I arrived home early from my business trip, eager to surprise my husband. But instead of a warm embrace, I found him in the backyard, drenched in sweat, frantically digging a hole. Beside him sat a massive, gleaming black egg. When he refused to tell me the truth, I had no choice but to uncover it myself. What I found sent my heart racing.
I hadn’t slept in days. The Chicago business conference had dragged on, each presentation blending into the next until I could barely keep my eyes open. Three years of marriage, and lately, Ben and I had been like strangers, buried under the weight of work and responsibilities. When my last meeting ended earlier than expected, I decided to surprise him with an early return.
“You’re really skipping the closing ceremony?” my colleague Linda asked, watching me pack up. “The VP’s giving the keynote. Could be good for your promotion.”
I zipped my bag with finality. “For once, my marriage comes first. Ben and I haven’t had a real conversation in weeks.”
Linda smirked. “Regina, prioritizing love over work? That’s new.”
I checked my phone, calculating times. “If I leave now, I can catch the 6 p.m. flight and surprise my husband.”
She winked. “Go get your man. But text me when you land—these surprise returns don’t always go as planned.”
If only she knew how right she was.
As I pulled into the driveway, the setting sun cast long shadows across the lawn. Something felt off the moment I stepped inside. The house was eerily quiet, the usual hum of the television absent. Through the kitchen window, I spotted dirty dishes piled in the sink—a sight completely unlike my meticulous husband.
“Ben?” I called softly. No answer.
Mail was scattered across the coffee table, including several official-looking envelopes marked URGENT. A half-empty cup of coffee sat beside his laptop, the dried ring around the rim suggesting it had been there for hours.
Assuming he was buried in work as usual, I wandered toward the backyard, hoping to unwind with my garden. But the second I stepped outside, I froze.
Ben was there, standing in the middle of our vegetable patch, his clothes soaked with sweat, his sleeves rolled up as he shoveled dirt with frantic intensity. His movements were desperate, erratic. But what truly stopped me in my tracks was the enormous black egg sitting beside him.
It was at least two feet tall, its surface smooth and gleaming under the evening light like polished obsidian. Every few seconds, Ben would glance at it before digging faster, muttering under his breath.
“Just a little deeper. It has to be deep enough to bury this thing.”
My hand flew to my mouth. Was this really happening? Maybe I was hallucinating from exhaustion. But no—the scene before me remained unchanged. My husband was burying what looked like a sci-fi artifact in our backyard.
“Ben?” My voice was barely above a whisper.
He whirled around, startled, his shovel clanking against something solid in the dirt. His face, normally composed, was pale with panic. A streak of dirt smudged his cheek, and his hands trembled.
“Regina?!” His voice cracked. “What are you doing here?”
“I came home early to surprise you.” I took a cautious step closer, my eyes darting between him and the egg. “Though I think I’m the one who’s surprised. What is that thing?”
His entire body stiffened. “It’s nothing.” He moved to block my view. “Reggie, just go inside, honey. You shouldn’t be here.”
I scoffed. “Ben, I don’t think that is ‘nothing.’ What is it? What’s going on?”
He ran a shaky hand through his hair, leaving streaks of dirt on his forehead. His eyes flickered toward the street, as if expecting someone.
“Please, Regina. Trust me. I’m handling it.”
“Handling what?” My voice rose. “Because from where I’m standing, my husband is either losing his mind or—”
“I said I’m handling it!” His sudden outburst made me step back.
A tense silence stretched between us.
“Fine.” I turned toward the house, my heart pounding. “Handle it yourself.”
That night, sleep never came. Ben never joined me in bed. I lay awake, listening as he paced the living room, the couch creaking under his restless movements. Around 3 a.m., the back door opened. Through the window, I watched as he checked the buried spot, pacing like a sentry guarding a secret.
Something was very wrong.
By morning, I had made up my mind. The moment Ben left for work, I grabbed the garden shovel and marched outside. My hands trembled as I dug into the freshly turned soil.
“What are you hiding, Ben?” I whispered.
It took twenty minutes of digging before my shovel hit something solid. The egg was surprisingly light when I unearthed it, though my arms trembled with effort. Up close, it felt… wrong. Not like a shell, but like plastic.
I twisted it slightly—and to my shock, it separated in the middle like an oversized Easter egg.
Empty. Completely hollow except for layers of black plastic.
A voice behind me nearly made me drop it.
“Regina?”
I spun around. Our elderly neighbor, Mr. Chen, stood at the fence, eyes fixed on the object in my hands.
“I saw someone in your yard last night,” he said slowly. “Everything okay?”
I forced a smile. “Fine. Just… gardening.”
His expression remained skeptical, but he nodded and disappeared.
My heart pounded as I examined the egg again. Fake. It wasn’t an artifact. It wasn’t anything remotely natural. So why had Ben buried it like his life depended on it?
My phone buzzed as I climbed into my car, hoping work might distract me. The radio clicked on automatically, and the news anchor’s voice cut through my thoughts:
“Breaking news: Authorities have uncovered a counterfeit antique operation targeting collectors. The scammers sold fake black egg-shaped containers as rare artifacts, conning victims out of millions…”
My coffee cup slipped from my fingers.
When Ben walked in that evening, I was waiting. The egg sat on the kitchen table between us.
His briefcase hit the floor. “Regina—I-I can explain.”
I folded my arms. “How much did you pay for this thing?”
His shoulders sagged. “Fifteen thousand.”
I exhaled sharply. “Jesus, Ben.”
His voice cracked. “I wanted to surprise you. A guy at work claimed it was an ancient fertility artifact. Said it would triple in value. I thought… I thought I could sell it and take you on that Europe trip.”
“The trip we’ve been saving for?” My voice shook. “Why didn’t you tell me?“
His head fell into his hands. “Because I was stupid. Because I was ashamed. Things have been tight lately—your mom’s medical bills, the house repairs—I just wanted to fix everything.”
I sighed, softer this time. “By gambling our savings on a plastic egg?”
Ben laughed bitterly. “I filed a police report today. Turns out, I wasn’t the only idiot. This guy’s been scamming people left and right.”
I studied him for a long moment before reaching across the table, taking his hand. “We’ll figure this out. But no more secrets. We’re supposed to be a team.”
He nodded, squeezing my fingers. “What do we do with it now?”
I glanced at the glossy black shell and smirked. “Maybe we’ll plant it in the garden for real.”
Ben chuckled. “As a reminder of what not to do?”
“No,” I said, leaning into him. “As a reminder that the only thing we need to grow is trust.”