After a draining business trip in Chicago, I decided to skip the last few events and come home early to surprise my husband, Ben. Lately, things between us had felt off distant. I wanted to reconnect. But instead of a warm welcome, I found something deeply unsettling: Ben in our backyard, covered in sweat, frantically digging. Next to him sat a massive, glossy black egg. It was strange unnaturally smooth and eerie. When he saw me, he froze.

“Regina? What are you doing here?” he stammered. “I came home early,” I said, staring at the bizarre object. “What… is that?” Ben’s panic was immediate. He insisted it was nothing, begged me to go inside, tried to brush it off. But I didn’t let it go. We argued. He was clearly scared, and it wasn’t just about the surprise visit. That night, neither of us slept much.

The next morning, after Ben left for work, I went back to the yard and dug up the egg. It was hollow, plastic — not organic like I had feared. I cracked it open, expecting something disturbing. Instead, I found it was empty, just thick black casing. It looked high-end, but completely fake. Later that day, our neighbor casually mentioned seeing a strange man sneaking around our yard at night. The whole situation kept unraveling in my head.

Then came the breaking news: a counterfeit antiques ring had been exposed — targeting high-end collectors with fake “ancient” items. Among the pieces? Glossy black, egg-shaped fakes passed off as rare relics. That night, I confronted Ben. The truth unraveled — one I never expected, one that would challenge our trust and shake the foundation of our marriage.