I Discovered My Ex-Husband Was Cheating on Me When He Suddenly Started Sweeping the Street—It Sounds…

I realised my ex-husband was cheating on me because he began sweeping the street.
It sounds daft, but thats exactly how it happened. He was an electrician, working from home. His workshop was in the shed at the bottom of the garden, and he spent his days fiddling with wires, fixing sockets, chatting with customers. Housework was never his thing. Not out of principlehe simply didnt enjoy it. Whenever he had a spare moment, he used it to unwind: watching the telly, popping down to the pub for a pint with mates, or firing up the barbecue with a pack of sausages. He was an easy-going chap. Didnt like parties, never one for a row, and not the sort to make you suspicious without a reason.
Our street was a dusty old lane on the edge of town, wide and lined with grand oaks. There were always leaves, mud, and bits of gravel everywhere. Sweeping the street was a near daily taskusually Id be the one out early, broom in hand, before breakfast while the kettle boiled. Then, one day, a new neighbour moved in next door. Nothing surprising there; that place was always being let out, tenants coming and going.
A few months after she arrived, he started telling me,
No, dont worry, Ill do the sweeping today.
At first, I thought it was sweet. I took the chance to wash up, scrub the loo, tidy the hallway. I wasnt suspicious. Why would I be?
But then he did it the next day. And the next. Always, without fail, at seven in the morning. Not earlier, not later. It caught my attention, because he never had a set time for anythingexcept his work. One morning, out of mild curiosity, I peered through the front window.
And there he was.
Standing with the broom, but not sweeping at all. Chatting. Smiling. And across from himour new neighbour. Just a coincidence, I thought. But the next day, it happened again. And the next. Every single time he went out, shed be there too. The timing was too perfectalmost as if it was arranged.
I began to watch more closely. It wasnt only in the mornings. One Saturday, he said he was off for a pint with friends. Seemed ordinary. But as he opened the door, I sensed something odd. I looked out andlo and beholdthe neighbour stepped out at the exact same time. She called out,
Oh, evening, neighbour! Have a nice night.
He replied, absolutely casual, and then she added,
Would you believe it, Im off that way myself.
And down the road they strolled, together.
The next weekend, he said he was going to play footballsomething he almost never bothered with. He left, and not five minutes later, so did she, phone pressed to her ear, heading in the same direction.
I had no real evidence. No messages, no photos. Only patterns. Times. Coincidences that, by now, werent coincidences at all.
One day, I couldnt take it any longer. I didnt even ask. I just said, straight out:
I know youre seeing the neighbour.
He looked startled. At first, he denied it. But I told him,
Ive seen you. Every day. Dont lie.
He fell silent, eyes downcast. At last, he whispered,
Yes. Im with her. Im in love.
I shouted at him to get out. No children, nothing to arrange between us. The most ironic detail followedhe moved in next door, with her.
They didnt stay long. Maybe two months. After that, they both vanished. No one really knew the details. They left the town, and I never heard of them again. Neighbours gossiped, family asked after them, but I wanted nothing more to do with any of it.