I Saw a Strange Note in My Husband’s Planner and Followed Him into the Woods

You never expect betrayal from the person you love the most. That’s the thing about trust, isn’t it? It’s built so quietly, so gradually, that when cracks appear, you don’t notice until everything falls apart.

Looking back, the signs were probably always there. But I had no reason to question Curtis. He was my husband, my partner of 12 years, and the father of our two beautiful twin daughters.

We were that couple everyone envied. We met in our twenties, fell hard, and just clicked. It was the kind of love that makes you believe in soulmates.

Now, we have two 10-year-old girls, a mortgage, and a life that looked picture-perfect. On the surface, everything was great. Curtis worked as an office manager, I taught fourth grade, and we had hobbies that gave us our own space.

Mine was knitting. Yes, I’m that person, knitting scarves for everyone—even Gypsy, the dog.

My husband’s? Birdwatching. He was obsessed with birds of prey.

It all sounds good, right? Normal? That’s what I thought.

Wrong.

At first, I found it charming. There was something endearing about how Curtis would grab his binoculars and head into the woods on weekends, talking about hawks and kestrels with the enthusiasm of a kid with a new toy.

I even suggested we go to a falconry show once, thinking that we could bond over it. But Curtis shot me down.

“It’s not really your thing, Kendra,” he said gently. “And it can be dangerous in the field. I just want you safe.”

I bought it.

I thought it was sweet, even. My husband was trying to keep me safe.

But then, one rainy Tuesday, while tidying the kitchen, I noticed his planner lying open on the counter. Curtis wasn’t careless with his things, so this was new to me.

At first, I told myself not to peek, but curiosity got the better of me.

I expected bird sightings, and maybe some scribbled notes about hawks or owls. Instead, I saw a bizarre entry:

34-28-34. Black and red. A 10.

For a moment, I just stood there, blinking. What was I even looking at? I Googled those numbers, thinking maybe it was some obscure birdwatcher’s code. But no matter how many variations I tried, the search results came back with the same thing: measurements.

Suddenly, my stomach knotted.

My mind raced through every conversation we’d had, every time Curtis had gone off “birdwatching” alone. Something wasn’t adding up. But instead of confronting him right away, I made a choice I never thought I’d have to make in my marriage: I’d follow him.

“Girls, what would you like for dinner?” I asked the twins when we were all sitting in the kitchen, snacking on cheese and crackers.

“Ribs, Mom,” Gemma said.

“No! I’d like some pasta with extra cheese,” Abby said, wrinkling her nose.

“We can do both if you’d help me,” I said.

While I was busy with the girls, I noticed Curtis come into the kitchen a few times.

Once, he had his planner with him, tucked under his arm. The second time, he came to get a glass of juice. And the third time, he came in to tell the girls about his birdwatching trip the next day.

“Dinner’s done, Dad,” Gemma said, setting the table.

All through dinner, Curtis told the girls random bird facts.

And while he did, all I could think about was who or what my husband was actually involved with.

That Sunday, I kissed the girls goodbye, telling them that I was going out for the day.

“I have errands to run with Aunty Alice,” I said. “But Gran will come over by the time Dad goes out birdwatching. I promise, we’ll bring pizza and ice cream home!”

I drove to a garage close to the birdwatching trail and waited for Curtis’s car to pull up. I didn’t have to wait long.

But the first thing I noticed was that he wasn’t in his usual gear. And when he started walking, it wasn’t down the usual birdwatcher’s hike. Something was going on—I knew it deep down in my bones.

I kept low as I followed him through the forest, swatting at mosquitoes and praying I wouldn’t get caught. I was almost ready to believe I was being paranoid. Maybe there really was some secret birdwatcher’s thing I didn’t understand.

But then I saw them.

Curtis wasn’t tracking hawks, like he had told our daughters. He was meeting someone. A woman.

And not just any woman.

I recognized her from a group photo he’d posted on Facebook months ago. They stood close, too close, like they were the only two people in the world.

And then he kissed her.

It hit me like a gust of wind. I stood frozen, every nerve in my body screaming at me to run, scream, or do something. But instead, I watched in disbelief.

This couldn’t be my life. Curtis wasn’t supposed to be this person.

Eventually, I turned around and stumbled back to my car, tears burning my eyes. Before I drove off, I got out of the car and ran into the garage bathroom. I needed to fix my face before I saw the girls.

I didn’t confront him that night. Not yet. I wanted to be smart about this. If I was going to lose everything, I’d make sure I came out on top. If not for me, then for my girls too.

“So, you’re just going to let it slide?” my sister, Alice, said on the phone when I told her everything.

“I’m not,” I said. “It’s just that I want to wait a little longer. I think there’s more to this. I want to watch him more.”

“Kendra, don’t waste your time. How can it get worse? He’s already cheating on you. Cut him loose, Sis.”

If only it were that easy.

I gave myself time to think. I told myself it might just be one affair, something temporary, something fleeting… something fixable. But then, a few days later, I checked his planner again.

36-24-26. Blonde. An 8.

My hands shook as I closed the planner. My worst fear wasn’t that he’d had one affair—it was that this was who Curtis was. My Curtis, the man I’d built a life with, was a serial cheater.

He wasn’t just cheating on me. He was cataloging these women like birds in a field guide. It was sickening.

And it broke something in me that I didn’t even know could break.

I knew what I had to do.

The next Sunday, I followed him again. This time, prepared, emotionally and otherwise.

I’d packed mosquito spray, sure, but I also had a folder full of legal paperwork waiting at home. The girls were with my parents for the weekend.

And I was done playing the fool.

When I saw Curtis, he was in the same forest clearing, only this time with another woman. She was blonde, just like his planner had said. My stomach twisted with disgust, but I didn’t hide this time.

I stepped out from the trees.

“Curtis,” I said loudly.

He turned, his eyes wide. The woman beside him looked confused, like she had no idea who I was. Good. She deserved to know.

“Enjoying your ‘birdwatching’?” I asked.

Curtis stammered and then began fumbling for excuses.

“It’s not… look, Kendra, it’s not what you think.”

I didn’t let him finish.

“Oh, it’s exactly what I think.” I stepped closer. “Divorce papers will be waiting for you at home. Good luck in court, Curtis.”

My husband’s face paled, and the other woman backed away slowly, like she wanted no part in what was happening.

I turned and left.

When Curtis got home, I was sitting in the living room, crocheting a scarf. He bombarded me with excuses.

“Kendra, listen,” he said, kicking off his shoes. “Do you really think I’m the kind of man who would cheat on you?”

“Isn’t that exactly what you were doing though?” I asked in return.

“No! Listen to me! I’m telling you that I didn’t do anything. Tear up the divorce papers, Ken…”

“Why would I do that? I caught you. Twice! Come on, Curtis! I’m not stupid. Just think, these poor girls think the world of you. But you’re the biggest disappointment in their lives. Rating women? Meeting them in a forest clearing?”

“Don’t tell them, Kendra!” he exclaimed.

“I’m going to. They need to know who their father is. I mean, really. Take those divorce papers and sign them, Curtis. I can make this ugly.”

He sighed and stomped off into the kitchen.

This man was sick. This man wasn’t the man I married. And he definitely wasn’t the man I wanted around my children.

The divorce was quick, brutal, and entirely in my favor. I got the house, the savings, Gypsy the dog, and most importantly, the girls.

Curtis? Well, he got nothing. Except the rundown car that he had been promising to fix.

“Mom, do you hate Dad?” Abby asked me one evening when the three of us were sitting in the living room having pancakes for dinner.

The question made me pause, my fork hovering mid-air.

“What do you mean?” I asked gently, setting my plate down on the coffee table.

“I mean… the divorce, Mom. And now Dad isn’t living with us,” Gemma chimed in, her small voice laced with curiosity but not sadness.

I let out a slow breath. I’d known this conversation would come sooner or later.

“I don’t hate Dad,” I said finally, keeping my tone even. “But he disappointed me in ways I can’t fully explain. So, things had to go this way.”

They both watched me with wide, solemn eyes, the kind that made me feel guilty for things I had no control over. I wanted to tell them more, how Curtis’s betrayal had cut me to my core, how it had shattered everything I thought I knew.

But they were too young to understand that kind of pain, and they deserved better than to carry the weight of it.

“Look, whenever you want to see Dad, I’ll take you to him,” I continued. “But for now, things have to be this way.”

Abby thought for a moment and then nodded, her little shoulders relaxing.

“That’s okay, Mom. We’re happy with you.”

“Will you teach us how to knit?” Gemma asked suddenly, her face lighting up with excitement.

“Of course. We’ll start with scarves. They’re easiest.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted. They didn’t ask about Curtis again, at least not for a while. And when they did, I’d be ready with the same steady, honest answer: we were going to be okay.

What would you have done?

If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |

My Husband Missed the Birth of Our First Child — After Discharge, I Returned to an Empty House and a Creepy Note in the Crib

When Elena is in hospital, ready to give birth to her and Michael’s first baby, she finds herself alone with her mother. Michael was simply nowhere to be found. Upon discharge, Elena walks into the house hoping to find Michael there with an explanation. Instead, she finds a note from Michael blaming Elena’s mother for his disappearance. Where is Michael and what happened?

I always thought that the happiest day of my life was the day I married Michael. But then we found out that I was pregnant, and I figured that the day I gave birth to our baby was going to be the happiest.

Little did I know that it would be the beginning of a nightmare. Michael had promised me that he would be there, holding my hand as we welcomed our first child into the world.

Read the full story here.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.