Hello, I’m Nick. After being away on a three-day work trip, I was looking forward to kicking off my shoes and enjoying my wife’s fried chicken, a dish I’d been yearning for since I left home.

The drive back to our quaint little town was uneventful, and I was mentally checking off my tasks for the weekend: finish a work project, schedule a meeting with new investors, and check in on some junior workers up for performance reviews.

As I passed by Kate’s Diner—a cozy spot where everyone knows your name and your order—I noticed something strange on the big sign out front. My wife, Kate, runs the diner and often puts quirky messages up: “Best Burgers in Town, Babe!” or “Try our Famous Pancakes, We Dare You!”

Today’s message? It almost made me drive off the road.

Nick, I know what you did. Don’t bother coming home. – Kate.

I hit the brakes, staring at the sign in disbelief.

“What the heck, Kate?” I muttered.

Pulled over and puzzled, I wondered what could’ve happened. As far as I knew, I hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet there it was, out in the open for the whole town to see.

Nick, I know what you did…

Great. Gossip spreads like wildfire in small towns, and this was going to be kindling for the flames. Feeling anxious and confused, I pressed the gas pedal and headed home, my mind racing through every recent interaction. I hadn’t even been in town for three days!

This message? It wasn’t a joke.

Kate must be seriously upset, but she’d never compromise her diner’s reputation over something trivial. It was late when I reached home, and normally Kate would have left the diner’s evening shift behind to come home and unwind.

“Here goes nothing,” I sighed, parking the car and bracing myself for whatever awaited me.

There she was, my wife, sitting at the kitchen table with a slice of toast in front of her, arms crossed, her eyes as cold as winter. She looked at me like I was a stranger. That hurt more than anything.

“What’s going on, Kate? What’s with the sign?” I asked, trying to stay calm, though I was internally panicking.

Kate didn’t respond at first. She slid a piece of paper across the table and pointed to the bouquet of red roses on the counter.

I picked up the note, baffled.

Thank you for a wonderful night, love. I can’t wait to see you again.

“What on earth is this?” I asked.

“You tell me,” she snapped. “So, who is the lucky girl, Nick?”

I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.

“I didn’t send these! Kate, really? I’ve been out of town. Why would I—?”

“Don’t lie, Nick!” she shouted, standing up. “These were delivered while you were gone. I can’t believe you’d throw our 10 years away for an affair!”

Speechless, I looked at Kate, not seeing the woman I married.

This woman thought I was cheating. My stomach churned as I tried to make sense of it all. Flowers? A note? I hadn’t sent any of those!

But Kate wouldn’t listen to my explanations.

“Kate,” I urged. “Listen to me.”

“I don’t want to!” she cried, tears streaming down her face.

In my frustration, I noticed something on the receipt.

The address wasn’t quite right. It was our street but the wrong house number. Off by a few digits.

“Kate, look. This isn’t even our address. These flowers must have been meant for someone else.”

Kate blinked, her anger hesitating a moment.

“What?” she whispered.

“We live at 243 Maple, right?”

She nodded.

“This says 241. These flowers were meant for someone else, Kate.”

She grabbed the receipt, scanning it frantically, her face turning red as she realized her mistake.

“No… Nick, I’m so sorry.”

I ignored her for a moment, needing to confirm the mistake. I called the florist’s number on the receipt.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the florist said. “But I can’t give out that information.”

“I’m just asking you to confirm the address,” I said. “There’s been a mix-up; the flowers belong to someone else.”

“Yes, I understand,” she said, typing away. “You’re right, sir. 241 Maple. I’m so sorry. I’ll fix this immediately.”

It was a mistake—a delivery driver’s error. The flowers were meant for a woman down the street.

Neither the note nor the roses were mine.

Kate sat there, mortified, staring at the table.

“Nick, I… I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I thought that…”

Exhausted from the drive and the emotional turmoil, I sighed.

“Kate, you put up a sign at the diner. A huge sign. I mean…”

Her eyes widened in horror.

“Oh my goodness,” she gasped. “The sign! I was just so hurt, Nick. I didn’t think it through. You know, Jeremy just cheated on my sister. It’s all so fresh in my mind.”

The whole town had probably seen it by now. No erasing that kind of spectacle.

“I’ll take it down,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Nick. How about meeting me at the diner later for dinner?”

I managed a small smile and nodded.

After showering, washing off the day’s drama, I still didn’t feel like going to the diner. But I knew it would hurt Kate if I didn’t. I wasn’t ready to give up on us yet, despite the struggle.

On my arrival, the sign had been changed to:

It’s Always A Good Time For Milkshakes, Now With Extra Apology Sprinkles!

Not a bad attempt, but still…

“You’re here,” Kate said, her face lighting up as I walked in. “Fried chicken?”

I nodded and sat in my usual booth.

That night, we talked it all out—the embarrassment, the hurt, and the trust issues. Kate apologized countless times, and though I accepted, I made sure she knew how much her lack of trust stung.