Henry and I fell in love over a shared book in a cozy bookstore, and five years into our marriage, his kindness still warmed my heart. But that warmth faded every time his ex-wife, Liz, called with another home repair emergency. When I finally tagged along to her house, I uncovered more than a leaky pipe—I found the truth about boundaries and love.
It started innocently enough. A broken garbage disposal here, a stuck garage door there. Henry would grab his toolbox and rush to Liz’s house, leaving me with a cooling dinner and growing doubts. They’d been married, shared a house they still co-owned, and he felt obligated to help. I tried to be understanding, but when her calls became a regular interruption, I couldn’t ignore the sting. Was it really just about the house?
One day, as I worked on a presentation, Henry texted: “Liz’s kitchen is flooding. Heading over.” I’d had enough of wondering. “I’m coming too,” I said, grabbing my bag. He raised an eyebrow but nodded. The drive was quiet, my mind racing with what I might find. Liz’s house was pristine, with fresh paint and neat shrubs. She answered the door in a silk robe, her makeup flawless, and froze when she saw me. “Didn’t know you’d bring a guest,” she said, her tone sharp.
Henry went straight to the kitchen, where a small puddle sat under the sink—hardly a flood. It looked suspiciously fresh, like it had been poured moments before. As he fixed a loose pipe, I glanced around. The house was spotless, with no signs of another man. Liz wasn’t helpless; she was calling Henry for attention. When she offered drinks, I cut in. “We’re good. We’ve got plans.” Henry looked puzzled but didn’t argue.
When Liz called him her “hero,” I couldn’t stay quiet. “Plumbers are great for this stuff,” I said, handing her a list of repair services and a dating app, with a note: “Stop calling my husband.” Her eyes flashed, but I held my ground. In the car, I placed a divorce lawyer’s card on the dashboard. “If you want to keep fixing her house, you can stay there,” I said. Henry was quiet, then said, “I didn’t see how it looked. I’ll tell her I’m done helping.”
That was three months ago. Liz found a new guy who’s good with tools and brings her flowers. Henry fixed our leaky faucet, and we’re stronger than ever. I learned that love means setting boundaries, and sometimes, you have to show up to make sure they’re respected.