After days of sleepless business meetings in Chicago, I couldn’t stand being away from Ben any longer. We’d barely seen each other lately — he, busy with his job in investment banking, and me, drowning in consulting work.
So when my final meeting wrapped up ahead of schedule, I made a decision: go home, surprise him, and bring us back to each other.
Linda, my colleague, watched me pack up my things in a rush.
“Skipping the keynote speech? That could cost you,” she teased.
“Some things are worth more,” I smiled. “My marriage is one of them.”
If only I knew just how much.
Hours later, I pulled into our driveway as the last of the sun dipped below the horizon. I felt nervous and excited. The house was quiet — almost too quiet.
Dishes sat piled up in the sink. Mail was scattered across the table.
Strange, I thought. Ben usually kept things neat.
Assuming he was in his office, I wandered outside to check my garden.
And that’s when my entire world tilted.
A woman frozen in shock in her backyard | Source: Midjourney
There, knee-deep in the dirt, was Ben — frantically digging, sweat soaking through his shirt.
Beside him, half-buried in the earth, was a massive, obsidian-black egg.
It gleamed in the fading light, looking otherworldly.
My breath caught.
“Ben?” I called softly.
He jumped as if I’d shot him. His face turned pale.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” he shouted, wide-eyed.
“I came to surprise you,” I said, inching closer. “But what is that thing?”
“It’s nothing!” he blurted, positioning himself between me and the egg.
“Ben, I’m not blind. That’s definitely something. What’s going on?”
He rubbed dirt-streaked hands through his hair, glancing around like someone might be watching.
“You just have to trust me. I’m handling it,” he muttered.
Tears stung my eyes.
“Handle it alone, then,” I said, voice breaking.
I turned away from him — from the lies — and went inside.
All night, neither of us slept.
By morning, after Ben left for work, I made up my mind.
I HAD to know.
I marched to the garden, heart pounding, and dug up the soft earth.
After twenty grueling minutes, I unearthed the egg — huge, smooth, and surprisingly light. I twisted it, and with a small click, it opened.
Inside?
Nothing but layers of black plastic.
No treasures. No secrets. Just emptiness.
Then, a voice startled me.
“Everything okay?” asked Mr. Chen, our elderly neighbor peeking over the fence.
“Fine!” I yelped, quickly hiding the strange object behind me.
Once alone, I hid the egg in our garage and drove off, needing to clear my head.
That’s when the radio blared:
“Authorities report a counterfeit antique ring has been exposed — targeting young professionals with fake ‘rare artifacts,’ including large black eggs valued at thousands of dollars…”
The realization hit me like a freight train.
Ben. Oh God. Ben.
That evening, I waited for him with the egg sitting prominently on our kitchen table.
When he saw it, he froze, guilt and shame written all over his face.
“Reggie, I—I can explain…”
“Start with how much,” I said coldly.
“Fifteen thousand,” he admitted, voice cracking. “I thought it was an ancient artifact. I wanted to surprise you… resell it… fund our Europe trip.”
He buried his face in his hands.
“I was trying to fix everything. The bills, the stress… I just wanted to give us something good.”
I sat down across from him, the ache in my chest softening.
“Ben, I never needed all that. I needed you. Just you.”
Tears welled in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry. I filed a police report this morning. They’re tracking the scammers.”
I reached across the table and grabbed his hand.
“Next time, promise me we face things together. No more secrets.”
“I promise,” he whispered, squeezing back.
“And the egg?” I teased, wiping my eyes.
Ben chuckled through his tears.
“Maybe we’ll keep it. As a reminder.”
“A reminder,” I smiled, “that the only treasure we need… is us.”