Therapy Bits

Evelyn had always believed that trust was the quiet glue holding a marriage together. Not the grand gestures, not the anniversaries or the photos on the mantel—just trust. Simple. Steady. Unshakeable. Or so she thought.

Her husband, Marcus, had a way of smiling that could smooth the edges off any worry. That smile had won her over years ago. It still had power, which is why she didn’t question him the first few times he came home late. “Work ran long,” he’d say, loosening his tie as though exhaustion were proof enough. She had nodded, believing him because believing was easier.

But one late evening, as the clock in the hallway chimed midnight, Evelyn sat at the kitchen table staring at the cold cup of tea she had made hours earlier. Marcus had sent another message—running behind, don’t wait up—and something in her chest tightened. It wasn’t anger. Not yet. Just doubt, faint but unmistakable, like a loose thread waiting to be pulled.

The next day, she tried to shake it off, but doubt has a way of lingering. It followed her through errands, through lunch with her sister, even through the rhythmic folding of laundry. When Marcus kissed her cheek that evening, she searched his eyes for reassurance. Instead, she found a flicker—something unreadable, something guarded.

“Long day?” she asked.

“The longest,” he replied too quickly.

So the thread pulled.

Over the next week, Evelyn began noticing the details: the faint trace of cologne she didn’t recognize, the way he angled his phone away, the small but growing gap between his words and his eyes. She didn’t want to believe he was lying—not Marcus, not her husband who used to whisper his dreams to her in the dark. Yet truth, she realized, doesn’t bend just because you wish it to.

On Friday, she followed him. She told herself she wouldn’t confront him, wouldn’t cause a scene. She only needed the truth—raw, unvarnished, whatever form it came in.

Marcus drove across town to a small community center, one with faded paint and a sagging sign. Evelyn watched from her car, her pulse thudding. When he stepped inside, she waited only a moment before slipping out and following.

What she found made her breath catch.

Marcus stood in a brightly lit room full of children gathered around scattered art supplies. He laughed as a little girl smeared blue paint across his hand. A banner on the back wall read: Volunteer Night – Creating with Kids.

When he looked up and saw her, he froze.

“Evelyn?”

She blinked at him. “This is where you’ve been?”

He wiped his hand on a towel, his expression softening. “I wanted to surprise you. I’ve been training here so I could apply for the mentorship program. I didn’t tell you because… I wanted to become someone more trustworthy. Someone better than I’ve been.”

His voice cracked, and something in her melted—not completely, but enough.

She stepped closer. “Next time,” she said gently, “try honesty first.”

Marcus nodded, relief flooding his face.

And for the first time in weeks, Evelyn felt the thread of trust slowly knotting itself back together.

FOWC With Fandango — Trustworthy – Facts, Fictions & Fantasies