I Thought My Husband Was Taking the Lunch I Made Every Day, Until My Son Told Me What He Was Doing Around the Corner
“Yes.”
“Jamie is ten.”
“I know.”
I stared at him.
“So for almost his entire life, you’ve been…”
I couldn’t even finish.
“Why?”
Edward sat across from me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He looked down.
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“When you met me, I really was a construction worker.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“That’s who you fell in love with. The guy wearing boots and dusty work clothes. The man who came home exhausted and didn’t know which fork to use at your mother’s dinner table.”
“Edward…”
“I thought if I became something else, maybe I wouldn’t be the person you loved anymore.”
I stared at him.
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
He nodded.
“It sounds cowardly because it was.”
“You didn’t trust me.”
He was quiet.
Finally, he said,
“No. I didn’t.”
The woman from the car appeared again.
“I’m going upstairs,” she said. “Take your time.”
Then she left.
I looked after her.
“Who is she?”
“Margaret Chen. My business partner.”
“You started this company together?”
“Yes.”
“And she knows about me?”
“Yes.”
“How long has she been telling you to tell me?”
Edward almost looked embarrassed.
“Since the first week.”
I laughed once, without humor.
“So she knew this would become a disaster nine years ago.”
“Yes.”
“She was right.”
“Completely.”
I looked around at the architectural models.
“Have I ever been inside one of your buildings?”
Edward hesitated.
“Three.”
My head snapped toward him.
“Which ones?”
“The children’s hospital on Grant Street.”
I stared.
“The library extension on the east side.”
Then he paused.
“And the pedestrian bridge.”
My stomach dropped.
“I’ve walked across that bridge.”
“I know.”
“I sent you a photograph when it opened.”
“I remember.”
“I told you it was beautiful.”
“I know.”
I couldn’t believe it.
I had sent my husband a photograph of something he had designed and told him how beautiful it was.
And he had simply thanked me.
“Does Jamie know?”
“No.”
“Does anyone know?”
“My professional name is E. Cole. The business license is held through a company. The firm uses this address, not our home address.”
He looked ashamed.
“I constructed an entire second life and kept telling myself I would explain next year.”
“Nine next years.”
“Yes.”
I looked at his suit.
“And the overalls?”
“I put them on every morning.”
“You actually dress like a construction worker just to leave the house?”
“Yes.”
“And then you change here?”
“At the corner.”
“And you change back before coming home?”
“Yes.”
“For nine years?”
“Yes.”
I covered my face.
Then another question hit me.
“The lunches.”
Edward was quiet.
“What happened to the food?”
“There’s a man named Robert.”
I lowered my hands.
“What?”
“He works the early shift at a diner on Farber Street. He’s sixty-two. Money has been difficult for him for years.”
Edward gave me a cautious look.
“He eats the lunches.”
I stared.
“For nine years?”
“Yes.”
“He eats my sandwiches?”
“He calls them Rachel sandwiches.”
Despite myself, I almost laughed.
“He knows my name?”
“He asks about you sometimes.”
“So my husband has been secretly feeding a stranger my lunches for nine years?”
“Yes.”
“And keeping the notes?”
Edward reached into his jacket.
He pulled out the folded card I had written that morning.
He handed it to me.
I opened it.
You are my favorite part of the morning. Be great today.
“You kept them?”
“All of them.”
I stared at him.
“All?”
“Every single one.”
“Edward, there are twelve years of notes.”
“I know.”
“Where?”
“My office.”
I stood up.
“I want to see them.”
He blinked.
“The notes?”
“Yes.”
He led me upstairs.
The second floor was filled with drafting tables, computers, models, and people working.
Several employees looked up as we passed.
And something about their expressions made me realize they knew exactly who I was.
Edward led me into an office in the far corner.
It was unmistakably his.
Architecture books lined the shelves.
Technical drawings covered one table.
