When Nicole first started receiving mysterious notifications from the digital bathroom scale her husband had brought home, she thought it was just a glitch. But as the same weight appeared consistently, week after week, her curiosity turned to suspicion: Was Justin hiding something—or someone? What she discovered left her reeling.
It all began with a new bathroom scale. One random Saturday, Justin came home with a digital scale in hand, a casual smile on his face.
“Let’s get healthy together,” he said, setting it up in the bathroom. I wasn’t overly thrilled—it seemed like just another gadget we didn’t need—but I went along with it.
We tested it out. My weight came in at 134.4 pounds, and Justin’s was 189.5 pounds.
“Wow,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t realize I was pushing 190.”
I noticed his hand tremble slightly as he stepped off. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, just surprised, that’s all,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “I used to be in great shape back in college.”
“We all change with time,” I said, trying to reassure him, but he flinched ever so slightly when I touched his arm.
I didn’t think much of it at the time. But weeks later, I started getting strange notifications on my phone from the app connected to the scale.
The first notification caught me off guard: “Unidentified user: weight 152.1 lbs.”
I figured it must have been Justin using the scale, but the number didn’t match his weight. Then it happened again. And again. The same notification, three times a week, always at the same time.
At dinner one night, I asked him casually, “Have you been using the scale while I’m at work?”
Without looking up from his plate, he replied, “Nope. Probably the kids playing with it.”
“Three times a week, at the same time?” I pressed.
He sighed, clearly annoyed. “Nicole, why are you so obsessed with this? It’s just a scale.”
Something about his tone—the way he dismissed my question so quickly—put me on edge. I decided to drop it for the moment, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
The notifications kept coming. Sometimes, random weights like 35.3 or 24.2 pounds popped up, but 152.1 appeared like clockwork. It was always the same: Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, around 1:50 p.m.
One night, I couldn’t take it anymore. Lying awake next to Justin, I whispered, “Are you happy? With us?”
He rolled over, groggy but alert. “What kind of question is that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “You just seem distant. Like you’re hiding something.”
“Nicole, it’s 2 a.m. Can we not do this right now?” he grumbled, throwing the covers off and storming out of the bedroom.
The scale became an obsession. I took it back to the store, convinced it was malfunctioning. But after running tests, the employee assured me, “It’s working perfectly. Every weight recorded is based on someone actually stepping on it.”
My stomach knotted. Someone was actually using the scale.
That evening, I confronted Justin again. “The scale isn’t broken,” I told him. “So who keeps stepping on it?”
He sighed. “It’s probably the kids. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“They’re not even home at that time,” I shot back.
“Are you spying on our children now?” he snapped.
“Maybe I should install cameras!” I yelled, tears streaming down my face. “Since you won’t tell me the truth!”
“Nicole, you’re acting crazy,” he said, storming upstairs.
That was when I knew: he was hiding something.
I started tracking the notifications, noting the exact times and days. Thursday was the next occurrence. That afternoon, I left work early, parked down the street, and waited.
At 1:50 p.m., the notification buzzed on my phone. At 1:53 p.m., I saw someone leaving my house.
From behind, they looked like a woman—slender, with a long ponytail swinging as they walked. But when they turned, I froze.
It wasn’t a woman. It was a man.
Furious, I jumped out of the car and shouted, “HEY! WHO ARE YOU, AND WHY DO YOU HAVE KEYS TO MY HOUSE?”
Startled, he turned toward me. “Uh… you must be Nicole,” he said sheepishly. “Justin’s wife.”
My blood ran cold. “Who are you? And why are you in my house?”
He raised his hands. “I’m Derek. Justin’s trainer.”
“His trainer?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yes,” he stammered. “He hired me to help him lose weight and get back in shape. He didn’t tell you because he was embarrassed.”
I stared at him, trying to process his words. “And the keys?”
“He asked me to lock up after I leave,” Derek explained. “After each session, I give him a sports massage for muscle recovery. He has to rest for a while, so he didn’t want to get up to lock the door.”
When Justin came home later that day, I was waiting for him.
“How long were you planning to keep Derek a secret?” I asked coldly.
His face went pale. “You… met Derek?”
“Yes, Justin. I met your trainer. The one who’s been sneaking into our house three times a week.”
Justin sighed, collapsing onto the couch. “I didn’t want you to know,” he admitted. “I’ve been feeling terrible since I lost my job. I gained weight, and I was embarrassed. I just wanted to fix it without you knowing.”
“You lied to me, Justin,” I said, my voice shaking. “You made me feel like I was crazy, like I couldn’t trust you.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
To teach him a lesson, I planned a little surprise.
The next week, I threw a party in his honor, complete with a “Justin’s Fitness Journey” banner and photos documenting his progress. Friends and family cheered as he walked in, his face turning red with embarrassment.
Afterward, he pulled me aside. “Nicole, I don’t deserve this.”
“You’re right,” I said. “But you do deserve honesty, love, and support. Next time, don’t hide things from me.”
He nodded, tears in his eyes. “I promise. No more secrets.”
From that day on, we rebuilt the trust between us. Together.