“And miss my favorite part of the day? No chance,” he’d reply, his voice warm, familiar.

When he was home, he’d wrap his arms around me while I cooked, swaying slightly as if we were slow dancing. He always smelled like motor oil and pine-scented aftershave, a mix that had become so comforting I couldn’t sleep without his pillow beside me.

I thought we knew everything about each other. His weirdest habit? Eating peanut butter straight from the jar. His biggest fear? Heights—ironic, given that he drove across towering bridges all the time.

We talked about everything… or so I believed.

Looking back, I wonder how much of it was real.

Because in the end, there was a part of Tom I never knew. A part he kept locked away, hidden in the darkest corners of our life.

And I was about to find it.

Sunday cleaning had always been my thing. With Tom gone for the week, I had plenty of time to go all in—dusting, vacuuming, and reorganizing everything in sight.

I had just finished the living room when I moved to our bedroom. I started with my dresser, then Tom’s side of the closet. His clothes were always a mess—work shirts tossed over hangers, jeans shoved into piles. I sighed, shaking my head.

“You’d think after three years, you’d learn to fold a damn shirt,” I muttered, smiling to myself.

As I stacked a few of his shirts, my hand brushed against something hard, hidden behind an old shoebox. I pulled it out—a small, unmarked disc.

I frowned. What’s this?

I turned it over in my hand. It wasn’t in a case, just a plain silver disc. It felt out of place, like something that had been deliberately tucked away.

Curiosity got the better of me. I walked over to my desk, slid the disc into my laptop, and waited.

A grainy video appeared on the screen. The camera wobbled slightly before settling on someone sitting on a couch, smiling at the lens.

I blinked.

It was my sister.

I sat up straight, confused. She was dressed up, wearing a delicate gold necklace, earrings, and a bracelet. She ran a hand through her hair and laughed.

“You always know how to spoil me,” she purred, lifting her wrist to admire the bracelet.

Then, she giggled.

“Oh, Tom… my beloved Tom. What would your wife think if she knew?”

My entire body tensed.

“What?” I whispered under my breath.

The voice behind the camera—Tom’s voice—sounded uneasy.

“Cut it out, Lisa. That’s not funny.”

“Oh, come on,” she teased, leaning closer to the lens. “You wouldn’t want me to… tell her something crazy, would you? I mean, after everything you’ve done for me…”

She tapped her fingers against the bracelet, smiling. My sister’s voice was playful, but there was something else beneath it. Something calculated. I glanced at the timestamp in the corner of the video.

It was recorded on her birthday.

A cold shiver ran down my spine. Was she… was she making this up? Was she trying to blackmail Tom? Or worse… was there something between them?

I quickly picked up my phone and dialed Tom’s number.

“Tom… what the hell is this?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, my heart hammering in my chest.

There was a pause on the other end. Too long of a pause. “What are you talking about?” Tom finally said, his voice carefully neutral.

I turned back to my laptop screen, my eyes locking onto the video. My sister, Lisa, sitting there with that smug little smile, twirling a bracelet around her wrist. My bracelet.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

No.

It couldn’t be.

I zoomed in on the screen, my breath catching in my throat. The gold bracelet, the intricate floral design—I knew it all too well. Because that bracelet had been mine.

And it had been stolen from me two years ago.

I remember that night vividly.

Tom and I had gone out for dinner, and when we came back, the house was a mess—drawers yanked open, furniture overturned, and my jewelry box emptied. The police had chalked it up to a random break-in, but nothing else was taken. Just my jewelry.

I had cried that night, devastated. Some of those pieces had belonged to my mother. Tom had held me, told me it was just stuff, that it could be replaced.

But now… now my stolen jewelry was sitting on my sister’s wrist.

A sickening realization hit me like a freight train.

“It was you,” I whispered.

“What?” Tom’s voice sharpened.

“It was you. You stole my jewelry.”

Silence.

Then, a sharp exhale. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then explain it to me, Tom! Because I’m looking at a video of my sister wearing MY bracelet! The one that was supposedly stolen two years ago!”

More silence.

My hands were shaking, but I forced myself to keep watching. At the end of the video, the screen cut to black. Then, white text appeared.

“If you don’t want my sister to get this video—you have to pay handsomely!”

My stomach twisted. Lisa wasn’t just playing around. She was blackmailing him.

And Tom… Tom had kept this hidden.

“Is this why you’ve been so stressed lately? Why you’ve been so secretive?” My voice was shaking now. “Lisa’s been blackmailing you?”

Another long pause. Then, barely above a whisper, he said, “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

A wave of anger, betrayal, and disbelief crashed over me. My own sister had been manipulating my husband. And he—he had stolen from me. Lied to me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the phone so tightly my fingers ached. Then, I pulled the phone away from my ear and hung up.

My hands trembled as I dialed 911.

The operator answered, “911, what’s your emergency?”

I took a deep breath, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.

“I need to report a crime.”

By the time the cops arrived, Tom had already made it home.

I hadn’t even heard his truck pull up—I was too lost in my own thoughts, trying to piece everything together. When he walked through the door, I was still standing in front of my laptop, staring at the frozen frame of my sister smirking at the camera.

“Hey, I tried calling—why didn’t you—” Tom started, but he stopped short when he saw my face. His expression darkened. “What’s wrong?”

Before I could speak, the knock at the door made us both jump.

I turned and opened it to find two officers standing there, their presence heavy with authority. The flashing blue and red lights from their car painted streaks across the walls.

“Ma’am, you called in a report?” one of them asked.

I nodded. “Yes. My husband… he—he staged a robbery in our home. And my sister—she’s blackmailing him.”

Tom’s head snapped toward me. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The officers stepped inside. “Thomas, you’re under arrest for staging a burglary and withholding stolen property.”

One officer pulled out handcuffs, and Tom instinctively took a step back. “Wait, wait—this is insane! Babe, tell them—”

“You have the right to remain silent,” the other officer cut in.

I watched, arms crossed, as they grabbed his wrists and secured the cuffs.

“Lisa is also being taken in for blackmail and extortion,” the officer continued.

Tom went pale. His body tensed.

“No, you don’t understand,” he pleaded, his voice raw. “I only did it for us!”

I shook my head, my throat tight. “You could’ve told me the truth, Tom. But instead, you stole from me. You lied. You let this fester until it destroyed everything.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. The weight of his choices had finally caught up to him.

As the officers led him out the door, he turned back one last time. “Do you still love me?”

I inhaled sharply. The answer should’ve been easy. A simple yes or no.

But all I felt was emptiness.

I held his gaze for a long moment, then finally spoke.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore.”