My husband sent me and the kids to a hotel for two weeks, saying the house had rats and needed disinfection. I believed him… until I drove by and saw a woman inside. I was shaken, but nothing prepared me for what he confessed next.
Mark and I weren’t perfect, but we worked on us, holding it all together. We had our routines—morning traffic rants, Friday takeout, a shared Netflix account, and two little munchkins, Emma and Noah, four and six… who still believed their dad could do no wrong. About a month ago, Mark came home pacing with that jittery look he gets when he’s read too much online.
“Jenny?” he leaned against the doorframe of our laundry room. He fidgeted with his wedding band, a nervous habit he’d developed over our seven years of marriage. I looked up, blowing a strand of hair from my face.
“What’s up?”
“I think we have a serious problem with the house.”
“What kind of problem?”
“I found rat droppings in the basement. And behind the kitchen cabinets. I think we need professional help.”
“Rats?
Are you sure?”
“Positive. I called a specialist. They said we should vacate the house for at least two weeks while they handle it.
They need to do a deep disinfection.”
I didn’t argue because this was Mark. Last winter, he’d insisted on replacing all our smoke detectors after watching a fire safety video on TikTok. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling.
Two weeks felt like a long time to be away just for some disinfection. “Where are we supposed to go?”
Mark’s face brightened. “Already handled it!
Found a great deal at the hotel downtown. Paid up front for 14 days. There’s an indoor pool for the kids…
free breakfast.
It’s amazing!”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s…
surprisingly proactive of you.”
He shrugged, not meeting my eyes. “Just want to keep my family safe.”
“When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow morning.
The crew needs to start as soon as possible.”
I sighed, looking around at the half-folded laundry. “I guess I’d better start packing.”