THE DOORBELL RANG AT 3 AM AND IT WAS MY HUSBAND’S EX-WIFE HOLDING A WET BAG
My feet hit the cold hardwood floor, heart pounding hard against my ribs in the absolute quiet dark before dawn. Who would be here ringing the bell like this, over and over, at 3:17 AM? I crept to the front window, squinting through the blinds at the harsh yellow porch light illuminating the figure huddled just outside.
It took a sickening second to recognize the face beneath the hood – gaunt and streaked with something dark like dirt. It was Sarah, his ex-wife. I hadn’t seen her in years, not since the messy divorce.
I fumbled the deadbolt, cold metal strange under shaking fingers, swinging the door open a crack. “Sarah? What are you doing here?” I whispered, raw fear making my voice tremble. Her eyes wide, frantic, darted into the dark hallway behind me.
“He told me you were out of town this weekend,” she breathed, voice ragged over the buzzing in my ears. “He swore you wouldn’t be here when he left.” A strong, sickening smell of damp earth and metal hit me as she shifted. She stared fixedly at the heavy duffel bag slumped beside her worn boots.
She stepped closer to the door and pointed to the duffel bag, and it was dripping something dark onto the porch.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*”He needs help,” Sarah rasped, her voice catching in her throat. “He’s… he’s made a terrible mistake. And I don’t know what else to do.” Her gaze flickered back to the bag, then to me, pleading. “Please, you have to help him. You’re the only one he trusts, the only one he’d listen to.”
My mind raced, trying to make sense of the chaos. “What mistake? What’s in the bag, Sarah?” The damp earth smell was overwhelming now, mingling with a metallic tang that made my stomach churn.
She squeezed her eyes shut, a tear escaping and tracing a path through the grime on her cheek. “I can’t tell you,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Just… just take the bag. Call him. He’ll explain. He needs you.”
Confusion warred with a primal fear. My husband? Involved in something that warranted a 3 AM visit from his frantic ex-wife clutching a suspiciously heavy, dripping bag? It was surreal, impossible.
“Why me, Sarah? Why not the police?”
She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “No! No police! He’d never forgive me. He… he was protecting someone. Please, just trust me. He’s in danger. He needs you to fix this.”
Against every instinct screaming at me to slam the door and call the authorities, I saw the raw desperation in her eyes, the genuine fear for my husband’s safety. And something in her words, a desperate plea rooted in a shared history I couldn’t begin to understand, resonated with a chilling truth.
“Okay,” I said, my voice barely audible. “Okay, I’ll take the bag.”
Sarah sagged with relief. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Call him. His number… it’s still the same.” She backed away, disappearing into the pre-dawn darkness as quickly as she’d arrived.
I hesitated for a moment, then reached down, the weight of the duffel bag surprisingly heavy. I dragged it inside, the dark liquid leaving a trail on the polished floor. I closed the door, bolted it, and stood there, heart pounding, staring at the dripping bag.
Taking a deep breath, I unzipped it. Inside, nestled amongst shovels and muddy tarpaulin, was a sapling, its roots wrapped in burlap. A small, handwritten note was attached.
*“Plant this. Where we first met. Please. I’ll explain everything. I promise. – Daniel.”*
Relief washed over me so hard that I almost collapsed. It wasn’t a body. It wasn’t drugs. It was… a tree. A very oddly delivered tree. I recognized the location he mentioned, the park where we met.
I called him, the phone ringing and ringing before he finally answered, his voice thick with sleep. “Sarah came to you?” he mumbled.
“Yes, with a tree. What is going on?”
He sighed. “It’s a long story. The short version is, I accidentally cut down a protected tree. A very old, very important tree. The kind with protesters chained to it. I panicked. I was trying to fix it, to replant it before anyone noticed. Sarah knows someone who works at a nursery. She helped me get the sapling. I knew you’d understand.”
I stared at the bag, at the shovel, at the ridiculousness of the situation. “You woke me up at 3 AM, terrified me, and involved your ex-wife, over a tree?”
He groaned. “I know, I know. It was stupid. But please, just plant it? Before anyone sees it’s missing? I’ll be there as soon as I can. We can make it a romantic replanting ceremony.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension finally breaking. “Okay,” I said. “But you’re doing the digging.”