My wife’s massage therapist called me unexpectedly and told me I needed to attend her next session in secret.
At first, I was convinced something serious had happened. My wife had been seeing him for almost a year to treat chronic back pain, and I had never once spoken to him. His voice sounded uneasy as he said, “There’s something you need to know. I can’t explain it over the phone, but you should come to her next appointment.” When I asked for details, he refused, only adding before hanging up, “Trust me—you’ll want to hear this in person.”
For days, the call stayed on my mind. My wife behaved completely normally, which made me question whether I was overthinking it, but I couldn’t shake his tone. When her next appointment came, I told her I was taking our daughter out and left the house as usual. Instead, I drove to the therapist’s place and knocked on the door.
He opened it quietly and immediately gestured for me to come inside. Without much explanation, he led me down a hallway and stopped me behind a divider. “Stay here,” he whispered. “You won’t be seen, but you’ll hear everything.”
A few minutes later, my wife arrived. She greeted him casually, sounding relaxed and comfortable, just like always. Then she laughed and said something that made my stomach tighten: she mentioned that I was out with our daughter and that everything was “fine.”
Right after that, I heard another door open.
Then footsteps.
And someone else had just walked into the room.