When my MIL presented a pie with a smug look and the words, “There’s a surprise in there for you,” I ignored it until her enigmatic gesture changed my life. My marriage ended after what I discovered that night.
I never imagined a family dinner could ruin my marriage, but it did. Funny how life can change in an instant, or on an apple pie.
Nothing noteworthy happened on Friday night. I heard the doorbell while cutting vegetables for a stir fry. My husband Dylan stated he was upstairs on a work call, leaving me to answer.
Since she resided two towns over, Evelyn, my mother-in-law, was unusual on our doorway. She held a pie tin like gold.
“Melanie, darling,” she whispered, kissing my cheek. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by with a little treat.”
I smiled to hide my amazement. You’re thoughtful, Evelyn. Come in.”
She waltzed by me, lavender perfume trailing. Evelyn and I never connected. She’s quite erect and sees everything in black and white, which can be tense. I was nervous about her unexpected arrival.
She placed the pie on the kitchen counter with flair. “There’s a little surprise in there just for you,” she continued, her eyes flashing with mischief and something deeper I couldn’t interpret. “Make sure you cut it while you’re alone.”
My stomach flipped slightly. “Oh? What kind of surprise?”
She smiled and rubbed my arm. Dear, you’ll see. Where’s my son?”
Dylan’s thunderous footsteps down the stairs on time.
“Mom?” he shouted, surprised like me. “What are you doing here?”
“I gave Melanie a little something. Do not touch till she says so.”
Dylan said, “Sure.
Dylan’s gaze flicked between the pie, me, and his mother as they hugged. Something was odd, but I couldn’t pinpoint it.
The pie sat on the counter like a time bomb during dinner. Evelyn kept looking at it and me, her smile widening. Dylan, however, seemed to ignore it.
“So, Dylan,” Evelyn chatted between stir-fry bites, “how’s work? Burning midnight oil?”
Dylan coughed and grabbed water. “You know how. It’s busy season.”
I frowned. He’d been claiming that for months, but our bank account didn’t reflect the extra hours. Evelyn clapped before I could speak.
“Well, who’s ready for dessert?”
Going to get the pie made my heart race. Which surprise did she mention? As I cut the golden crust, my knife hit something firm. I ignored my sticky fingers and fished into the filling, confused.
A key was found.
Not any key—the key. The one to our former apartment, which we apparently gave up years ago when we acquired this property.
My mind whirled. Why did Evelyn have it? In a pie? Why? More importantly, why did it persist?
“Everything alright, dear?” Evelyn called from the dining room with fake worry.
I stood there scared, as if caught doing something illegal.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” I said behind me. “I’ll bring the pie out in a minute.”
The key was swiftly cleaned and put in my pocket. My future steps were unclear, but I needed time to deliberate.
I cut three slices of pie and brought them to the table with a huge, phony smile.
“Find everything, dear?” Evelyn inquired too sweetly.
I said, “Yes, I did,” with a fake smile.
I placed a slice of pie in front of each of us, but finding that key made me unable to chat. I sat there like everything was fine while my thoughts raced.
I tossed and turned all night, full of questions. By daybreak, I knew what to do.
“I’m going out,” I informed Dylan my coffee-drinking friend. He waved briefly as I left.
I felt strange driving to our former neighborhood. Each familiar wheel spin caused worry. What would I find? Part of me hoped for nothing, but as I climbed our old third-floor walk-up, I knew. Just knew.
Key fit into lock like it never left. Breathing deeply, I opened the door.
Apartment wasn’t empty. This wasn’t dusty or abandoned. It was occupied. Cozy even. A face I hadn’t seen in years was cuddled up on the couch with a book.
Dylan’s ex-wife Cynthia.
Head sprang up, eyes wide in horror. “Melanie? Why are you here?”
My voice was surprisingly steady as I held the key. “I think the better question is, what are you doing here?”
Curled Cynthia’s face. She placed her book aside, squirming on her lap. I’m sorry. I never wanted you to learn this.”
“Find out what, exactly?” Despite starting to understand, I persisted.
She shakily inhaled. Dylan was never gone. Sure, but he kept coming back. Our apartment has been a secret for years.”
The room swirled. For support, I clutched the doorframe. “Years?”
Cynthia nodded, nearly crying. The initial goal was to talk. He missed our relationship. But then…”
“Then it became more,” I told her.
She looked away, embarrassed. I’m sorry, Melanie. Nothing excuses anything, yet I never stopped loving him.”
I craved rage. I wanted to shout and throw. I felt only a deep, aching emptiness. “All those late nights at work…”
“He was here,” Cynthia whispered.
My legs gave up, and I slumped into a neighboring chair. And money issues? Why we couldn’t afford the vacation last year?”
Cynthia’s silence sufficed.
As I processed my divorce, a new question arose. “How did Evelyn know?”
Cynthia frowned. “Evelyn? Dylan’s mother?”
I nodded, reciting the pie and key.
“Oh god,” she exhaled. “She must have discovered. Often frightened she suspected something.”
Then it hit me. Pie was a revelation and a choice. Evelyn chose me over her son’s deception. She must have struggled for years to balance her morality with her love for her son, but her morality won.
I stood, desperate to escape. “I… I need to go.”
Cynthia reached out but reconsidered. “Melanie, I truly am sorry.”
I stopped at the door and looked at the woman who knew my husband’s secret. “So am I.”
Homeward travel was blurred. My mind was full of memories, reliving my marriage through this new, contaminated lens. I pulled into our driveway after the sun had set.
Dylan was in the kitchen, lit by the fridge. He was eating Evelyn’s pie from the tin, unaware of the approaching storm.
“Hey,” he said, eating an apple, “where’ve you been? I was worried.”
Leaning against the doorframe, I watched him. I believed I knew this man, nonchalantly relishing what had exposed his lies. The irony was almost unbearable.
“Dylan,” I replied very calmly, “we need to talk about the apartment.”
The fork fell. Dylan’s face was pale, crimson, and defeated. “She told you.”
I laughed bitterly as I shook my head. “No, Dylan. I was informed. With every lie, late night, money excuse. You’ve told me for years. I listened after a gentle push.”
As I entered the kitchen to face our marriage’s demise, I thought: I never knew a family dinner could ruin my life. A slice of apple pie started it.