Margaret was surprised to discover Martin and his ex-wife digging up their beautiful garden when she came home. Their whispered words and dirty hands suggested long-buried secrets. Margaret learned Martin wasn’t ideal after conflict.
I’ve heard of guys cheating on their spouses with coworkers, acquaintances, and even exes, but I never imagined I’d have to consider that about Martin. I always believed he was the perfect man.
A common acquaintance introduced us two years ago after I split up with my five-year boyfriend. I was at my lowest. heartbroken, insecure, and self-questioning.
Martin entered my life like a breath of fresh air.
His kindness and attention began when we met. He could listen to me talk about my day for hours without looking at his phone or getting bored.
He arrived at my doorway with homemade chicken soup and my favorite rom-com flicks on his laptop, which won me over.
He remarked, “Everyone needs a little TLC when they’re sick,” smiling.
This is it, I thought. It’s the man I’ve always wanted.
One of my favorite things about Martin was his adorable quirk. When scared or pressured, he stammered, which I loved.
After a month together, he took me to a posh Italian restaurant for our “monthiversary” (yeah, we celebrated such back then).
Martin was suited up and anxious to tell me about his firm’s new accounting software.
“It’s going to revolutionize how we handle client data,” he added, waving his fork. He dropped the fork, spilling tomato sauce on his shirt.
Instantly, his face got crimson.
“I-I-I’m so s-sorry,” he struggled, ashamed. “I didn’t mean to… Oh my gosh, what a mess.”
I liked his nervousness. I grabbed his hand across the table.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I whispered. “This happens. Also, red is your color.”
That made him laugh, and we laughed too. Later, over tiramisu, he admitted to stammering when embarrassed or worried.
In our connection, Martin opened up about his background, especially his ex-wife Janet.
“She was always after more,” he shrugged. Richer, greater stuff, higher prestige. It was never enough.”
Martin said Janet’s selfishness destroyed their marriage. He told me about maxed-out credit cards, designer apparel fights, and tantrums over expensive vacations.
“That’s why we broke up,” he said one night while we hugged on the couch. “I couldn’t handle her demands anymore. She continued forcing my head underwater like I was drowning.”
How could somebody mistreat such a great man? My thoughts.
That day, I promised never to be like that. I would value Martin for himself, not his gifts.
Martin proposed a year into our relationship, and I accepted without hesitation. The finest day of my life was our tiny but gorgeous wedding.
Last Tuesday. After spending the weekend with my mother, I was excited to go home. I surprised Martin with his favorite lasagna for supper.
However, I noticed something that caused me stop too hard as I entered our driveway.
Two individuals were digging up my favorite garden in our front yard. Not just any pair. Martin and his ex-wife Janet, whom I knew from images.
I sat in the car blinking fast, wondering if my eyes were deceiving me. Instead, they were digging up my hard-grown flowers.
Why was Janet here? Why was she with Martin? Why were they damaging my garden?
I left the car and marched to them.
“What’s going on here?” I raged and demanded.
Martin jerked, his eyes wide with astonishment. “M-M-Margaret!” he shouted, dropping the spade. “Y-you’re h-home e-early.”
He stammers, I thought.
I suddenly had all my worst worries. Only when anxious or nervous could Martin stutter. But why? What was he hiding?
My head was full with ideas. Was Janet his cheating partner? Did they never break up? Or anything more sinister? Why else would they dig up our yard secretly?
Janet stopped him from saying “W-we were just…”
“Oh, you didn’t tell her?” “Love, she DESERVES to know that 10 years ago we buried a time capsule.”
“A time capsule?” I repeated numbly.
One was buried while we were together. We resided here “and pointed to a dirty metal box near her feet. “We always planned to dig it up someday.”
Martin nodded sheepishly. “Y-yeah. We thought recalling our past would be pleasant.”
“Your memories,” I said. “So, you decided to destroy my garden for your little trip down memory lane?”
“I-I’m sorry,” Martin shrugged. “I d-didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t think,” I grumbled before entering the home.
I walked around the living room, trying to understand what transpired. Could Martin do this? How could he hide this from me? How can he put Janet’s history above ours?
The front door opened and closed, followed by quiet hallway chatter. Martin shouted, “Margaret? Can we talk?”
I inhaled and entered the hallway. Martin and Janet stood with the muddy time capsule.
“What’s there to talk about?” I inquired coldly.
“Please explain,” Martin begged. “It’s not what you think.”
Janet nods. “We just wanted to remember. There’s nothing.”
I interrupted her with a hand.
“What? Fine. Go ahead. Reminisce. Find your past. Will be outside.”
I breezed passed them and left. The mess they caused in my garden gave me an idea.
I started gathering bonfire wood. When I started a decent fire, the sun had almost down. Martin and Janet were giggling in the kitchen about something they found in the time capsule.
“Hey,” I shouted. “Why not bring that things here? A little bonfire would be wonderful.”
Martin buried the time capsule after they joined me outdoors a few minutes later.
“This is nice,” he said.
I nodded and took a handful from the box. I held some old photographs and letters.
“Margaret, what are you —” Martin started but choked on his words as I threw everything in the flames.
“What are you doing?” Janet insisted.
“Burnt bridges should stay burnt, don’t you think?” My words were forceful. “It’s time to focus less on the past and more on the future we’re supposed to be building together, Martin.”
What I didn’t expect from our time together was seeing their memories burn. But it also gave me hope that we might establish something fresh here. Something genuine.
Looking at Martin, I realized he wasn’t the wonderful husband I thought I married. Like everyone else, he was imperfect.
Janet abruptly spoke.
She responded, “I think I should go,” edging away from the flames. Neither Martin nor I stopped her as she ran out of the yard.
When we were alone, Martin looked at me with tears.
He apologized to Margaret. “I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t know how to explain the time capsule.”
I breathed deeply, “Did you think I wouldn’t understand?”
“I was afraid,” he said. I was scared you’d think I still liked Janet and be unhappy over the garden. I thought I could finish it off by digging it up fast while you were away. I think I was incorrect. I erred greatly. Can you forgive me?”
“I don’t know, Martin,” I said, looking at the flames. “You betrayed me. That’s not fixable overnight.”
“We have a lot to talk about, and a lot to work through,” I said. But not tonight. Tonight, I need space.”
“Of course,” Martin nodded. “I’ll… I’ll sleep on sofa.”
I saw the fire go down as he went home.
I considered replanting the garden. New seeds, dirt, life. Perhaps our connection is similar.
Our route would be decided later. I knew my views on Martin would change forever.
What would you do in my situation?
