I once believed that purchasing the house of our dreams would bring Nathan and me closer together. Instead, it became the backdrop for a painful revelation about my husband’s true character and the lengths some people will go to in pursuit of their desires.
Nathan and I first crossed paths right after college graduation, both stepping into the world with our first real jobs and a tight budget. We had little more than high hopes and empty pockets. In the small confines of his studio apartment, we often found ourselves sharing instant noodles and dreaming about a brighter future.
“Someday, we’ll have a real house,” Nathan would say, pulling me closer on his tired old couch.
“And a yard where we can play!” I’d add with a laugh.
We both envisioned a kitchen filled with the aromas of home-cooked meals, a place where we could create memories together.
With each penny we saved for our wedding, I remember counting coins just to buy flowers for the tables. After the wedding, we quickly redirected our focus to saving for a house—a place that would symbolize our shared dreams.
It wasn’t always easy. There were countless nights when we debated whether to save money or treat ourselves to a meal out. Yet, those challenges felt like part of our journey, a shared mission toward something beautiful.
When we finally bought our home, I felt a surge of empowerment. We had endured five years of long hours, cramped living spaces, and financial uncertainty. Now, we were ready to build a genuine life together—one that could even include starting a family.
The house was everything we had hoped for: a spacious layout, a large backyard with a white picket fence, and two stories where we could make memories. At that moment, it felt like all our dreams were aligning perfectly.
I was thriving in my graphic design business, and we finally had some financial breathing room. Nathan and I even began discussing the possibility of children. One morning, standing by the kitchen window with his coffee in hand, he mused, “I can picture them running around in that backyard.”
“Me too,” I replied, filled with optimism about our future.
Just a few weeks after moving in, while I was unpacking boxes, Nathan knocked on the front door. “Come meet our neighbor!” he called.
Curious, I stepped outside to find him chatting with an elderly woman named Mabel. She had silver hair, bright eyes, and wore a floral dress paired with white shoes. Though she appeared fragile, her grip was surprisingly strong as she welcomed me.
“Oh dear, welcome to the neighborhood!” she exclaimed, her voice sweet as honey. “It’s lovely to have young people living next door again.”
I smiled back, feeling a sense of warmth. “Thank you, Mabel. The neighborhood seems wonderful.”
But as we chatted about the weather and local shops, I couldn’t shake a nagging unease. Mabel’s gaze seemed to scrutinize every detail about me, as if she were evaluating my worthiness. I decided to mention it to Nathan when we returned inside.
“Did you notice how Mabel kept staring at me?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Honey, she’s just an old lady. She’s probably lonely since her husband passed away a couple of years ago.”
“I know, but there’s something about the way she looks at me…” I trailed off, feeling unsettled.
“You’re overthinking it,” Nathan reassured me. “She’s harmless. It’s like she reminds me of my grandmother.”
If only I had believed him. As the days passed, Nathan began spending more and more time at Mabel’s house. It started innocently enough; one Saturday morning, he went over to help her fix a dripping faucet.
“Just being neighborly,” he said when he returned an hour later. “I’m just trying to be nice.”
A week later, he helped her move some furniture, and the following week, he repaired her fence.
“Don’t you find it odd that she needs so much help?” I asked one evening as he reached for his hammer.
Avoiding my gaze, he replied, “What do you mean?”
“Before we moved here, how did she manage all this? Was her husband the one who did everything?”
Nathan shrugged. “Maybe she had other people help her before. She’s not required to anymore.”
I began to joke about it, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re spending more time with Mabel than with me,” I teased one Thursday evening.
“Lena, you’re being silly. I’m just helping out a neighbor,” he said with a laugh.
Then one Saturday morning, everything changed. As I was making coffee, Nathan strolled by with a trowel and a flat of flower seedlings.
“Where are you going with those?” I asked, curiosity piqued.
“Mabel’s garden,” he replied nonchalantly. “Just going to help her out.”
His tone struck me as odd. Something felt off. A nagging instinct compelled me to follow him, despite not knowing why.
I waited for a few minutes before retrieving my old binoculars from the closet. As I crept to the side fence, my hands trembled.
In the back of our yard, a small hill provided a perfect vantage point to observe Mabel’s garden. I had noticed it during our house hunt, thinking it was an ideal spot to watch sunsets. But now, it was about to reveal something far more sinister.
Lying flat on the grass, I raised the binoculars to my eyes. At first glance, everything seemed normal. Nathan was crouched in a flower bed near her back porch, diligently planting seedlings.
Then, another figure emerged from the house.
An attractive young woman, possibly in her early twenties, with long blonde hair and a figure that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover. Her tank top clung tightly to her curves, and her shorts barely covered her.
Who is that? I whispered to myself.
She approached Nathan and knelt beside him in the garden, saying something that made him laugh heartily. Then, she presented him with a single red rose.
And then—my heart dropped—she leaned in and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck. They were completely absorbed in each other, as if the world around them had vanished.
It felt like a punch to the gut. My vision blurred, and for a moment, I thought I might faint.
But it got worse.
Mabel appeared on her doorstep, carrying a tray with three glasses of lemonade, clearly expecting the young woman’s presence. She set the tray down on a small garden table, smiling at them as though she were watching a film she adored.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
How could Nathan kiss another woman while I was right next door?
Rushing down the hill, I made my way to Mabel’s front yard, pressing my forehead against a gap in the fence. I pulled out my phone and began recording everything I could see.
The young woman was nearly sitting on Nathan’s lap as they laughed and kissed like carefree teenagers. Meanwhile, Mabel busied herself with refilling their lemonade glasses, as if orchestrating a romantic picnic.
This was the man who had vowed to love me for life, my husband of five years—the same man who had just a week ago discussed starting a family.
“Nathan!” I shouted, my voice slicing through the air.
He looked up, his face registering shock as he pushed the young woman off his lap.
I hurried around to Mabel’s gate, letting myself in.
Tears threatened to spill as I confronted him. “I thought you loved me! All this time, you were over here with this old witch next door, looking for a girlfriend?”
Nathan’s mouth dropped open, struggling to find words.
“Lena, I—” he stammered. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Seriously?” I turned to the young woman. “Did you know he was married?”
Her face drained of color. “He told me he was divorced. I swear, I had no idea you existed.”
Mabel rushed over, dropping her façade of the sweet grandmother.
“How dare you trespass on my property!” she shouted. “This is not the place for you to come and blame others!”
“Mara, please come inside,” Mabel said to the young woman.
The girl quickly complied, retreating into the house.
“Whose property is this?” I shot back at Mabel. “You’ve been setting this up, haven’t you? You planned this all along!”
Mabel feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play coy with me!” I retorted. “You’ve been setting him up with her from the very beginning!”
Mabel’s expression shifted; the sweet mask slipped to reveal cold calculation.
“Mara deserves a good man,” she declared. “Someone who will take care of her.”
“He’s married!” I shouted, feeling the weight of betrayal.
Mabel snapped back, “He told her he wasn’t! If you were a better wife, he wouldn’t be looking for someone else.”
I froze, realizing the truth. Nathan had deceived them both, spinning a web of lies to escape the reality of our marriage.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” I said, my voice trembling with rage.
Nathan was still on the bench, looking desperate to disappear.
“Don’t come home tonight,” I said coldly.
“Lena, please, we can fix this—”
“No,” I cut him off. “We can’t.”
I stormed back to our house, packed his belongings into garbage bags, and left them on the front doorstep.
Three weeks later, I filed for divorce.
We put our dream house up for sale and split the proceeds down the middle. Nathan pleaded and begged, calling it a “mistake.” He claimed it “meant nothing,” that he was “confused,” and he “didn’t know how it happened.”
But I wasn’t confused—not anymore.
I was done.
In case you’re wondering, Nathan didn’t end up with that girl. News travels fast in small towns.
A few weeks after the divorce, I heard from another neighbor that Mabel had confronted Nathan at his mother’s house, shouting accusations at him for being a coward and a liar. She claimed he had broken her granddaughter’s heart and had promised to leave me for Mara.
He had brought shame upon them both.
Mabel had succeeded in convincing Mara to pursue Nathan, but when that fell through, they realized they had both been played just as I had.
To be honest, I was just relieved to move on from the entire disaster.