James was always driven by work and success. He was quite tough inside. For 10 years together, I’d never seen him cry. But he did love me; I simply felt it. Except for the last few months.

He started acting differently, almost never at home, no time with the kids, and each time he got a call, he immediately left, saying it was office work. But then, he’d return and always put his clothes in the washing machine, even if he wore them for only one hour. The clothes often had a strange, musty smell, like he had been in a damp place. It started to feel off, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

One evening, I was fed up and decided to track him down. When his phone rang and he left in a hurry, I followed him, careful to keep a safe distance. He drove to an old, run-down building on the outskirts of town. I hesitated, unsure whether to go in or not. But my curiosity and concern for our marriage pushed me forward.
As I cautiously entered the building, I was hit by a pungent, damp odor. I followed the sound of muffled voices and found myself standing outside a room with a partially open door. What I saw inside left me speechless.
There was James, kneeling on the floor next to a frail, elderly man who was clearly in poor health. The room was dimly lit, and the air was thick with the smell of mold and sickness. James was gently helping the man change his clothes and clean up. His eyes were filled with a tenderness and compassion I hadn’t seen in months.

“James?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He looked up, startled. “Emily? What are you doing here?”

Tears welled up in my eyes. “I could ask you the same thing. What is this place?”

James sighed and stood up, helping the elderly man into a chair before walking over to me. “This is Mr. Thompson. He was my mentor when I first started my career. He has no family, no one to take care of him. He’s been living here alone, and I’ve been trying to help him as much as I can.”

I felt a wave of relief and guilt wash over me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he said softly. “And I didn’t want anyone to know. Mr. Thompson was too proud to ask for help, and I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone about his situation. But it’s been hard, and I know I’ve been distant.”

I looked at the frail man in the chair, then back at James. “You should have trusted me. We could have helped him together.”James nodded, tears brimming in his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry, Emily. I didn’t handle this the right way. I just… I couldn’t let him suffer alone.”

I took his hand and squeezed it. “Let’s do this together. We can find him a better place to live and make sure he’s taken care of.”
In that moment, I saw the relief in James’s eyes. He pulled me into a tight embrace, and I knew we would be okay. We spent the next few weeks finding a proper care facility for Mr. Thompson, visiting him regularly and ensuring he was comfortable.

Our relationship grew stronger as we worked together, and James was home more often, spending time with the kids and me. The strange behavior and smelly clothes were a thing of the past, and our love was rekindled in the process of helping someone in need.

James’s secret turned out to be an act of kindness and compassion, and it brought us closer than ever before.