The blizzard raged outside our Connecticut estate, turning the twelve-foot rhododendron hedges into ghostly white sculptures. Inside, the only thing colder was the silence between me and Maria, our live-in housekeeper.

It was 12:05 AM.

I stood by the grand fireplace, the heat of the oak logs doing nothing to warm the ice in my veins. Maria, a woman who had been with us for five years, stood across the Persian rug, her eyes wide, glistening with tears that hadn’t yet fallen.

“Maria,” I said, my voice low and dangerously steady. I didn’t yell. That was for amateurs. “Tell me again why my husband’s missing boxers were wrapped inside your Bible.”

I gestured to the coffee table, where two objects lay side-by-side: a small, dark blue, worn-out copy of the Holy Bible, and the missing piece of clothing—a pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs, charcoal grey, one of Kevin’s favorites.

Maria finally whispered, “Mrs. Davies, I… I don’t know how…”

“Stop,” I cut her off. I didn’t need excuses. I had found them less than an hour ago, tucked deep inside the pages of Psalms while looking for a bookmark I thought I’d lent her. It was a bizarre, stomach-churning discovery. Why the Bible? It made the transgression seem almost sacrilegious.

The truth hit me, not like a wave, but like a single, sharp shard of ice. This wasn’t just a misplaced item; this was a voodoo charm, a desperate woman’s attempt to lay claim to a man who was not hers.

My control snapped. The years of perfect dinner parties, the flawless upkeep of our home, the quiet confidence I maintained as Mrs. Kevin Davies—it all dissolved into pure, white-hot rage.

I walked over to her. The sound of my Italian leather slippers on the hardwood floor was the only thing you could hear over the whistling wind outside.

Slap.

The sound was shockingly loud. Maria staggered back a step, holding her cheek.

“Get out,” I spat. “Now. I don’t want to see your face when the sun comes up.”

“Mrs. Davies, please! I have nowhere to go! It’s a blizzard!” she pleaded, tears finally streaming down her face.

“You should have thought of that before you decided to make a shrine out of my husband’s underwear. Take your Bible and get out of my sight. You are fired.“

I shoved her backpack and the offensive blue Bible into her arms, opened the massive front door, and pointed. The wind howled, spraying snow into the foyer. Maria, sobbing uncontrollably and clutching her possessions, stumbled out into the frigid night. I slammed the door shut, locking it with a satisfying, decisive click.

I leaned back against the mahogany, panting, adrenaline coursing through me. I felt justified, victorious, yet completely hollowed out. I had just banished a woman into a deadly storm, and all for a pair of boxer briefs. I’ll deal with the police tomorrow, I thought, shuddering at the cold draft.

It was just after 2:30 AM when I heard the crunch of tires on the icy drive. Kevin. He was finally home from his emergency business trip.

I flew to the front door, eager to tell him what I had done, expecting his gratitude for protecting our home, our marriage.

He stepped inside, shaking the snow from his expensive overcoat. He looked pale, exhausted, and strangely distant.

“Darling, you’re home!” I rushed to hug him, but he held up a hand, stopping me.

“Sarah. We need to talk. Right now.”

His tone sent a new kind of chill down my spine, one that had nothing to do with the freezing air.

“What is it, Kevin? Something terrible happened, I had to fire Maria. I found your boxers—”

“I know about the boxers,” he interrupted, his eyes meeting mine, and I saw a strange mixture of terror and relief in them.

“You… you do?”

He took a slow, deep breath, pulling off his gloves, his wedding ring catching the light. The wind outside seemed to die down for a second, leaving the house in an unnatural silence.

“Sarah,” he started, his voice barely a whisper, “I had to come home tonight because I couldn’t keep it secret anymore. You need to know the truth. I didn’t lose that pair of boxers.“

My stomach lurched. “What are you talking about, Kevin?”

He stepped closer, his gaze desperate.

“Maria didn’t steal them, Sarah. I gave them to her. I wrapped them up and put them in her Bible myself about a month ago. It was the only way I could think of to plant a piece of evidence that would make you think she was obsessed with me and have a reason to fire her.”

I stared at him, my brain refusing to process the words. “You framed her? Why on earth would you do that?”

Kevin ran a hand over his face, his eyes welling up.

“Because if you didn’t fire her, I knew I would have to confess something worse.”

He looked at the door, then back at me, his voice cracking with the horrifying secret he had carried for months.

“Maria wasn’t in love with me, Sarah. She was the one who was protecting me. The reason I had to get her out of the house was because I couldn’t stand the thought of you discovering her Bible… because her Bible is where she was hiding the keys to my safe deposit box, which holds all the evidence that I’ve been laundering money for a cartel and the FBI is watching our house. She was trying to protect my life by getting fired, and I just ruined her chance.”

And that was the terrifying secret… My husband, the successful CEO, wasn’t just having an affair—he was a criminal, and I had just driven the only person who knew the truth and was trying to help him into a raging blizzard.