At first, it seemed like a harmless quirk – my wife Sarah making tally marks on her hand. But as the marks multiplied, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off. Our marriage, which had seemed perfect to outsiders, was hiding a dark secret.
As I watched Sarah make those marks, I felt a growing sense of unease. What was she tracking? Was it something I’d done, or something she was planning? The not knowing was eating away at me.
I tried to brush it off as a silly habit, but the marks kept appearing. Some days, there would be one or two; other days, five or more. It was like she was keeping a secret from me, and that secret was slowly driving us apart.
One night, I confronted her. “Sarah, what’s with the tally marks?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
She smiled and shrugged. “It’s just something I do. It helps me remember things.”
But I knew she was hiding something. I started paying closer attention, watching her make marks after dinner, after we argued, after we watched a movie. There was no pattern, but it made me anxious.
One evening, I counted the marks on her hand – seven. Later that night, I watched her transfer those marks into a small notebook. I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew I had to find out.
A few days later, I asked her again. “Sarah, please, tell me what those marks are for. It’s driving me crazy.”
She sighed, clearly irritated. “I already told you – it’s just something I do. It helps me remember.”
But I knew that wasn’t true. The tally marks had become a wall between us, a constant reminder that something was wrong.
I became obsessed with the number 68 – the total number of marks in her notebook. What did it mean? I even started being extra careful around her, scared of giving her a reason to add another mark.
But no matter what I did, the marks kept appearing. It was like she was building a case against me, and I had no idea how to stop it.
One night, I decided to confront her again. But this time, I was prepared. I had seen her mother’s notebook, filled with similar tally marks and labels like “interrupting” and “raising voice.” It was like they were keeping track of mistakes.
“Sarah, I need to ask you something,” I said, my heart racing.
“What’s up?” she asked, her voice cautious.
“I saw your mom’s notebook. Are you both counting your mistakes?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.
But her response was not what I expected. “I’m not counting my mistakes, Jack. I’m counting yours.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I felt my heart sink, my mind racing with questions. Why was she counting my mistakes? What did it mean?
And then she dropped the bombshell. “When you reach 1,000 marks, I’m leaving.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. I wanted to be angry, but I knew I had been careless. I had let her down.
In that moment, I realized that our marriage was not perfect. We had problems, and we needed to work on them. But I was willing to try.
The next day, I bought a new notebook – one for us to fill with happy memories. Slowly, we started fresh. The tally marks were replaced with stories of joy, love, and laughter. And finally, we were on the same page, ready to rebuild.
