My Husband Went to Visit His ‘Sick’ Parents, So I Decided to Surprise Him by Showing Up Unannounced…

My husband took off to visit his ailing parents, so I thought Id surprise him by showing up without warning
Every morning, Emily woke up to the cheery sound of rain smacking the windowsill, then squinted at clouds the colour of dishwater. The weather seemed to mimic her mood: unsettled, suspicious, and just vaguely gloomy.
For the third week in a row, her husband, Stephen, was stuffing his duffel bag and announcing:
My folks arent doing well; Ill pop down to see them for a few days.
The first time, Emily accepted it with sympathetic understanding. After all, Stephens mum, Janet, had recently had her gall bladder whipped out, and his dad, Arthur, was forever complaining about his blood pressure. Sixty-five wasnt exactly spring chicken territory.
Of course, go, Emily said. Send them my love. Tell them I’m thinking of them too.
Stephen left Friday evening and returned Monday morning, looking like hed just finished a night shift at the steel mill. Questions about his parents health got monosyllabic answers:
Theyre better. Still weak though.
What hurts for Mum? Emily wondered.
Oh, everything. Age, you know, Stephen waved her off.
Next week, déjà vu.
Again? Emily raised an eyebrow.
Mum took a tumble, got a bit bruised. Dads stressed. I need to go, Stephen explained, tucking fresh shirts into his bag.
I could come along. Help out?
No need. It’s crowded enough. You stay home.
Emily acquiesced. She never intruded where Stephens parents were concerned. Janet wasnt exactly cuddly polite, but distant. Their relationship was cool and cautious; just enough to be civil, never more.
Third times the charm or not the following weekend.
Whats up this time? Emily watched as Stephen piled jeans and a jumper into his bag.
Dads really bad. Blood pressure all over the shop. Mum cant cope alone.
Called the doctor?
We did. But you know what GPs are like these days scribbled out a prescription and legged it.
Stephen sounded convincing, but there was something off. His delivery was too rehearsed, like someone reading the dog’s instructions for assembling an IKEA chair.
Stephen, maybe they should go to hospital? If its serious
They wont. Petrified of hospitals. They say its calmer at home.
Bag zipped, Stephen dropped a peck on Emilys cheek.
Dont miss me. Ill be back as quick as I can.
Left alone, Emilys anxiety grew legs and started pacing. When was the last phone call from Janet? A month ago, apparently shed rung to wish Emilys friend happy birthday (classic Janet move).
Janet sounded bright, interested in Emilys work, and regaled her with tales from the allotment. Never a word about illness. Quite the opposite: Janet was bragging about her tomato crop and winter plans.
Odd, Emily murmured at the window, eyeing the relentless October drizzle. If shes poorly, why hasnt she called? She always did before.
Monday, back came Stephen, gloomier than ever.
How are your parents? Emily asked.
Dads better. Mums still weak.
What about the doctor?
What doctor? Stephen blinked.
The GP. You said you called him.
Oh, right. Said to keep an eye. Hospital if it gets worse.
Stephen hurriedly changed and retreated to the computer. Conversation over.
That evening, when Stephen showered, Emily took his phone. Shed never snooped before, but today her Spidey sense said, Take a peek.
No calls to his parents. None received, either. Not a single exchange with Janet or Arthur in two weeks.
Hows that possible? Emily whispered. If Stephens living with them, why phone?
Usually, when Stephen disappeared, his parents would at least ring Emily. See how she was, pass along the odd message. But this time radio silence.
Trip number four: Friday again.
For your parents, is it?
Yep. Mums got a temperature. Think shes caught something.
Stephen, maybe I should help at least with the nursing.
Why give yourself extra bother? Stephen barked. Works keeping you busy anyway.
Its no trouble. And theyre your parents so mine, too.
Emily, dont. Its crowded, and youll catch whatever Mums got.
He delivered these excuses with the conviction of a man applying for an Oscar but refused to meet her eye, packing as if scrambling for the last train.
What train are you getting? Emily asked.
Just the usual. Seven oclock.
Want me to walk you to the station?
No need. Ill get there.
Stephen pecked her cheek and shot out the door. Emily was left in a flat dripping with unanswered questions and weird coincidences.
Saturday, Emily paced. Her brain felt like scrambled eggs. Was she paranoid? Maybe Stephens parents really were sick, and she was conjuring up drama out of thin English air.
By lunchtime, Emily made up her mind. If Arthur and Janet were genuinely ill, a spot of daughter-in-law TLC would be welcome. Shed bake her famous Victoria sponge, buy some fruit, pack a bag of goodies, and pop down to their house.
A surprise visit, Emily decided. Stephenll never see it coming.
Chaos reigned in the kitchen. Mixing, baking, shopping. By three oclock, the pie cooling, oranges and bananas lined up, Emily slipped into a smart dress, tarted herself up, and headed to the station.
On the train, she grinned, picturing Stephens baffled face when she turned up on their doorstep with a bag of treats.
Emily? Where did you come from? hed say.
Came to visit, shed reply. Check on the patients.
It took ninety minutes to get to the parents home, a semi-detached outside Reading, with a garden and shed. Stephen grew up here; he knew every nook, every cranny.
Emily rang the familiar bell. A minute later, Janet appeared healthy, pink-cheeked, and practically glowing. She wore comfy tracksuit bottoms and had her hair neatly tied.
Emily? Janet blinked. What on earth brings you here?
Janet was bursting with good health. No sniffles, no complaints, just a touch of domestic energy.
Hi Janet, Emily stammered. I thought Id check in. Stephen said you were ill.
Ill? Janet laughed. Where did that come from? Were fit as fiddles! Whos spreading rumours?
Emilys face flushed, her heart thumping, and the bag of treats suddenly felt heavier than her mortgage.
But Stephen He said he was looking after you. That you werent well.
Looking after us? Janet shook her head. Emily dear, we havent seen him for a week no, longer!
From inside, Arthur bellowed, Janet, whos at the door?
Its Emily, Janet shouted back.
Arthur shuffled in, seventy and hale, decked out in work trousers and a check shirt, probably fresh from mucking about in the garden.
Oh, it’s Emily! What brings you here? Dont see you enough!
Arthur, wheres Stephen? Emily cut to the chase.
How should I know? Arthur shrugged. Probably at work? Or at your place?
He said he was coming here. Supposedly to nurse you, because you were ill.
Arthur and Janet exchanged bewildered looks.
Emily, we havent been ill. Stephen hasnt been here in ages. Whens the last time, Janet?
St Georges Day, Janet recalled. In April. Came for Dads birthday.
Yes, that was it. Not a peep since, Arthur confirmed.
All Emilys doubts collapsed into clarity: Stephens sick parent weekends were pure fiction.
Emily, you look pale, Janet fretted. Come in, have some tea.
Thank you, but Id better go, Emily murmured.
Go? Youve just arrived! And you brought cake dont think I didnt notice! Janet protested.
Another time, Emily handed over her goodies. Please, enjoy.
And Stephen? Arthur asked, confused. Whys he not with you?
No idea, Emily replied honestly.
Janet and Arthur saw Emily outside, exchanging worried glances. Walking to the bus stop, Emilys legs felt like jelly.
Her mind churned: where had Stephen actually spent all those weekends? With whom? Why use his parents as an alibi? And just how long had this charade been going on?
The bus ride back to the station took half an hour. Emily stared out at the grey September landscape, trying to piece the puzzle together. Every sick parent trip now felt like a slap in the face. Every explanation a cynical little fib.
So while I was fretting over his parents, he Emily couldnt finish the thought.
On the train, she thumbed her phone, tempted to ring Stephen. Then thought better of it. What to ask? Where are you? With whom? Why all the lies?
Maybe better to wait, and see his face for the next round of cover stories.
Emily arrived home at eight. The flat was silent, empty. She sat on the sofa and waited.
Monday morning, Stephen returned like clockwork. Keys rattled, door swung open. He entered, crumpled, tired, still lugging that duffel.
Morning, Stephen grumbled, heading for the bedroom. How were your weekend?
Fine, Emily replied calmly. Yours?
Hard. My parents are really bad this time.
Oh yeah? What exactly?
Mums got a fever, Dad spent the night checking his blood pressure. It’s relentless.
Stephen spoke without looking up, loading dirty laundry, unpacking medicine from his bag.
Stephen, Emily called softly. Look at me.
He glanced up, nerves flickering.
Where were you, really? Emily asked, straight to the point.
What? At my parents, of course. I told you.
Your parents are fine. Havent seen you in weeks.
Stephen froze, halfway through folding his shirt.
What are you on about?
I visited them yesterday. Wanted to help with the illness. Janet laughed when I mentioned being unwell.
Stephens face drained of colour.
You went there? Why?
Because I believed you. Thought they needed help.
Emily, you just dont understand
What dont I understand? Emily cut in. That youve been lying for a month? Using your parents as a cover?
Its not lying
Oh really? Then what is it? Emily moved closer. Where have you been, Stephen? And with whom?
He turned away, staring at the window.
I cant explain right now.
Cant? Or wont?
Emily, trust me. Its not what you think.
What do I think? Emilys icy tone made him wince.
Well that Ive found someone else. Another woman.
And?
Silence stretched for a minute. Then another. Stephen finally sighed, heavily.
Yes, he admitted, softly.
Emily nodded. Strangely, she felt no anger, only emptiness and clarity.
I see.
Emily, its nothing serious! Just it happened
A month ago?
Earlier. But I didnt know how to tell you.
So you lied about sick parents?
I needed to figure myself out. Work out what I want.
And? Did you figure it out?
Again, silence.
Im asking: did you figure out what you want?
I dont know, Stephen confessed.
I do, Emily said. I want someone who doesnt lie. Someone who doesnt hide behind poorly parents for a fling.
Its not a fling
Call it what you wish. The results the same youve lied for a month.
Emily walked to the bedroom and pulled out a small suitcase.
What are you doing? Stephen sounded alarmed.
Im packing, Emily answered, loading essentials. Ill stay at a friends, sort things out.
Sort what out?
You with your feelings. Me with divorce papers.
Emily, dont rush! Lets have a proper chat!
About what? How you led me on for a month? How I worried about your healthy parents?
I never meant to hurt you
And yet, here we are.
Emily grabbed her documents, phone, charger.
If you want to explain anything ring me. Though I doubt theres an excuse for this month of lies.
But what about our home? Our family?
Family means trust, Emily replied. And we can divvy up the home through solicitors.
Emily headed for the door.
Wait, Stephen pleaded. Cant we try again? Ill end things, well start fresh
Start from where? With more lies about your parents?
No more lies. I promise.
Stephen, Emily paused at the threshold. You promised to be a faithful husband, too. And look how that turned out.
Emily closed the door behind her. The hallway was silent, except for music drifting from upstairs.
Outside, a gentle English drizzle pattered down just like the day this all started. Emily turned up her collar and walked towards the Tube.
Her phone rang as she descended the steps. Stephens name flashed up. Emily declined, dropping the phone into her bag.
Her mind was made up. Living with someone whod spent a month hiding behind his ill parents to cover up a fling was no longer an option. Trust was gone, so was the family.
Ahead loomed chats with lawyers, splitting assets, a new chapter. But at least it would be honest no more lies about sick parents or mysterious weekend trips.
And the Tube carried Emily away from her old life, into a future still unknown, but at least truthful.