For years, my husband believed my poor eyesight was a closely guarded secret; then I came home from my laser eye surgery, looked in the garage, and shouted, “This can’t be happening!”

It was addressed to a woman named Penelope.

I assumed that was the woman who was smiling next to my husband in the photos.

I had problems with my phone and I called Marissa.

“Gina? What’s wrong?”

He was back in twenty minutes.

I heard the click of her heels as she walked down the driveway, then she pushed open the garage door and I froze.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “Gina, what is this?!”

“That’s what Brian does,” I said. “God only knows for how long.”

“We need to look for anything that can make sense of all this,” he suggested.

So we searched.

Marissa discovered a folder of documents in a drawer. It contained contracts and permits proving that Brian had converted the garage into a living space six years earlier.

Six years.