The next afternoon, I let Max into the backyard like usual. But this time, I didn’t go back to the laundry. I stood at the kitchen sink and watched through the window.
“Then drop it.”
Max sniffed near the porch, crossed the grass, ignored the fence, and went straight to the shed.
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The door wasn’t fully closed.
He pushed it open with his nose and slipped inside.
My stomach twisted.
A moment later, he came out with another blue pair hanging from his mouth.
My stomach twisted.
Chuck came into the kitchen behind me. “What are you doing?”
“Watching Max.”
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“You’re spying on our dog now?”
“He went into the shed.”
Chuck’s smile faded. “So?”
“So he came out with another pair.”
“What are you doing?”
“Maybe he dragged it in there earlier.”
“No. He knew exactly where to go.”
Chuck moved toward the living room. “Monica, leave it alone.”
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I walked outside before he could come back.
Max met me on the porch and dropped the blue pair at my feet.
“Monica, leave it alone.”
I touched his head. “Show me.”
I crossed the yard with him beside me.
At first, the shed looked normal. Plastic bins, garden tools, and Christmas decorations lined the walls.
Fresh paw prints marked the dusty floor. They led behind the Christmas box.
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I dragged it aside and found a plastic storage bin.
“Show me.”
It wasn’t one of mine. I knew every bin in that shed because I had packed and labeled them myself.
This one had no label.
My hands shook as I lifted the lid.
Inside were stacks of men’s underwear in gray, blue, red, and black.
Beside them sat a cheap bottle of cologne, receipts, and a small notebook.
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This one had no label.
I opened it.
The first page had dates written down the side. Beside each date was a short note:
Leave gray pair.
Laugh it off.
Call her obsessed.
Leave red pair.
Mention paranoid.
Call Mom.
My mouth went dry.
I turned the page.
Leave blue pair.
Set up brunch.
Don’t let her control the story.
“Call her obsessed.”
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For a moment, I couldn’t move.
Max pressed his nose into my hand.
“You weren’t stealing anything, boy,” I whispered. “You were bringing me the truth.”
I read the last note twice, then looked toward the house.
Chuck didn’t just want out of our marriage. He wanted witnesses. He wanted people to laugh at me before they listened to me.
“You were bringing me the truth.”
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My first instinct was to storm inside and throw the notebook at his chest.
Instead, I took out my phone.
“Okay, Max,” I whispered. “We do this right.”
I photographed the bin, receipts, cologne, underwear, and every notebook page. Then I put everything back.
When I walked into the kitchen, Chuck was waiting by the island.
“We do this right.”
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“Well?” he asked. “Find the neighborhood underwear thief?”
I washed my hands slowly.
“What did you find?” he asked.
“Dust and Max’s chewed-up stuffed giraffe.”
His eyes searched my face. “That’s it?”
“What did you find?”
“That’s it.”
He smiled. “See? You worked yourself up for nothing.”
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I smiled back. “Maybe.”
***
That night, I made extra-spicy chili pasta. Chuck sat across from me. Max lay at my feet.
I twirled my fork once. “Max brought another pair this afternoon.”
“You worked yourself up for nothing.”
Chuck stopped chewing. “Another one?”
“Yes.”
He laughed. “Do you have something to tell me, Monica?”
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I looked up. “Excuse me?”
“Are you sure you’re not having an affair? Hiding a lover?”
“Excuse me?”
There it was again. A joke with teeth.
“Funny,” I said.
“I’m kidding.”
“No. You’re testing which story sounds better.”
His smile thinned. “What story?”
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There it was again.
“The one where I look suspicious instead of confused.”
Chuck set his fork down. “You turn everything into a test.”
“I asked one question.”
“You asked it like I was on trial.”
“Do you feel like you are?”
Chuck set his fork down.
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He reached for his water. “We’re having brunch on Sunday.”
I already knew that from the notebook.
“Are we?”
“Yes. With a few friends. And please don’t bring up this underwear thing.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s embarrassing.”
“We’re having brunch on Sunday.”
“For whom?”
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“For both of us.”
I almost laughed. He had planned the whole thing and still wanted me to feel rude for noticing.
“I won’t embarrass you,” I said.
Relief crossed his face.
That almost hurt more than the lie.
“I won’t embarrass you.”
***
On Sunday morning, I charged my phone, pinned my hair back, and put the printed photos in my purse.
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Max sat in the bedroom doorway with one of Chuck’s socks in his mouth.
“Not today, buddy,” I said.
He dropped it and followed me to the door.
Chuck glanced at my purse. “Bringing supplies for your investigation?”
“Not today, buddy.”
“Something like that.”
He laughed. I didn’t.
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***
At brunch, two couples we had known forever were waiting.
Toby and Phoebe were already seated with Michael and Sophia. Chuck kissed my temple before we sat down, then spent 20 minutes acting like I was his favorite person at the table.
He laughed.
Then he leaned back.
“You guys,” Chuck said, grinning, “Monica’s been investigating underwear all week.”
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Phoebe blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Our dog keeps dragging men’s underwear onto the porch,” Chuck said. “And Monica thinks Max is solving some big mystery.”
Toby frowned. “That’s strange.”
“Exactly,” I said.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Chuck laughed over me. “She has bags, notes, and the whole thing.”
Michael looked at me. “Is that true?”
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I met his eyes. “Yes.”
Chuck’s smile widened. “See? I’m starting to worry she actually believes something’s going on.”
That was the moment.
“Is that true?”
Not because he said it, but because he enjoyed it.
I opened my purse.
“Chuck,” I said, “do you want to tell them what was in the shed?”
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The table went quiet.
His smile twitched. “What shed?”
I opened my purse.
“The backyard shed.”
He scoffed. “Here we go.”
I placed the receipt on the table. Then I placed down the photo of the storage bin and the notebook page.
Sophia leaned forward. “What’s that?”
“Proof,” I said. “Max wasn’t stealing from neighbors. Chuck bought the underwear, hid it in our shed, and wrote down what to say each time Max brought a pair out.”
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“The backyard shed.”
Phoebe covered her mouth.
I slid the notebook photo toward her. “This page says, ‘Call her paranoid.'”
Chuck reached for it.
I put my hand down. “No. You wanted everyone to think I was suspicious for no reason.”
His face reddened. “Monica, you’re twisting this.”
Chuck reached for it.
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“I brought your notes. You twisted it first.”
Toby read the photo and looked at Chuck.
“Man,” he said quietly, “that’s cruel.”
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Chuck rubbed his face. “I panicked. I didn’t know how to tell her I wasn’t happy.”
I looked at him. “So you tried to make me look sick? Obsessed?”
“You twisted it first.”
“No, I just…”
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“You wanted witnesses,” I said. “Now you have them.”
Sophia stood. “Monica, do you want me to drive you?”
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”
Chuck stood too. “Monica, come on.”
“Thank you.”
I looked at him one last time.
“Our dog wasn’t solving crimes, Chuck. He was exposing your nonsense.”
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Then I walked out before my voice could break.
***
