exchanges.
A couple talking in a kitchen | Source: Pexels
One evening, as we were clearing the dinner table, I tried to break the ice. “Hey, how was your day? Anything interesting happened with your students?” I asked, trying to reconnect.
She just smiled weakly and replied, “Oh, the usual stuff, nothing worth mentioning.”
Her brief reply felt like a wall going up, making me feel more distant than ever. It was clear that something was off, but I couldn’t quite figure out what it was.
Close-up of a man’s face | Source: Pexels
Emily and I both do chores. It was my turn to do the laundry last Saturday. As usual, I gathered all the clothes scattered around our home and began sorting them. At that point, I had no idea that my heart was about to get broken.
As I emptied the pockets of Emily’s jeans, a folded piece of paper caught my attention. Curious, I unfolded it and found myself staring at a love letter. She didn’t write it to me but to someone named Mark.
“I love you always and forever,” Emily wrote in that letter, and I recognized her handwriting immediately. Those six words pierced my heart as my face turned pale. I felt a range of emotions—anger, betrayal, and heartbreak, all at once.
Close-up of text on a paper | Source: Pexels
I closed my eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath, preparing myself to read the text that I knew would break my heart into a million pieces. I sat on the cold floor of our laundry room and read the letter carefully.
“To Mark,
Meeting you transformed my life. The way you make me feel is hard to explain. You have a remarkable ability to make me feel beautiful, valued, worthy, and loved. If I could only give you one thing in this life, it would be the ability to see yourself through my eyes so you could realize how special you are to me.
I love you always and forever.”
My hands trembled as I read the words, and a wave of heartbreak washed over me. How could my wife share such intimate, loving words with someone else?
A man with his fingers on his temples | Source: Pexels
As hundreds of painful questions popped into my mind, I whispered to myself, “How long has this been going on?” I couldn’t believe Emily was involved with someone else, but the letter in my hands was a stark, undeniable token of infidelity that I couldn’t just ignore.
Fuming with anger, I wanted to confront Emily immediately but decided to teach her a lesson instead. Little did I know that was the worst decision I could have ever made.
Holding the letter in my hand, I went to my mother’s house. She’s a well-known lawyer in our city, and I trusted her judgment implicitly. When I showed her the letter and explained the situation, her reaction was immediate and intense.
“Arthur, this is clear evidence of her infidelity. You should consider filing for divorce. I’ll support you through this, and we’ll make sure you come out of this with everything you deserve,” she declared firmly. Her words were sharp, fueled by a mix of professional judgment and maternal protectiveness.
Close-up of an older woman | Source: Pexels
Though her reaction aligned with the hurt I was feeling, something inside me hesitated. “Should I end everything based on one letter?” I thought to myself.
“I don’t think I’m ready for this,” I told my mother. “I don’t want to file for divorce right now.”
“But why?” Mom protested, her voice tinged with deep concern. “It’s clear Emily is interested in someone else, Arthur.”
“I want to talk to her first, Mom,” I said calmly. “But please promise me you won’t tell anyone I came here to file for divorce. Not even Dad. No one. Okay?”
“I don’t think you’re doing the right thing, Arthur,” she sighed. “But I’ll keep our meeting a secret. Don’t worry. Just give me a call when you’re ready to file for divorce.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said before leaving her house.
A man driving a car | Source: Pexels
During the next few days, I consciously tried to salvage our marriage. I wasn’t ready to give up on us without trying to bring back the warmth and closeness we once shared.
I started by being more present at home. Instead of retreating to my desk after dinner as usual, I stayed to help Emily clean up the kitchen.
I took on more of the daily chores, hoping to ease her load and show her that I was there for her.
A person washing dishes | Source: Pexels
Each morning, I made it a point to ask about her plans for the day. I listened to her plans carefully, ensuring she felt I was paying full attention. I wanted Emily to know I was there for her and our daughter.
I also surprised her with her favorite roses when she returned home from work one day. I felt happy watching her smile as she lifted the bouquet and inhaled the fragrance. It reminded me of our early days when I used to surprise her with roses daily.
With my consistent efforts of trying to make our marriage work, our relationship began to improve. Emily started reciprocating my romantic acts, making me feel better about our bond.
Red roses in a vase | Source: Pexels
I believed these small gestures would ultimately bridge the gap that had formed between us until the day Emily returned home visibly upset.
That day, she stormed in, her eyes flashing with anger. “Your family accosted me in the store today, Arthur. They accused me of cheating and warned me about losing everything in a divorce. Is it true? Did you really talk to them about us without speaking to me first?” Her voice was louder and more strained than I had ever heard it.
“Yes, it’s true. After I found that love letter you wrote to Mark, I thought about filing for divorce,” I admitted, my voice tight with frustration. “But then I decided to give our marriage a chance, and you should be grateful that I even considered trying.”
A couple arguing | Source: Pexels
“What are you talking about, Arthur? What letter to Mark?” She was genuinely confused now, her anger mixing with bewilderment.
“The letter in your jeans—the one filled with declarations of love for Mark. I saw it with my own eyes, Emily,” I said pointedly.
Emily started to laugh, a reaction I hadn’t expected. “Oh, Arthur, that letter wasn’t for me. It was a favor for a student who wanted to express her feelings to her boyfriend. I just helped her phrase it better.”
“What?’ I was shocked.
I stood there, feeling the ground shift beneath me as the reality of the misunderstanding dawned on me. My actions, based on a misinterpreted piece of paper, had spiraled out of control, damaging the trust between us perhaps irreparably.
A man standing in the doorway | Source: Pexels
“I can’t believe you’d think I was cheating on you and then tell everyone about filing for divorce!” she yelled at me.
I felt horrible after learning the truth. Feeling guilty, I asked Emily for forgiveness, but she asked me to leave her alone.
The next day, she was sure about wanting a divorce. The trust was broken, not by her supposed infidelity, but by my hasty actions and doubts.
Looking back, I feel terrible thinking about how my insecurities and mistrust ruined my life. What should I do now?
A man facing a window | Source: Pexels
If you enjoyed reading this story, you might like this one about a woman who found a secret folder on her husband’s laptop with her name on it.
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.
My Husband Made a Menu and Demands That I Cook Him Meals from It Every Day
Sarah thought her marriage was rock solid until the night she discovered a gourmet menu on the fridge, demanding she cook extravagant meals after exhausting days at work. The ensuing confrontation revealed deep cracks in their relationship, sparking a heated argument that left them both reeling.
I had always prided myself on my work ethic. As a successful project manager at a bustling tech firm, I often worked late hours and brought home projects on weekends. Despite my demanding job, I still managed to keep the household running smoothly. I juggled chores, groceries, and occasional dinners with friends.
Happy working couple | Source: Pexels
Tom, my husband, had a stable job as an accountant. He worked regular hours, rarely had to stay late, and had weekends off. Yet, he often complained about being tired and stressed. I didn’t mind taking on a bit more; I loved Tom and was committed to our marriage.
But that day, it went too far. I returned home after another grueling day at the office, my shoulders aching from the weight of my responsibilities.
As I dropped my bag by the door, I noticed something unusual on the fridge. A neatly typed menu was stuck to it with a magnet, and a handwritten note in Tom’s familiar scrawl read, “Cook it today.”
Man writing a note on a fridge | Source: Pexels
I glanced at the menu and felt my blood pressure rise. It listed gourmet meals, each more complex than the last: Beef Wellington, Coq au Vin, Lobster Thermidor. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I worked longer hours than Tom, yet he was expecting me to come home and whip up these elaborate dishes.
My initial anger simmered down to a cold determination. I picked up my phone and texted Tom.
Woman texts on her phone | Source: Pexels
“What’s with this menu on the fridge? Are you serious about me cooking all this?”
Tom’s reply came quickly. “Yeah, I thought it would be nice to have some structure and variety in our meals. You’re such a good cook, and I think you can handle it. Let me know how it goes!”
I couldn’t believe his nonchalant response. If Tom wanted gourmet meals, he would get them, but not the way he expected.
Man talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. This was too much. I decided to confront him when he got home.
An hour later, Tom walked in, whistling a tune. “Hey, Sarah,” he called out cheerfully.
“Hey,” I replied, my voice icy. “We need to talk.”
He looked at me, puzzled. “About what?”
Woman scolds a man | Source: Pexels
I pointed to the fridge. “About this menu.”
Tom glanced at it and then back at me, still looking confused. “What about it?”
“You expect me to cook all these meals after working all day?” I asked, my voice rising. “I barely have time to breathe, Tom.”
He shrugged. “I just thought it would be nice to have some variety. Your cooking is always on top, and I thought you’d enjoy it.”
Man with a laptop in his apartment | Source: Pexels
“Enjoy it?” I echoed, incredulous. “I barely have time to eat, let alone cook gourmet meals.”
Tom frowned. “I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”
“Well, it is,” I snapped. “I’m exhausted, Tom. I need help, not more work.”
He looked taken aback. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t realize.”
I shook my head. “No, you didn’t. And that’s the problem.”
Couple argues during breakfast | Source: Pexels
Tom’s frown deepened. “So now it’s my fault you’re overworked? I just wanted to eat better, Sarah. Is that so wrong?”
I felt my frustration boiling over. “Wanting to eat better isn’t wrong, but expecting me to do everything is! I’m not a machine, Tom.”
“I never said you were,” he replied, his voice rising. “But you’re acting like I do nothing around here. I work too, you know.”
Couple arguing | Source: Pexels
“Yeah, you work regular hours and come home to relax. I work late, bring projects home, and still manage the house. How is that fair?”
Tom threw his hands up in exasperation. “So what do you want me to do, Sarah? Quit my job? Stay home and cook all day?”
Angry shouting man | Source: Pexels
I glared at him. “I want you to recognize how much I do and pitch in more. It’s not about quitting your job; it’s about sharing responsibilities.”
“Responsibilities?” Tom scoffed. “I handle the bills, the yard work, the car maintenance. You think that’s nothing?”
Couple arguing in the corridor | Source: Pexels
“I’m not saying it’s nothing,” I replied, my voice shaking with anger. “But it’s not everything. You don’t see the daily grind I go through. Cooking gourmet meals is just another unrealistic expectation.”
Tom’s face reddened. “Fine, maybe I don’t see everything. But you don’t appreciate what I do either. You make it sound like I’m useless.”
I clenched my fists, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m asking for partnership, Tom. Not for you to feel useless. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”
Woman clenches her head | Source: Pexels
“Maybe because you’re always on edge,” he shot back. “It’s like nothing I do is good enough for you.”
“Because you’re not listening!” I shouted. “I’m drowning here, and all you see is your perfect little menu. It’s not about the food; it’s about feeling supported.”
Tom stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I’m done with this conversation. I need some air.”
Frustrated woman | Source: Pexels
We stood there for a moment, but I knew this conversation wasn’t over. Tom had a lot to learn about what it took to keep our lives running smoothly. And I had to figure out how to make him understand without losing my mind in the process.
This was just the beginning.
The next few days, I went about my usual routine, but with a new plan in mind. I made a few calls and arranged everything perfectly. When Friday came, Tom walked through the door to the delicious aroma of a perfectly cooked Beef Wellington.
Beef Wellington | Source: Pexels
“Wow, this looks amazing!” Tom exclaimed as he sat down at the table.
I smiled sweetly, hiding my true intentions. “I’m glad you like it. I thought I’d start with your favorite.”
Tom took a bite and sighed contentedly. “This is fantastic. You know, if I didn’t make you do it, you’d never discover this talent. But, if I’m being honest, the beef could be a little more tender.”
Content man eating | Source: Pexels
At that moment, a man in a chef’s uniform emerged from the kitchen. “Is there something wrong with the beef, sir?” he asked, his tone polite but firm.
Tom’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. “Who are you?” he stammered.
I leaned back, enjoying the scene. “This is Chef Martin. I hired him to cook this dinner. And I paid him with the money you were saving for your new car.”
The chef | Source: Pexels
Tom’s face turned several shades of red as he struggled to find words. “You…you did what?”
“I work long hours, manage the household, and now you expect me to cook gourmet meals every day? I thought you could use a lesson in what it takes to put together a meal like this. Chef Martin is an expert, and even he can’t make the beef perfect every time. Maybe now you’ll appreciate what I do a bit more.”
Chef presents his work | Source: Pexels
Chef Martin smiled and nodded. “It’s not easy, sir. Cooking these dishes takes a lot of skill and time.”
Tom sat back, his arrogance deflated. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t realize how unfair I was being. I thought it would be nice to have these meals, but I didn’t consider how much work it would be for you.”
My expression softened slightly. “I’m glad you understand. Next time, let’s make a meal plan together that we both can manage.”
Happy couple on a rooftop | Source: Pexels
They finished their meal with a newfound respect for each other. From that day forward, Tom never made another demanding menu, and they both took turns cooking, creating simple but delicious meals together.
My Stepmom Kicked Me Out After I Stopped Cooking for Her and Her Kids—but Karma Struck Back Instantly
In the wake of personal loss, sixteen-year-old Julia discovers the trials of managing a household’s culinary needs under her stepmom’s critical eye. When her passion for cooking clashes with relentless family criticism, will Julia find a recipe for reconciliation or will the kitchen conflicts reach a boiling point?
A father hugging his daughter | Source: Pexels
Ever since my dad passed away, life has been a rollercoaster. Now, I’m living with my stepmom, Cathy, and her two kids, my stepsiblings, Martha and Frank. It’s been an adjustment, not just emotionally but in all the everyday things too.
My name is Julia, I’m 16, and like any other teen, I’m juggling high school and household chores. But there’s one chore that’s not just a task for me—it’s my passion: cooking.
A female student sitting in the classroom | Source: Pexels
I started taking cooking seriously about three years ago, finding solace and joy in creating meals just for me. It was my own little world where I could experiment and escape.
It wasn’t long before Cathy noticed my knack for cooking and decided that I could extend this ‘little hobby’ to cooking for the entire family. At first, I was on board. I thought, why not share this love with everyone?
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.
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