When I knocked on the bathroom door and heard my husband Liam’s strained voice, I sensed something was wrong. After 25 years of marriage, I was puzzled by his sudden obsession with spending hours behind that locked door.

Initially, I dismissed it, but as the strange noises continued—thumps and heavy breathing—I grew concerned. When I confronted him, he brushed it off, insisting he just needed privacy. My imagination ran wild, fearing he was hiding something serious.

One day, while he was in there, his phone buzzed. I answered a call from his mom and noticed a video thumbnail. Curious, I clicked it and gasped—there was Liam, exercising!

I marched to the bathroom, demanding he open the door. Flushed and holding a resistance band, he confessed he’d gained weight and was working out in secret, afraid I’d judge him. Relief washed over me; my worries were unfounded.

I laughed at the absurdity of it all. “You could’ve just told me! I’d support you!” I said. We talked, and the tension eased. “Next time, let me in, okay?” I squeezed his hand, and everything felt right again.