The Trunk

The eyesore loomed before me, motionless and perched in front of my husband’s office desk. Whenever he left the door to his home office ajar, it would mock me with its garish colors that clashed with our home’s aesthetic. However, I refrained from asking him to part with it, aware of how much he cherished the object. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what lay inside. Over our thirteen years together, he never once revealed the contents of the trunk. He always claimed it held mere memorabilia from his youth and early twenties. My curiosity gnawed at me, longing to uncover its secrets. Yet, I dared not peek, as doing so would betray my husband’s trust and invade his privacy.

Today was different, though. My husband left in a rush, which wasn’t uncommon for him on a busy workday, but he seemed distant. He barely acknowledged me as he hastily gathered his belongings and zoomed out of the house. I felt confused, but I assumed whatever he was dealing with must have been crucial and urgent. As I walked past his wide-open office door, I noticed that the trunk was unlocked and slightly agape. This was unusual, as he had never left it like that before, and I didn’t think he had even opened it since we got together.

I bit my lip, contemplating my next course of action. Should I leave the trunk alone? Should I close it without looking? Or should I succumb to curiosity and take a quick glance inside? After several seconds of internal struggle, I decided that a small peek at the trunk’s contents wouldn’t hurt. Thus, I meandered over to the partially opened trunk, bending down in front of it and placing my hand on the lid. I remained cautious about invading my husband’s personal belongings, yet I couldn’t help but imagine finding old sports memorabilia, perhaps even comic books and magazines.

As I lifted the lid to peer inside, what I saw made me slam it shut as swiftly as I had opened it. I swallowed hard, struggling to comprehend the shocking sight before me. It was nothing like what I had expected. In fact, it was something so unimaginable that no one could have anticipated it. I questioned whether I had misinterpreted the items, perhaps my mind was playing a cruel trick on me. Tentatively, I opened the trunk again and looked inside, hoping for a different outcome. Yet, to my dismay, the scene remained unchanged. There was no denying the stark reality of what I was witnessing.

With a trembling hand, I reached inside and retrieved the object that had my mind reeling with a mix of thoughts and emotions. It was a hammer, its surface coated in dried blood that appeared to have been there for years. My heart raced as I swiftly returned it to its original position, realizing that if it was indeed a murder weapon, my fingerprints could potentially compromise the evidence. Alongside the hammer, there were piles of newspaper clippings and various mementos. I picked up one of the articles from the top, silently reading the headline to myself.

“The Late-Night Bludgeoner Strikes Again!” I read the bold headline, my eyes scanning through the article. It had taken place in my husband’s hometown, and my heart sank as I discovered that there had been five murders attributed to this serial killer before the publication of the article. I noted the date, realizing that it was at least fifteen years ago, a mere couple of years before I had met my husband. This revelation meant that he would have been in his early twenties at the time. The weight of this realization sent shivers down my spine.

In a panic, I tossed the article back into the trunk and hastily shut the lid, securing it once again. I hurriedly left my husband’s office, feeling a rush of emotions overwhelming me. Collapsing onto the couch, I sank into its softness, my shoulders slumping under the weight of this newfound knowledge. My heart felt burdened with the weight of the decision I had to make. I couldn’t possibly keep this revelation to myself, but at the same time, he was my husband. I couldn’t bear the thought of betraying him and jeopardizing the life we had built together over the past thirteen years. I knew I should confront him, but the fear of his potential reaction gnawed at me. What if he turned on me? What if the dark side of that serial killer resurfaced when I brought it up? The uncertainty paralyzed me, leaving me in a state of turmoil.

While I continued to sit on the couch, lost in my thoughts, there was an unexpected knock on the door. Startled, I rose to answer it, finding myself face-to-face with the police. They inquired about a recent incident, their questioning intensifying as they delved into details. I knew there was no point in hiding my findings when they were already hot on my husband’s trail, so I spilled what I had found today. I led the officers to the trunk filled with my husband’s dark secrets, and they swiftly gathered the evidence while questioning me some more.

After the officers left, my cellphone began to ring, and I felt a knot forming in my stomach as I glanced at the unfamiliar number on the caller ID. Hesitantly, I answered the phone, the nerves evident in my voice as I uttered, “Who is this?”

A heavy sigh escaped my husband on the other end, his voice trembling ever so slightly. “I never meant to hurt you, Jenna. By now, you probably already understand what is unfolding.”

“Yes, I do.” I wiped away the tears welling in my eyes. “I saw what was in the trunk.”

“Please, don’t tell the police that we’ve spoken, okay?”

“Where are you?” I pleaded, desperate for answers.

“You know I can’t tell you that.” He cleared his throat, his voice laced with regret. “This will be the last time I reach out to you—for both our sakes. I’m truly sorry for involving you in this, but I did love you. Goodbye, Jen.”

Before I could respond, he abruptly ended the call, leaving me standing in silence in the living room of our home. I peered into my husband’s office across the way, the trunk was no longer there, and a sense of emptiness enveloped me. I never thought I would miss that hideous contraption, but after the chaotic day I had endured, I would give anything to have it back— to reclaim the life that was now forever altered.