So, my husband Chris started helping our elderly neighbor, Mrs. Wilson, with chores around her house. She’s a sweet lady with health issues, and I didn’t mind him lending a hand. But after a few weeks, his visits got longer — sometimes he’d be gone for hours.
Then, while doing laundry one afternoon, I found a pair of lacy women’s underwear in his pocket. Not mine.
My stomach dropped. Was he cheating on me? With Mrs. Wilson? That sounded insane, but I needed answers. I decided to spy on him during his next visit.
About 30 minutes after he left, I snuck over and peeked through Mrs. Wilson’s window, expecting to see him fixing something. But NO. Instead, an entirely different scene was unfolding inside. 
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