The day I found out about the email from Crestwood Apartments began like any other Saturday. I had planned to spend it doing housework while my husband, Bruce, was visiting his mother with our son. Bruce had taken our son for a weekend trip, and I was left behind, finally getting a chance to clean the house without interruption.

As I dusted the shelves and picked up the clutter that Bruce seemed to constantly leave around, I glanced at his iPad lying on the coffee table. Normally, he would take it with him, so it was unusual to see it left behind. With a sense of curiosity, I picked it up to check if there was anything important—maybe an urgent work email or something related to our son’s school activities.

To my surprise, an email notification popped up on the screen from Crestwood Apartments. It mentioned a hot water shutdown due to repairs. What caught my attention wasn’t just the subject, but the fact that it was addressed directly to Bruce by his full name. I knew we owned our house outright, and we hadn’t rented an apartment in over a decade.

Confused, I opened the email. It read:

"Dear Bruce,
Please be advised that hot water will be unavailable from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. this Tuesday due to necessary maintenance. We apologize for any inconvenience.
Sincerely,
Crestwood Management."

My stomach dropped. We didn’t live in an apartment, so why was Bruce receiving an email about a hot water outage in one? I immediately grabbed my phone and tried to call him, but the signal was weak, as usual in the house. I paced around, trying to get a connection, until I finally managed to get through.

"Hey, I just saw an email on your iPad from Crestwood Apartments. Why are they emailing you about hot water repairs? We haven’t lived in an apartment for years," I said quickly, before the call dropped.

Bruce's voice sounded far away, and there was a hint of frustration in his tone. "Must be a mistake, probably a wrong email," he replied, but I didn’t buy it.

"But it’s addressed to you by your full name," I insisted.

Before I could hear his response, the call dropped.

I sat there, my thoughts racing. The email didn’t make sense, and now, Bruce wasn’t answering my calls. I decided to investigate. I quickly searched online for Crestwood Apartments and sent them an email explaining the situation. The auto-reply I received wasn’t helpful. It gave no specifics about available units or anything I could use to verify this odd connection between Bruce and the apartment complex.

I was growing increasingly uneasy. What was going on? Why would Bruce get an email about something like this? With no further answers coming from him, I decided to do something I never thought I would—drive to the apartment complex to see if I could get any answers myself.

When I arrived at Crestwood Apartments, it wasn’t what I expected. The complex was small, nothing fancy, with just a few three-story buildings and a sad playground in the middle. It wasn’t the kind of place I imagined Bruce having anything to do with.

I parked and hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. I didn’t want to walk up and knock on doors, asking for someone named Bruce. Instead, I called my best friend, Lexi, who was always up for a good mystery.

"I think Bruce has a secret apartment," I blurted out when she picked up.

"Whoa, slow down," Lexi said. "What’s going on?"

I explained everything—the email, the call, the lack of answers, and my growing suspicion that Bruce was hiding something from me.

After a brief pause, Lexi’s voice was sharp with determination. "Okay, here’s what you do. Call the maintenance number. Pretend you’re delivering something expensive for Bruce. They’ll tell you which apartment is his."

It was a brilliant plan. I hung up and immediately dialed the number for the apartment complex's maintenance. I made up a quick story about delivering an expensive package for Bruce. The voice on the other end was gruff, but after a long pause, the maintenance guy mentioned something about a woman in apartment 2B who often received visits from a man named Bruce.

My heart raced. Could it be? I grabbed my car keys and rushed to the building Lexi had suggested. When she arrived, we both walked toward the entrance of Building C.

We pressed the buzzer for Apartment 2B. The woman’s voice came through the intercom, but it wasn’t the voice I was expecting. It was older, unfamiliar. Lexi exchanged a look with me before speaking into the intercom.

"We’re looking for Bruce," Lexi said casually, her voice unwavering.

There was a brief pause before the woman responded, "He’s not here." The hesitation in her voice was palpable.

But then, something clicked. The woman’s voice was eerily familiar. A voice I hadn’t heard in over a year. My breath caught in my throat as I realized who it was—Maggie, one of Bruce's old colleagues, a woman I had met once, a woman I had always suspected might have had more than a professional relationship with him.

The door opened slowly, and standing in front of us was Maggie, her expression unreadable. I felt a chill run through me as I looked at her. "What is this?" I demanded, my voice shaky with anger.

Maggie didn’t seem surprised to see me. "I... I didn’t mean for you to find out this way," she said, her tone soft but defensive.

"What do you mean, 'find out this way'?" I said, stepping forward. "Why is Bruce coming here? What’s going on?"

Maggie hesitated, then finally spoke, "I didn’t want to hurt you, Sienna. But Bruce and I... we’ve been seeing each other for months. He told me things weren’t working with you. He’s been coming here, and it’s... it’s more than just an affair."

My world felt like it was crumbling around me. Everything I had believed, everything I had trusted about Bruce, was shattering. I had been married to a man who had not only been unfaithful but had been living a double life.

"How could you do this?" I whispered, unable to stop the tears that welled up in my eyes. "How could you let me live this lie?"

Maggie’s eyes softened, but she remained silent.

I turned and walked away, leaving the apartment building behind, my mind racing. The woman I had trusted, the man I had loved—everything had been a lie. And as I drove home, I knew I had a choice to make. Could I ever trust Bruce again? And if not, what did my future look like now?