My name is Nick. After a three-day work trip, I was looking forward to my wife Kate’s fried chicken, my favorite dish.

The drive back to our small town was quiet as I mentally listed my weekend tasks: finish a work project, schedule a meeting with investors, and check in with a few junior workers.

As I passed Kate’s Diner, I noticed her latest message on the sign. Normally, it read something quirky like, “Best Burgers in Town!” But today, it said: “Nick, I know what you did. Don’t bother coming home. – Kate.”

I slammed on the brakes, my heart racing. What was going on? Had something happened while I was away? Everyone in town had likely seen the sign.

I pressed the gas and rushed home, replaying my week. I hadn’t done anything wrong, at least not that I knew of.

When I walked in, Kate sat at the kitchen table with arms crossed and an icy look in her eyes.

“What’s going on, Kate? What’s with the sign?” I asked, trying to stay calm.

She slid a piece of paper toward me like it was evidence. Next to it was a bouquet of red roses.

Confused, I picked up the note: “Thank you for a wonderful night, love. I can’t wait to see you again.”

“What is this?” I asked, bewildered.

“Who is the lucky girl, Nick?” she shot back, her voice sharp.

“I didn’t send these! I’ve been out of town!” I exclaimed.

“Don’t lie!” she shouted, tears streaming down her face. “These were delivered while you were gone.”

I was at a loss. How could she think I’d cheat?

“Look at the address,” I said, noticing the discrepancy. Our address was 243 Maple, but this said 241.

Kate’s anger faltered as she processed my words.

“No…” she whispered, sinking back into her chair.

I called the florist from the receipt. After explaining, they confirmed the flowers were meant for someone at 241 Maple.

Kate sat wide-eyed, realizing her mistake.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice trembling.

Her public accusation stung deeply.

“You put up a huge sign, Kate!” I replied quietly.

“I was hurt, and I didn’t think. I’m sorry,” she said, panic rising in her voice.

Half the town had likely seen the sign.

“I’ll take it down,” she promised. “Meet me at the diner for dinner?”

I agreed, still processing everything.

When I arrived, the sign had changed to: “It’s Always A Good Time For Milkshakes, Now With Extra Apology Sprinkles!”

I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Fried chicken?” she asked, her face lighting up.

I nodded, and we sat down to talk it out—the embarrassment, the hurt, and how easily trust had been shaken.

Kate apologized repeatedly, and while I accepted her apology, I made sure she understood how much her lack of trust affected me.