When my husband, Jack, is very tired, he talks in his sleep. After almost 20 years of marriage and raising two kids, I’d gotten used to his sleepy mumblings. They were generally harmless little things, often about work, fishing, or his car.

But last night, something he said made the hair on my arms stand on end.

“Don’t go into the basement,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.

I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. A few minutes later, he mumbled again.

“Liz, don’t open this.”

Then, with a final murmur, he sighed deeply.

“They’ll find out about the suitcase.”

What suitcase? What was this man talking about?

The next morning, I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that had overcome me. Over breakfast, as I tossed eggs around in a pan, I decided to bring it up.

“Hey, honey,” I said casually. “You were talking in your sleep last night. Something about a box in the basement. Isn’t that weird?”

My husband’s face turned pale, and he forced a laugh, but I could see the tension in his eyes.

“What? Really? That must have been some crazy dream!” he said, avoiding my gaze.

I knew my husband well. I mean, we had been together for over 20 years, and I could easily tell when he was lying or uneasy.

His reaction told me just one thing: I needed to see what was in the basement.

“Come on, Liz,” I told myself as I took a flashlight to the basement.

As far as I could remember, the light in the basement had been burnt out for a long time, and other than going down there to get our Christmas decorations or take out winter coats, we barely went down there.

But when I went to check, I found the door locked with a padlock.

“Hey, honey,” I called out to my husband, trying to keep my voice steady. What was so secretive in the basement that it needed to be protected by locks?

“Where’s the key to the basement? The door’s locked,” I said.

I waited patiently for Jack to respond, but the seconds of silence were deafening. Finally, I heard his heavy footsteps as he appeared in the hallway, his face carefully blank.

“I lost the keys years ago,” he said. “If you need access, I’ll break down the door this weekend and clean everything up for you. We can replace the door and make something out of the basement. Yeah?”

His response only heightened my suspicion.

Christmas was only three months ago, and Jack had fetched all our Christmas decorations from the basement. So, what was this whole thing about the keys being lost for years?

As soon as he left for work, I went upstairs to our son’s room. Michael was home from college, having deferred a semester, and I knew that I needed his help to get into the basement.

“I need your help, now,” I said.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Michael asked, pulling his covers back. “Is everything okay?”

“I need you to help me get into the basement,” I said. “Your dad’s been acting really strange, and I need to know why.”

“And you think that there’s something in there?” he asked, frowning.

“Yes!” I replied. “You get us inside, and I’ll make you anything you want for breakfast.”

My son grinned and nodded his head.

He went outside into the garden shed and got Jack’s angle grinder, and with a mixture of curiosity and concern, we headed to the basement door.

The sound of the grinder cutting through the padlock was loud, and my heart raced with every second. I knew that whatever we were about to find was about to change our lives forever.

Judging from Jack’s reaction, nothing good could come from this.

Moments later, the lock fell to the ground with a heavy clink.

We swung open the door and walked down the stairs, our eyes adjusting to the dim scene in front of us. The basement looked as it always had, a bit dusty and untidy with items that we were hoarding for no reason at all.

“Mom, really?” Michael said, gently kicking a box of his childhood toys. “You still have these things? We don’t need this stuff.”

“It’s worth holding onto,” I said, glancing around, trying to find something strange and unfamiliar.

“So, what are we looking for?” Michael asked, looking around at everything. “It just looks like a regular basement, if anything.”

“I know,” I replied. “But there’s something here we need to find. A suitcase of some sort. I don’t think it will be labeled like the others.”

“Okay, understood,” Michael said, beginning to part his way through boxes. “And just remember, I like my bacon extra crispy when you’re doing my breakfast.”

I laughed along with him.

We began rummaging through the clutter. And after a while, Michael called out.

“I think I found something!” he said.

He pulled out an old suitcase from behind a stack of paint cans. The suitcase was solid and heavy, and sealed shut with one of those combination locks.

“I bet it’s my birthday,” Michael joked.

But it wasn’t. So, with a hammer and a crowbar, my son worked hard against the suitcase and eventually we opened it.

“What on earth is this stuff?” he asked.

“Let’s see,” I said. “Bring it here.”

Inside, we found a collection of old documents, a set of keys, and a map. The documents were old property deeds and legal papers, but there was one in particular that stood out.

It was labeled “Inheritance.”

“Inheritance?” Michael said, reading over my shoulder. “We’re rich?”

“Shush,” I said. “Let me read this and figure it all out.”

The document revealed that Jack had inherited a large estate from his estranged uncle, including a mansion and a significant amount of money.

Judging from the dates on the document, Jack had kept this from me for years.

“So, what does it all mean?” Michael asked.

“I’m not completely sure yet,” I said, trying to process the information. “But we need to find out more.”

Just as I was absorbing everything, Michael pulled out another item. An old photo album.

The pictures showed Jack with another woman who seemed close to my age, and two little children, living in what looked to be the estate from the documents.

It was clear that they had been a family.

“Who are these people?” Michael asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

“I have no idea,” I whispered to my son, my mind reeling. “But we need to talk to your father.”

Michael nodded slowly.

“Come,” I told him. “Let’s get you some breakfast.”

We went upstairs, and I continued to make Michael some breakfast. My son wasn’t stupid, and I knew that he understood what we had seen. Maybe our version of it was warped because of the disbelief and betrayal that swam through our thoughts.

But it was clear: Jack had another family stashed somewhere.

When Jack came home that evening, he saw the open suitcase and the look on our faces. Michael and I had been talking about the possibilities the entire day.

“Liz, I can explain,” Jack stammered.

“Explain what, Jack?” I snapped. “The mansion? The money? The other family? How long were you planning to keep this secret?”

He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping.

“I never wanted you to find out like this.”

“Then how?” I demanded. “How were we supposed to find out? Were you going to tell us? Or were you just going to let this secret die with you?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you. It was just a mistake. And I thought that I could handle it,” he said.

“Handle what?” I asked, my voice breaking. “How long has this been going on?”

And then the truth came spilling out. Jack admitted that he had been living a double life for the first five years of our marriage.

“On a business trip, I met Imogen and I fell in love. It was instant. But I didn’t tell her that I was married. So, we carried on meeting every time I was in her area. Not long after, she told me that she was pregnant.”

“I can’t take this,” Michael said. “I refuse to listen to this. I’m going for a walk.”

“Look, both the kids don’t have my name on their birth certificates, but they are living in my uncle’s estate. I had to provide for them. But Imogen died a few years ago. The kids live with her parents on the estate, but that’s about it. This suitcase is a reminder of a part of my life that I had control over, but I chose to keep hidden.”

I had nothing to say. There were no words that would make the truth easier to comprehend.

“The anniversary of Imogen’s death is coming up, and I think that I was just thinking about it before I fell asleep,” Jack said.

That explained the talking in his sleep.

After that, I decided to choose Michael and myself. And I filed for a divorce from Jack. Michael refused to have anything to do with his father, and I had to side with him. He hadn’t lied to me about anything.

Jack didn’t even put up a fight.

What would you have done?

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

I Came Home from a Trip to Find Our House Being Destroyed by My Husband and Kids — It Was the Last Straw

As Jo returns from a business trip, she walks into a messy and chaotic house. Her husband, Brandon, greets her with a comment that gives her no choice but to run to her parents’ house for refuge. When she returns, things seem to be better. But will Brandon learn his lesson and play his part in their marriage?

I walked through the door, the clack of my suitcase wheels echoing off the hallway walls, and I was absolutely stunned.

It looked like a tornado had swept through our living room.

Toys were strewn across the floor, dishes piled up in the sink, and what? A blackened banana on the couch?

My heart sank. This was the last thing I needed after a grueling week of meetings across the state.

I just wanted to come back home to my husband, children, and my own bed. To come back to a clean home.

When I left for my trip, I had left explicit instructions for my husband, Brandon.

I had even prepped meals to last the week, sorting out lunches and dinners. I wanted to make everything as easy as possible for my husband.

All Brandon had to do was sort out the kids’ cereal in the morning and get them dressed, which would be easy enough because I had sorted the kids’ outfits by day. The laundry had been done before I left, too.

Everything was set for my husband to take over seamlessly.

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.