Inside, the first thing I noticed was a stack of documents, yellowed with age. As I went through them, I realized they were deeds and titles to properties I never knew we owned. Each paper was a revelation: a cabin in the mountains, an apartment in the city, even land overseas. My husband had never mentioned any of these to me, and the implications of hidden wealth and assets hit me like a tidal wave. Why had he concealed them?
But that wasn’t all. Beneath the papers was a small, leather-bound journal, its cover worn and weathered. I opened it to find my husband’s handwriting, revealing a side of him that had been completely invisible during our life together. The entries were unguarded, raw, and filled with confessions of guilt and regret. He wrote of choices he had made, alliances forged in secrecy, and the burden of a past life he had tried to escape by creating a new one with me.
