I complained that my husband had been sitting on the toilet too long every day, but on my thirty-fifth birthday, I discovered the reason why.
My husband and I had been married for ten years when his behavior changed. He started spending a lot of time locked in the bathroom, which was inconvenient in our small cottage with three kids.
One day, my daughter Ruby complained about needing the toilet, but Gerald wouldn’t come out. I knocked, and he eventually emerged, looking upset. He spent so much time in there that I began to worry. Was he sick or doing something secretive?
I shared my concerns with my friend Terry, who suggested Gerald might have tummy troubles. But I suspected he was talking to someone else. As my birthday approached, I planned a party and prepared to confront him.
At the party, Gerald handed me a small gift—a book of poems he wrote for me in the bathroom. He had been writing love poems, not having an affair. I never doubted him again.
