When Nicole started receiving mysterious notifications from the digital bathroom scale her husband brought home, she brushed it off as a glitch. But as the same numbers appeared week after week, her suspicions grew: Was Justin hiding something — or someone? What she uncovered SHOOK HER TO HER CORE.
What would you do if strange notifications started popping up on your phone? Like, ones you couldn’t explain? Because that’s exactly what happened to me, and let me tell you — it led to one hell of a discovery.
It started with a bathroom scale — a digital one. My husband, Justin, brought it home one random Saturday. “Let’s stay healthy together,” he said with this casual smile like it was no big deal. I wasn’t thrilled, but I played along. We stepped on it to “test” it out. Mine read 134.4 lbs, and his weight was 189.5 lbs.
A woman measuring her weight on a weighing scale | Source: Freepik
“Wow, I didn’t realize I was pushing 190,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.
I noticed his hand slightly trembling as he stepped off. “Justin? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just… just surprised, that’s all.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I used to be so fit in college.”
“We all change with time,” I said, touching his arm. He flinched away so subtly that I almost missed it.
I thought that might’ve been the end — just another gadget to collect dust in the bathroom. However, weeks later, these weird notifications started popping up on my phone. I’d linked the scale to an app when we first set it up, and one day, while sitting at work, I got a message:
“Unidentified user: weight 152.1 lbs.”
A shocked woman seeing her phone | Source: Midjourney
I thought maybe Justin had stepped on the scale. But he weighed 189.5 pounds. Then it happened again. And again. I got these notifications three times a week. Same weight. Same time. Something didn’t add up.
At dinner one night, I asked him casually, “Hey, have you been using the scale while I’m at work?”
He didn’t even look up from his plate. “Nope. It’s probably the kids playing with it.”
“Three times a week at the exact same time?” I pressed, raising an eyebrow.
“Geez, Nicole!” His fork clattered against the plate. “Why are you interrogating me about a damn scale?”
An annoyed man | Source: Midjourney
“I’m not interrogating you. I’m just asking a simple question. And the numbers are, I don’t know… weird. You weigh 189.5 pounds. But the notification said 152.1. Am I missing something?”
He shrugged, clearly annoyed. “Maybe they’re holding the dog when they weigh themselves. I don’t know, Nicole. It’s just a scale. Why are you so obsessed with this?”
That was the first red flag. Something about the way he said it — so quick and dismissive — didn’t sit right with me. But I didn’t want to start a fight over a stupid scale, so I let it go for a while.
But the notifications didn’t stop.
A doubtful woman | Source: Midjourney
Sometimes, the weight was random — 189.5 lbs (Justin’s weight), 35.3 lbs, or even 24.2 lbs. But that damn 152.1 lbs kept popping up like a ghost that refused to leave. This happened three times a week, like clockwork.
One night, I couldn’t sleep. The numbers kept dancing in my head.
“Justin?” I whispered in the darkness.
“Mmph?” he mumbled.
“Are you happy? With us, I mean?”
He rolled over, suddenly alert. “Where is this coming from?”
A frustrated man in his bedroom | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t know. You just seem… distant lately. Like you’re keeping something from me.”
“Nicole,” he sighed heavily, “it’s 2 a.m. Can we not do this now?”
“When should we do it then?” I demanded, sitting up. “Because every time I try to talk to you, you shut me down!”
“How annoying can this get?!” He threw off the covers and stormed out of the bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
An anxious woman | Source: Midjourney
One evening, while Justin was at the grocery store, I decided to take the scale to customer service, convinced it was broken. But when I explained the issue, the employee ran a diagnostic test and handed it back with a shrug.
“It’s working perfectly,” he said. “Every weight logged is based on someone actually using it.”
I felt my stomach knot. Someone was ACTUALLY using it?
When I got home, I confronted Justin again. “The scale isn’t broken,” I told him. “So who keeps stepping on it? It’s clearly someone who weighs 152.1 pounds. And it’s none of us here. Not you. Not me. Not the kids. And don’t you dare tell me it’s our dog.”
He sighed, his jaw tightening. “Nicole, it’s the kids. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
A furious woman frowning | Source: Midjourney
“You’re sure about that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Because I’ve been watching them. They’re never home at that time.”
“Are you spying on our children now?” he exploded. “What’s next? Hidden cameras?”
“Maybe I should install some!” I shot back, tears burning in my eyes. “Since you won’t give me a straight answer!”
“Nicole, drop it!” he snapped, storming upstairs to our room. “It’s not a big deal. You’re acting like this is some kind of conspiracy.”
That was red flag number two. Then came the day everything changed.
I was on a work trip, trying to focus on a meeting, when my phone buzzed with another notification: “Unidentified user: weight 152.1 lbs.”
I happened to be on the phone with my eldest son at the time. “Hey,” I asked, keeping my voice light. “Who’s messing with the scale right now?”
A cellphone on a table | Source: Pexels
“What scale?” he asked, sounding confused.
“The one in the bathroom,” I said. “Who’s using it?”
“Mom, no one’s home except Dad,” he said. “We’re all at school. Are you okay? You sound weird.”
My heart started racing. “I’m fine, sweetie. Just… checking something.”
“Mom,” he hesitated, “is everything okay with you and Dad? We’ve noticed you guys fighting more.”
“Everything’s fine,” I lied, my voice cracking. “Just adult stuff. Don’t worry about it. Okay. Thanks, sweetie. Love you.”
After I hung up, the realization hit me like a brick: Someone else was in my house. With Justin. But who?
My brain immediately went to the worst place. WAS IT HIS MISTRESS?
A suspicious woman lost in deep thought | Source: Midjourney
I tried to call Justin, but when he picked up, his response was the same as always: “It’s the kids, Nicole. Stop overthinking it.”
“Stop lying to me!” I screamed into the phone, my hands shaking. “I just talked to them — they’re at school!”
There was a long pause. “I have to go,” he said quietly. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Justin, don’t you dare hang up —” The line went dead.
But now, I couldn’t ignore it. Someone was sneaking into my house, using the scale, and Justin was covering it up. I needed to figure out who.
The next night, after I got home, I sat down and combed through every notification on the app. That’s when I noticed the pattern: Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Always at 1:50 p.m.
The next day was Thursday. And I knew exactly what I had to do.
A woman using her phone | Source: Midjourney
I left work early, parked my car down the street, and waited. My heart pounded as the clock ticked closer to 1:50 p.m.
“Please let me be wrong,” I whispered, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. “Please, please let me be wrong.”
At exactly 1:50 p.m., I got the message. And at 1:53 p.m., I saw someone walking out of my house.
From behind, they looked like a woman — lean, with a long ponytail swinging back and forth. But then they turned, and I FROZE. It wasn’t a woman. It was a MAN.
My mind raced with possibilities, each worse than the last. Was Justin living some kind of double life?
A man with a long ponytail closing a door | Source: Midjourney
Furious, I jumped out of the car and marched toward him. “HEY!” I shouted. “WHO ARE YOU, AND WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!”
He turned, startled. “Oh, uh… you must be Nicole. Justin’s wife.”
My stomach twisted. “What? Who are you? And why do you have keys to my house?”
He raised his hands like I was about to arrest him. “I guess Justin didn’t tell you about us,” he said sheepishly. “Please don’t judge him! He was too embarrassed to talk about it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped. “What US?!”
A stunned woman | Source: Midjourney
“I’m Derek,” he said quickly. “Justin’s old college friend. He called me a couple of weeks ago. He’s been worried about his weight and getting out of shape. I’m a personal trainer and sports masseur.”
My head spun. “You’re… his TRAINER?”
“Yeah, I —” Derek started, but I cut him off.
“No, stop. Just stop.” I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to make sense of it all. “You expect me to believe that my husband, who’s been acting like he’s having an affair, gave you keys to our house for… FITNESS TRAINING?”
Derek nodded, looking genuinely apologetic. “Justin didn’t want you to know because he was embarrassed about gaining weight. And the keys… look, after each session, I give him a massage to help with muscle recovery. He has to lie still for about ten to 30 minutes afterward, so he asked me to lock up when I leave. That’s why he gave me the spare keys. I’m really sorry for the confusion.”
A man smiling | Source: Midjourney
He hesitated before adding, “I know how this looks, but Justin’s been going through a lot. When he lost his job —”
I stared at him, completely dumbfounded. All the sneaking around, all the gaslighting… over personal training? My husband had been fired six months ago and must’ve felt so uneasy about himself. And I didn’t even notice how he’d been depressed and how he’d gained weight.
So that’s why he bought the digital scale. I felt guilty for not noticing how much he’d been struggling, but at the same time, I was upset that he’d kept something so big from me.
A guilty woman | Source: Midjourney
When I walked into the house ten minutes later, Justin acted completely normal, like nothing had happened. “Hey,” he said casually, slipping his phone into his pocket. “You’re back?! I was just about to jump in the shower.”
I didn’t say a word, just nodded and watched him walk upstairs. My thoughts were racing, but I waited. When he came back downstairs after his shower, I was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, waiting for him.
“So,” I began, arms crossed, “how long have you been hiding Derek from me?”
His face turned pale. “You… met Derek?”
A man gaping in shock | Source: Midjourney
“Yeah, Justin. I met Derek. The guy with a ponytail who’s been sneaking into our house three times a week. Care to explain?”
“Nicole, I can explain everything —”
“Can you?” I interrupted, my voice shaking. “Because Derek already did. About the training sessions.”
The color drained from his face as he sighed, collapsing onto the couch. “I didn’t want you to know,” he admitted. “I’ve been feeling terrible since I lost my job. I gained weight, and I just… I didn’t want you to laugh at me.”
“Laugh at you? Justin, I thought you were CHEATING on me! You lied, gave someone keys to our house, and made me feel like I was crazy!”
“I know,” he said quietly, his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”
A man looking guilty | Source: Midjourney
“Do you have any idea what you put me through?” I choked out. “I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I kept imagining the worst possible scenarios!”
“I was ashamed,” he sobbed. “I failed you. Failed our family. I thought if I could just get back in shape, find a new job… maybe I could be worthy of you again.”
I stared at him, my anger softening just a little. “Justin, I’m your wife. You don’t have to hide things from me. But you sure as hell don’t get to gaslight me either.”
The next day, I decided to convey an unforgettable message to Justin.
A frustrated woman | Source: Midjourney
The house was packed with friends and family when he got home from his evening walk. Balloons shaped like dumbbells hung from the ceiling, and a giant “Justin’s Fitness Journey” banner stretched across the living room along with his “before and after” photos.
“What… what is this?” he stammered, looking around in horror.
“A party!” I said brightly. “To celebrate your hard work. Since you went to such great lengths to hide it, I thought it deserved some extra attention.”
His face turned red as everyone clapped and cheered.
“Nicole,” he whispered, pulling me aside, “I don’t deserve this. After everything I put you through…”
“You’re right,” I said firmly. “You don’t deserve it. But you know what you do deserve? Support. Love. Understanding. All the things you were too afraid to ask for.”
A man smiling with relief | Source: Midjourney
“I promise,” he said, his voice cracking, “no more secrets. No more lies.”
“Good,” I smiled, squeezing his hand. “Because I already changed the locks.”
As the party continued, I leaned over and whispered, “Next time, just tell me the truth. It’s a lot easier than this.”
He nodded, squeezing my hand back. “Next time,” he promised, “we face everything together.”
A couple holding hands | Source: Unsplash
Entitled Mother on the Plane Damaged My Daughter’s iPad – She Faced Regret Quicker Than I Ever Expected
An entitled mom thought breaking my little daughter’s iPad would end her son’s tantrums. But what came next left her more panicked than I could’ve imagined. Karma works fast… even at 30,000 feet!
I, Bethany, 35 years old, never thought a two-hour flight could change so much. But there I was, settling into my seat with my five-year-old daughter Ella next to me. As the plane taxied down the runway, I breathed a sigh of relief. Ella was contentedly watching cartoons on her iPad, headphones snug on her ears…
“You comfy, sweetie?” I asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Ella nodded, her eyes glued to the screen. “Uh-huh. Can I have juice later?”
“Of course,” I smiled, reaching for my book. “Just let me know when you’re thirsty.”
As I cracked open my novel, movement across the aisle caught my eye. A family of three had just sat down: a couple and a little boy around Ella’s age. He was squirming in his seat, whining loudly.
“I’m bored!” he wailed, kicking the seat in front of him.
His mother shushed him. “We told you, no screens on this trip. Be a good boy.”
The boy’s whining intensified, and I saw his gaze lock onto Ella’s iPad.
Oh boy, I thought. This might be a long flight.
Twenty minutes in, a tap on my shoulder made me look up. The mom from across the aisle was leaning towards me, a tight smile on her face.
“Hi there! I couldn’t help but notice your daughter’s iPad. We’ve decided to be responsible parents and not give our son any screen time this vacation. Would you mind putting that away? It’s making him upset.”
I blinked, stunned by her audacity. “Excuse me?”
“It’s just… it’s not fair to him, you know?”
I took a deep breath, reminding myself to stay calm. “I’m sorry, but no. My daughter’s using it to stay calm during the flight.”
The woman’s smile vanished instantly. “Wow, really? You’d rather ruin our family trip than have your daughter take a break from her precious screen?”
“Listen,” I said, my patience wearing thin, “she’s quietly minding her own business. Your son could do the same if you’d brought him something to do.”
The woman, let’s just call her “Entitled Mom (EM)” was visibly frustrated.
“Some parents just can’t say no to their kids these days. No wonder they all end up spoiled.”
I turned back to my book, hoping that would end the conversation. But I could feel her glare burning into the side of my head.
“Everything okay, Mommy?” Ella asked, momentarily looking up from her show.
“Everything’s fine, sweetie. Just keep watching your cartoons.”
The next hour was tense. The boy’s tantrum escalated, his wails piercing through the cabin noise.
His parents shot us dirty looks every few minutes, as if we were personally responsible for their poor planning.
“I want that!” the boy shrieked, pointing at Ella’s iPad. “It’s not fair!”
His mother leaned over. “I know, honey. Some people are just SELFISH!”
I gritted my teeth, focusing on my book. The words blurred as I tried to block out the chaos around us. Ella remained oblivious, lost in her cartoons.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted beside us. Entitled Mom had leaned across the aisle, reaching for her bag. But instead of grabbing her belongings, her arm knocked into Ella’s tray table.
Time seemed to slow as I watched Ella’s iPad slide off the tray. It hit the floor with a sickening crack, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of fractures.
Ella’s scream cut through the air. “Mommy, my iPad!”
Entitled Mom’s face lit with fake surprise. “Oh no! I didn’t mean to do that! So clumsy of me!”
But I saw the glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes. This was NO ACCIDENT.
“What is wrong with you?” I hissed.
She shrugged, not even trying to hide her smugness. “These things happen. Maybe it’s a sign she needs less screen time.”
I was about to unleash a torrent of words that would make a sailor blush when a flight attendant appeared.
“Is everything alright here?” she asked, eyeing the shattered iPad.
Entitled Mom’s act kicked into high gear. “Oh, it was just a terrible accident. I feel awful!”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the flight attendant cut me off with a sympathetic smile.
“I’m so sorry about your device, ma’am. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do mid-flight. Please let us know if you need anything else.”
As she walked away, I turned to comfort my distraught daughter, knowing this battle was far from over. But it seemed karma had other plans.
With Ella’s iPad out of commission, the boy’s tantrum reached new heights. He bounced in his seat, kicked the chair in front of him, and yanked on the tray table.
“Sweetie, please settle down,” Entitled Mom pleaded.
“I’m bored! This is the worst trip ever!”
I watched from the corner of my eye, torn between sympathy for the child and a petty sense of satisfaction at Entitled Mom’s struggle.
Ella tugged on my sleeve, her eyes still watery. “Mommy, can you fix it?”
I hugged her close. “I’m sorry, sweetie. We’ll have to get it looked at when we land. How about we read a book instead?”
As I reached into my bag for another book, chaos erupted across the aisle.
The boy, in a fit of hyperactivity, had knocked over Entitled Mom’s coffee cup. The dark liquid spread across her lap and splashed into her open handbag.
“No, no, no!” she cried, frantically trying to save her belongings.
In her haste to rescue her bag, something fell out and landed on the floor. Yikes! It was a small blue booklet. I took a closer look and gasped. It was her PASSPORT!
Before anyone could react, her son’s foot came down on the fallen document, grinding it into the coffee-soaked carpet.
God, you should’ve seen Entitled Mom’s face. It was EPIC!
She snatched up the passport, but the damage was done. The pages were soaked through, stuck together in a soggy mess. The cover was warped beyond recognition. It looked like a water-logged, soggy piece of toast.
“Ma’am?” A flight attendant approached. “Is that your passport?”
Entitled Mom nodded, speechless for once.
“I’m so sorry, but I have to inform you that a damaged passport could cause serious issues when we land. Especially if you’re traveling internationally.”
Entitled Mom’s eyes widened in panic. She turned to her husband, seeking a way out. “What are we going to do? Our connecting flight to Paris leaves in three hours!”
Her husband shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe we can explain at customs?”
As they bickered, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of malevolence.
As the plane began its descent, Entitled Mom was frantically dabbing at her ruined passport with tissues, muttering under her breath. Her son, exhausted from his earlier tantrums, had finally fallen asleep.
I leaned over to Ella, who was reading her storybook with a big smile. “Great job, sweetie! You’re a real bookworm!”
She beamed at me, her earlier distress over the iPad forgotten. “Can we bake cupcakes when we get home, Mommy?”
“Absolutely,” I promised, ruffling her hair. “And maybe we can bake some cookies too!”
A soft whimper from across the aisle drew my attention. Entitled Mom was on the phone, her eyes brimming with panic.
“Yes, I understand it’s last minute, but we need to reschedule our entire trip. No, we can’t make the connecting flight. Because… because my passport is ruined.”
I couldn’t help but overhear as she explained the situation, detailing how she’d have to go through the process of getting an emergency passport before they could continue their journey.
As we began to taxi to our gate, Entitled Mom caught my eye as we stood to disembark.
For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of remorse in her eyes. But then her son started whining again, and the moment passed.
“Ready to go, Ella?” I asked, helping her gather her things.
“Can we get ice cream at the airport, Mommy?”
“I think we deserve a little treat, don’t you think?!” I laughed.
As we made our way off the plane, I couldn’t help but reflect on the bizarre turn of events. What had started as a simple two-hour flight had turned into a lesson in karma, patience, and the unpredictability of travel.
I glanced back one last time to see Entitled Mom still frantically trying to salvage her ruined passport. It was a grim reminder that our actions, good or bad, often have unexpected consequences.
Turns out, it wasn’t just Ella’s iPad that got ruined on that flight. Entitled Mom ended up losing something much more valuable!
As we walked hand in hand towards the baggage claim, I squeezed Ella’s fingers, thankful for the perspective this chaotic flight had given me. Sometimes, the best lessons come from the worst experiences.
Have you ever encountered a nightmare neighbor on a flight? Share your own flight horror stories in the comments!
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