I went to return pliers to my neighbor, when he opened the door, I collapsed in utter shock.
My husband, Benjamin, was often away on business trips. On the third day of his absence, a leak started in the bathroom. Water trickled down a dark green pipe, and I tried everything, even tying it with an old bedsheet — a hack I’d read about online.
But it only got worse. It was midnight, and all I could think was how Benjamin would’ve fixed it in seconds. I called him, but nothing — just endless beeps.
Desperate, I posted in the building chat, and within minutes, Jake, the tall, broad-shouldered guy I’d seen around, offered to help.
He showed up, and by the next day, the leak was gone, thanks to the clamps he’d installed.
But he left his pliers behind. I grabbed them, thinking I should return them, and headed over. When Jake finally opened the door, I collapsed in shock because…
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What started as a quiet evening alone quickly spiraled into a nightmare when I discovered a leak in the bathroom.
Little did I know fixing that pipe would uncover a shocking truth about my husband that would change everything I thought I knew about our marriage.
It had been another one of Benjamin’s long business trips. He’d been traveling so much lately, and I was starting to get used to doing things on my own.
But I hated it.
I hated feeling like I had to fix everything myself. The little things like tightening a loose screw or unclogging the sink were easy enough. But this time, I was in over my head.
On the third day of Benjamin’s absence, I planned a relaxing evening.
Our daughter, Alice, was staying with her grandma and I was looking forward to a quiet bath. But around noon, I noticed a small drip coming from a dark green pipe behind the sink. By evening, it had turned into a steady stream, with water pooling on the floor.
I tried everything I could think of.
“YouTube says tie it up with a cloth,” I muttered to myself. So, I grabbed an old bedsheet and wrapped it around the pipe. The water only soaked through faster.
Panic set in as I checked the time.
Midnight. I reached for my phone and called Benjamin.
“Come on, pick up,” I whispered, pacing the hallway. The call rang and rang.
No answer. “Of course,” I sighed, hanging up and staring at the puddle forming under the sink.
This was his thing. He fixed everything.
I hated how lost I felt without him. But he wasn’t there, and something had to be done.
I opened the building chat and typed out a desperate message: Anyone awake? I have a leaking pipe, and I don’t know what to do.
Seconds later, a response popped up.
“Jake here.
Oh, I had a burst pipe myself not too long ago. I can take a look.”
Jake? I knew the name but didn’t know much about him.
I’d seen him in the stairwell a few times — a tall, broad-shouldered guy. He lived a few floors down, always nodding a polite hello when we passed.
Relief washed over me.
“Thank you! The pipe is leaking in the bathroom.
I’ll be here.”
About ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find Jake standing there, toolbox in hand, looking every bit the calm and collected type. He smiled warmly.
“Looks like you’ve got quite the mess,” he said, glancing at the water dripping down the pipe.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admitted, feeling embarrassed.
“No worries.
Let me take a look.”
Jake knelt down, examined the pipe, and got to work. I stood off to the side, watching as he handled the situation like a pro. Within minutes, he had clamped the pipe, and the leak was under control.
“Thank you,” I said, genuinely relieved.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
“It’s no trouble at all. I’ve been there myself,” he said, packing up his tools.
The next day, the clamps that Jake had installed were still in place, and there was no sign of any leak. On the floor near the bathroom lay Jake’s forgotten pliers.
“He must have left them,” I muttered under my breath as I threw a jacket over my shoulders.
I raised my hand to knock again when the door suddenly opened. My breath caught in my throat. Standing in the doorway wasn’t just Jake.
It was Benjamin.
My heart pounded in my chest, and for a second, I thought I might faint. “What — what are you doing here?” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.
Benjamin stood there, shirtless, his eyes wide in shock. He looked as if he’d been caught in the act.
Jake shifted uncomfortably beside him, scratching the back of his neck.
“Cleo, listen,” Benjamin started, but the words stuck in his throat.
I couldn’t process what I was seeing. My husband — who was supposed to be halfway across the country — was here. In Jake’s apartment.
“What is this?” I whispered, stepping back, my head spinning.
I could feel my legs trembling. None of it made sense. The business trips, the late-night phone calls, his distant behavior…
Jake stepped forward, his voice low.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Not what I think?” I repeated, my voice growing louder. “Then what is it?”
Benjamin reached out to me, but I jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”
I glanced past them into the apartment.
The unmade bed. Two glasses on the nightstand. My mind was racing, trying to put the pieces together.
I took a shaky step forward, pushing past Benjamin.
“I need to see,” I said, my voice trembling, but I was determined.
“Cleo, wait—” Benjamin protested, his voice thin, but I ignored him. I walked straight into the apartment, my eyes darting around, taking in the scene. The unmade bed with rumpled sheets.
Two half-full wine glasses sitting on the nightstand. The air smelled faintly of col
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