DON’T TELL MONICA

Her husband’s phone lights up with a message from her sister. Monica wasn’t trying to snoop—but four words change everything.

The phone buzzed against the kitchen counter.

Once.

Then twice.

Monica ignored it.

It wasn't her phone.

She stood at the sink rinsing the two wineglasses she and her husband had used with dinner. Upstairs, she could hear the shower running.

The phone buzzed again.

“Somebody wants you bad,” she mumbled.

Buzz.

“Marcus! Your phone!”

No answer.

Monica dried her hands and picked it up, intending to carry it upstairs.

The screen lit up.

TASHA

Her sister.

Monica smiled at first.

Then she read the message underneath the name.

I told you not to tell her until I talked to her first.

Her smile disappeared.

She read it again.

I told you not to tell her until I talked to her first.

“Tell me what?”

Another message appeared.

Marcus, please answer me.

Monica looked toward the stairs.

The shower was still running.

She shouldn't open it.

She knew that.

Marcus had never given her a reason to go through his phone. Eleven years of marriage, and they had never been one of those couples checking passwords and searching through messages.

At least she didn't think they were.

But her sister was texting her husband about something they couldn't tell her.

That changed things.

Monica typed Marcus's passcode.

The phone unlocked.

She opened the conversation.

There weren't many messages.

The first was from three days earlier.

Have you decided what you're going to do?said Tasha .

Not yet.Marcus replied.

You can't keep pretending everything is normal.

Monica's stomach tightened.

She scrolled.

I'm trying to figure out how to tell her. Marcus said

 She's going to be devastated.

Monica pulled out one of the stools at the kitchen island and sat down.

The faucet was still running.

She didn't notice.

I know.said Marcus

Does she suspect anything?

No.

Her hands started shaking.

She kept scrolling.

Then she saw it.

I love you, but this has gone too far. Replied Tasha.

Monica dropped the phone onto the counter.

“No.”

She stood.

Then sat back down.

Her brain immediately started collecting evidence that hadn't existed five minutes earlier.

Marcus had been coming home later lately.

Not every night.

But enough.

Tasha had been around more.

She'd stopped by twice the previous week when Monica wasn't home.

At the time, Monica hadn't thought anything of it.

Tasha was family.

Tasha had a key.

Tasha had been sitting at their Thanksgiving table since before Marcus was even in the picture.

“No.”

Monica said it louder this time.

Her sister wouldn't do that.

Her husband wouldn't do that.

Would they?

She grabbed the phone again.

There were no pictures.

No I miss you.

No last night was amazing.

Nothing that actually proved an affair.

But what exactly was Monica supposed to think?

Her sister loved him.

They were keeping something from her.

Whatever it was would devastate her.

And Marcus had been pretending everything was normal.

Monica stared at the message box.

Then she did something she knew she shouldn't do.

She typed:

Come over. We need to talk tonight.

She sent it from Marcus's phone.

The typing bubbles appeared almost immediately.

Stopped.

Appeared again.

Is Monica asleep?

Monica felt something inside her crack.

She typed:

Yes.

Tasha responded less than a minute later.

Tasha lived fifteen minutes away.

She made it in twelve.

Monica spent those twelve minutes sitting in the dark living room.

Marcus was still upstairs.

When headlights swept across the front window, Monica's heart started pounding.

Tasha didn't knock.

She used her key.

Of course she did.

She stepped inside wearing leggings, an oversized sweatshirt and slides. Her hair was wrapped for bed.

“Marcus?”

Monica switched on the lamp.

Tasha screamed.

“Jesus!”

She grabbed her chest.

Monica didn't move.

Tasha stared at her.

“Monica?”

“Hey, sis.”

“What are you doing sitting in the dark?”

“Waiting for you.”

Tasha looked toward the stairs.

Monica held up Marcus's phone.

All the color disappeared from her sister's face.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Monica nodded. “Oh.”

“Monica—”

“Don't.”

“It's not—”

“If the next words out of your mouth are what it looks like, I'm going to lose my mind.”

Tasha closed her mouth.

Monica stood.

“How long?”

Tasha frowned. “How long what?”

“Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Play stupid with me.”

“I'm not.”

“You love him?”

Tasha's eyes widened.

Then something clicked.

“Oh my God.”

“How long have you been sleeping with my husband?”

“What?!”

“You heard me.”

“Monica, I am not sleeping with Marcus.”

“I READ THE MESSAGES!”

“You read part of a conversation you don't understand!”

“Then help me understand it!”

“Keep your voice down.”

Monica laughed.

It wasn't funny.

“Oh, now I need to keep my voice down? So my husband doesn't hear us discussing how much you love him?”

“I wasn't talking about Marcus!”

Monica froze.

Tasha's eyes filled with tears.

“I was talking about you.”

Monica stared at her.

“What?”

Tasha looked toward the staircase.

“Where is he?”

“Upstairs.”

“We need to go.”

Monica laughed again.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“Monica.”

“No. You came into my house in the middle of the night because you thought I was asleep. Now you're going to tell me why.”

“Please get your purse.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want you here when he comes downstairs.”

The room went still.

Monica studied her sister's face.

This wasn't guilt.

It was fear.

Real fear.

Then the upstairs floor creaked.

“Baby?”

Marcus.

Tasha immediately stepped in front of Monica.

Monica's stomach dropped.

“Why are you standing in front of me?”

Tasha didn't answer.

Marcus appeared at the top of the stairs wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt.

His hair was wet.

He saw Tasha.

Then Monica.

Then the phone in Monica's hand.

His face changed.

“Damn.”

Monica's voice came out barely above a whisper.

“What is going on?”

Marcus walked downstairs slowly.

“Tasha, you shouldn't be here.”

Tasha didn't move.

“You need to tell her.”

“Tasha.”

“Tell her.”

“You're making this worse.”

“Then tell me what?” Monica screamed. “What could possibly be worse than me thinking my husband is sleeping with my sister?”

Marcus reached the bottom of the stairs.

He looked exhausted.

“I'm not sleeping with Tasha.”

“Then what are you hiding?”

He looked at Tasha.

Tasha shook her head.

“Don't look at me,” she said. “This is your mess.”

Marcus rubbed both hands over his face.

Then he looked at Monica.

“The bank called me three months ago.”

Monica frowned.

“What bank?”

“The mortgage company.”

Her anger paused.

“What about it?”

Marcus didn't answer.

Tasha did.

“The house is in foreclosure.”

Monica stared at her.

Then laughed.

“What?”

Marcus stepped forward.

“I can explain.”

“The house is what?”

“I got behind.”

“We got behind?”

“No.” He swallowed. “I got behind.”

Monica's face tightened.

“That doesn't make sense. The mortgage comes out automatically.”

“It did.”

“Did?”

“I changed the account.”

Monica stared at him.

“Why would you change the account?”

Marcus looked at the floor.

And Monica knew there was more.

“How much?”

“Monica—”

“How much money is gone?”

Tasha whispered, “Tell her.”

Marcus looked at his wife.

“Almost eighty thousand.”

Monica couldn't breathe.

She grabbed the back of the chair.

“Eighty thousand dollars?”

“I thought I could replace it.”

“With what?”

Marcus said nothing.

Then Monica understood.

“No.”

He looked away.

“No, Marcus.”

“I was trying to fix it.”

“You started gambling again?”

Silence.

That was the answer.

Monica sat down.

Eight years earlier, Marcus had promised her it was over.

Sports betting.

Cards.

Online gambling.

It had nearly destroyed them then.

He'd gone to counseling.

Closed accounts.

Handed over finances.

For years, Monica believed it was behind them.

“How long?”

“About a year.”

“A YEAR?”

“I was winning at first.”

Tasha closed her eyes.

Monica looked at her sister.

“You knew?”

“Three days.”

“You knew for three days and didn't tell me?”

“I was trying to get him to tell you himself.”

“You should've called me the second you found out!”

“I wanted to.”

“Then why didn't you?”

Tasha looked at Marcus.

“He said if you found out before he could fix it, he'd kill himself.”

The anger left Monica's face.

Marcus stared at Tasha.

“You promised me.”

“And you promised my sister eleven years ago that you wouldn't destroy her life.”

“Tasha.”

“No. I'm done protecting you.”

Monica couldn't move.

The messages suddenly made sense.

Have you decided what you're going to do?

You can't keep pretending everything is normal.

She's going to be devastated.

Does she suspect anything?

I love you, but this has gone too far.

Her sister hadn't been confessing love to Marcus.

She'd been telling him she loved Monica too much to keep lying to her.

Monica looked around the living room.

The couch they'd picked together.

The family photographs.

The new television Marcus bought six months ago.

The rug she'd spent three weeks deciding on because apparently beige came in 400 different shades.

Her home.

“How long do we have?”

Marcus didn't answer.

“Marcus.”

“Ten days.”

Monica closed her eyes.

Ten days.

Eleven years of marriage.

One year of lies.

Ten days.

Tasha sat beside her.

“We'll figure it out.”

Monica pulled her hand away.

“No.”

Tasha looked hurt.

“Monica—”

“I need both of you to stop telling me what we're going to do.”

She stood.

For the first time that night, her hands weren't shaking.

She looked at Marcus.

“You were right about one thing.”

He waited.

“I would've been devastated.”

“Baby—”

“But not because of the house.”

Marcus frowned.

Monica picked up his phone and placed it against his chest.

“Because you let me wake up every morning believing I was safe with you.”

He lowered his eyes.

“You made me think my sister was sleeping with my husband.”

“What?”

“Because that's how bad those messages looked.”

Tasha muttered, “I told you we shouldn't text about this.”

Despite everything, Monica almost laughed.

Almost.

She walked toward the stairs.

Marcus followed.

“Where are you going?”

“To pack.”

His face fell.

“Monica, please.”

She stopped halfway up the stairs.

“I don't know if I'm leaving you.”

Marcus looked hopeful for half a second.

“I'm leaving tonight.”

The hope disappeared.

“I need to think somewhere that isn't built on a lie.”

She continued upstairs.

Then stopped again.

“Oh, and Marcus?”

“Yeah?”

“Tomorrow morning, you're calling the mortgage company.”

He nodded quickly.

“And a lawyer.”

His face changed.

“A lawyer?”

Monica looked down at him.

“I didn't say what kind.”

Then she walked upstairs.

Twenty minutes later, Monica came back down carrying a small suitcase.

Tasha was waiting at the door.

Marcus sat alone on the couch.

He looked smaller somehow.

Monica walked past him.

He didn't try to stop her.

Outside, the air was cool.

Tasha loaded the suitcase into her trunk.

Neither woman spoke until they were inside the car.

Then Tasha looked at her.

“I'm sorry.”

Monica stared through the windshield.

“I know.”

“I should've told you.”

“I know.”

Tasha started the car.

They made it halfway down the street before Monica's phone buzzed.

She looked down.

A text from Marcus.

I'm sorry. I love you.

Monica stared at it for several seconds.

Then another message appeared.

But it wasn't from Marcus.

It was from an unknown number.

You don't know everything.

Monica's heart stopped.

A second message arrived.

Ask your husband what happened to the rest of the money.

Monica slowly turned toward her sister.

“Tasha.”

“What?”

Monica held up the phone.

Tasha read the message.

Her hands tightened around the steering wheel.

Monica looked back at the house disappearing behind them.

Suddenly, eighty thousand dollars wasn't the scariest part.

Because according to the bank records Tasha had secretly photographed three days earlier...

Marcus hadn't lost eighty thousand dollars gambling.

He'd only gambled away thirty-two.

And Monica had no idea where the other forty-eight thousand dollars went.

THE END.