I came home early from my business trip to surprise my husband. But instead of a warm welcome, I found him in the garden, drenched in sweat and burying a large black egg. He wouldn’t tell me the truth, so I dug deeper to find out myself. What I discovered sent my heart racing.

The Chicago business conference had been long and tiring, each speaker blending into the next. I hadn’t slept well for days. Ben and I had been like ships passing in the night with him focused on his investment banking and me on my consulting work. Deciding to prioritize our marriage, I chose to come home early and surprise him.

“You’re skipping the closing ceremony?” my colleague Linda questioned as I packed my laptop. “The VP is giving the keynote, it might help your promotion.”

“This time, my marriage comes first,” I said, zipping my bag with determination. “Ben and I haven’t had a real conversation in ages.”

Linda smirked, “Regina, putting love before work? That must be serious.”

“It is.” I glanced at my phone, calculating travel times. “If I leave now, I can catch the 6 p.m. flight and surprise Ben.”

“Go get your man,” Linda encouraged with a wink, “But text me when you land. Sometimes these surprise returns have a way of surprising you instead.”

The sun was setting as I pulled into the driveway. Our house looked quiet and welcoming in the evening light, but something felt amiss. The eerie silence inside added to that unease.

Assuming Ben was in his office, I planned to unwind by tending to our garden. But as I stepped outside, I froze.

Ben was digging frantically in our vegetable patch — his shirt soaked and sleeves rolled. Nowhere in sight was the pride he usually showcased when tending his tomatoes. Instead, there was this large, black egg beside him.

The egg was at least two feet tall, gleaming under the twilight sky. Ben paused and glanced between shovel loads, his movements growing more frantic with each glance.

I watched, speechless, as he muttered, “Just a bit deeper… Must bury this.”

Was this real? My mind raced, trying to comprehend the situation. But the scene was unchanged, like something out of a sci-fi film.

“Ben?” I called softly to avoid startling him.

He spun around, his shovel clanging against metal. His face, usually composed, was a mask of panic.

“REGINA?” he yelled, visibly shaken. “What-what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” I slowly approached, my eyes fixated on the egg. “But I’m the one surprised. What is that?”

“It’s nothing,” he snapped. “Reggie, go inside, please. You shouldn’t see this.”

“Nothing? Ben, that doesn’t look like nothing! What is going on?”

“I’ll explain later. Please, just go inside.”

“Later? You’re burying a giant egg in our garden and you want me to wait?”

His fingers weaved through his hair, streaking it with dirt. His gaze flickered nervously from me to the street.

“Please, Regina, I’m handling it. Just trust me.”

“Handling what? This looks like a meltdown or—”

“I said I’m handling it!” His voice boomed, leaving me stunned—I’d never heard him shout before.

“Fine,” I turned away, upset. “Handle it, like you handle everything else lately.” My voice trembled with emotion.

Ben tried to reach for me, “Reggie, wait—”

“Don’t. Just… don’t.”

That night, sleep evaded me. Ben didn’t come to bed, and I heard the couch creak under his restless movements. Around 3 a.m., I heard the back door quietly open. From the bedroom window, I saw him pacing around the garden where he’d buried the egg, like a guard on patrol.

Morning couldn’t come fast enough. After Ben left for work, I returned to the garden with a shovel. My hands were unsteady as I unearthed the egg he’d hidden the night before.

It took significant effort to dig it out, but the egg was surprisingly light. It didn’t feel like a proper eggshell but more like plastic.

Curiosity piqued, I tried to twist it open, and to my shock, it split in two, revealing layers of black plastic inside — completely empty.

“Regina?” A voice startled me from behind.

I almost dropped the egg, turning to see Mr. Chen, our elderly neighbor, peering over the fence with concern.

“I saw someone here late last night,” he said gently. “Is everything alright?”

Nodding quickly, I hid the egg. “Just gardening.”

Despite his skeptical look, Mr. Chen nodded and retreated, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the empty egg.

What had Ben gotten into?

Back inside, my mind raced. This was about more than just an odd object buried in our yard. It was about Ben’s unusual behavior, his alarm when confronted, and why he’d hidden this from me. With trembling hands, I wrapped the egg in a blanket and stashed it behind the lawn mower in the garage — out of sight but not out of mind.

Drained, I decided work might distract me, hoping for a sense of normalcy. But as I started the car, the news cut through the radio, solidifying my suspicions:

“Breaking news: Authorities have uncovered a large counterfeit operation targeting antique collectors. Among the fake items sold were black egg-shaped containers, causing significant financial losses…”

The realization hit like a wave. The egg was part of a scam. That evening, I placed the egg on our kitchen table and waited for Ben’s return.

When Ben came in, he froze, seeing the egg. His briefcase slipped from his grip.

“Reggie, I-I can explain,” he said, weary and ashamed.

“How much did you pay for this?” I asked calmly.

He sank into a chair, his façade crumbling. “Fifteen thousand.”

“Ben, what were you thinking?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, voice cracking. “A colleague said this ancient artifact would triple in value. I thought I could sell it and take us on the trip to Europe we’ve dreamed about.”

As he spoke, he looked up with red-ringed eyes and confessed about using our savings, grappling with bills and feeling desperate to make it right. “I couldn’t tell you,” he explained, “because… I’m an idiot. I got fooled and wasted our money. I just wanted to fix things.”

“We’ll work it out,” I reassured, taking his hand. “But no more secrets. We’re partners. Always.”

He nodded, relieved to share the burden. “I filed a police report. We aren’t the only victims—this scam targeted dozens of couples like us.”

“I don’t need trips or artifacts,” I said. “I need you to be open with me. Especially when it’s tough.”

We sat, contemplating the glossy fraudulent artifact. My suggestion? “Let’s plant it beside the tomatoes as a symbol for us. To remind us what truly matters.”

Ben managed a real smile, squeezing my hand. “Thank you. I love you, even when I make mistakes.”

“Lucky for you, I love idiots,” I teased. “Let’s tackle this together.”

And that’s exactly what we did.