It all started when my husband, Eric, told me he needed some space to think things through. After 12 years of marriage, this was the first time he’d ever said anything like that.

“It’s not about us, Nella,” he insisted. “I just need time to clear my head.”

Of course, my mind spiraled to the worst possible scenarios. Eric had always been the steady one—reliable and calm. So when he casually mentioned he’d be sleeping in his car for a few nights, my anxiety skyrocketed.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “You can take the guest room or we can make the pool house cozier.”

“Nella,” he smiled slowly, “it’s not about us. This is important to me.”

For ten nights, Eric left the house after dinner and returned just before sunrise. He looked exhausted—dark circles under his eyes and moving slowly, as if his body didn’t want to cooperate. Whenever I asked, he brushed me off with a forced smile, insisting it was nothing.

But how could I trust him? My imagination ran wild. By the fifth night, I couldn’t take it anymore and decided to follow him. I felt ridiculous, like I was in a soap opera, but I had to know what was really going on.

I tailed him a few blocks, and to my surprise, he didn’t go far—just to the local park, where he parked under a tree and turned off the headlights. I parked down the street, nervous and expectant, waiting for someone else to show up. But no one came. He just sat there, staring at his phone, then curled up in the front seat with a pillow and blanket.

For the next few nights, the routine continued. Eric went to the park, slept in his car, and returned home looking worse each time. I was tormented by questions: Why would he suffer such discomfort unless he was hiding something?

On the tenth night, I had to confront him. After putting the kids to bed, I drove to the park, pulled up next to his car, and tapped on the window.

Startled, he unlocked the door and motioned for me to get in. The air was thick with unspoken words as I slid into the passenger seat.

“What the hell is going on, Eric?” I demanded. “Are you seeing someone? Is that why you’re here?”

He sighed, rubbing his face. The exhaustion he carried went deeper than sleep deprivation.

“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not like that. I keep telling you. There’s no one else.”

“Then what is it?” I pressed. “You’re scaring me. Why are you out here every night?”

Eric reached into the backseat, pulling out a small stack of books and a recording device.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he said softly. “I’ve been recording bedtime stories for the kids.”

“Bedtime stories? Why would that worry me?”

He hesitated. “I went to the doctor a few weeks ago. They found something—a tumor. It’s cancer, Nella. And it’s bad.”

My heart dropped. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to burden you,” he said. “I wanted you to have some normalcy. But I also wanted to create something for the kids to remember me by.”

I grabbed his hand tightly, feeling the weight of his secret crash down on me. This wasn’t about infidelity; it was about my husband preparing for a future I didn’t want to face.

“I refuse to let you go through this alone,” I said. “We’ll face this together.”

He nodded, tears streaming down his face, mirroring my own.

The months that followed were a blur of doctor’s appointments and treatments. Eric fought hard but knew the odds were against him. He spent time with the kids, made pancakes for dinner, and let them choose their Halloween costumes months in advance.

“I’ll try for as long as I can,” he promised one night. “But I’m getting tired.”

“I know, my love. Just listen to your body. Rest when it tells you.”

Eric passed away in the quiet hours of a winter morning, leaving our kids and me to navigate a world without him.

A few days after his funeral, I felt ready to listen to those recordings. I took the recorder from his car, scrolling through titles until one caught my eye: “Our Story.”

Taking a deep breath, I pressed play. His voice filled the space, warm and steady.

“Once upon a time, there was a princess…”

I smiled through tears as he narrated our love story, reminding me of the extraordinary life we shared.

“So, my love, if you’re listening to this, know that you were my fairytale. You turned my ordinary life into something extraordinary.”

His words wrapped around me like a hug I desperately needed. And now, whenever life feels heavy, I listen to Eric’s voice again, and somehow, I can smile.

What would you have done?