When Nancy discovers a hidden letter in her husband David’s laundry, her seemingly stable life unravels. The letter, written by David, invites a mysterious woman to celebrate their “seven-year anniversary.” What else will the dirty laundry reveal? Laundry was just another Mom thing in our household. David helps out with the kitchen and the kids — but the laundry and the bathroom are two things he will never tackle. “I can’t do the hair in the drain,” David said, grimacing when I asked him to take over the chores.
“It’s my hair. And our daughter’s,” I chuckled. “Still gross,” he retorted. But the sounds of the washing machine and the hum of the dryer soon became my perfect quiet chore — and I loved that it was mine. Except for the time when laundry day revealed more than just dirty stains. As I shuffled through my husband’s laundry, the soft crinkle of paper disrupted the mindless actions of my hands. A folded letter, elegant and unsuspecting, slipped from between the folds of his shirt, falling to the floor.
Happy anniversary, babe! These 7 years have been the best of my life! Meet me at Obélix on Wednesday night, 8 p.m. Be in red. My husband’s handwriting was unmistakable. The loops of his letters and the hard pressure with which he wrote.
A cold shiver ran down my spine. Seven years? David and I had been married for eighteen years. We had two daughters. Our anniversary wasn’t for another six months. And Obélix? The fanciest restaurant in town? After David had specifically told me that we needed to cut down our expenses. We need to cook at home more, Nancy,” he said. “Less takeout. The girls will just have to get used to the idea — we’ve been spending unnecessarily, lately.” “Are we in trouble?” I asked, thinking that we were falling down some financial hole that we hadn’t been expecting.
Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough. It was all I thought about for days. I wanted to get to the bottom of David’s secret letter. A day after I found the note in his shirt pocket, I went back to see if it was still there — but the pocket was empty. Signed, sealed, and delivered, I thought. “I’m working late tonight, honey,” David said that morning while I began the breakfast routine. Should I leave you a plate, or will you grab something?” I asked, knowing full well that he had dinner plans with some mysterious woman in red. “I’ll get something on the way home,” he said, walking out the door with his travel mug.
The day dragged on with me doing school drop-offs and the afternoon lift club consisting of five noisy schoolgirls. But even through that, I couldn’t get David out of my mind. I took the girls back home and made them snacks for when they were sitting outside, while trying to figure out what to do.