When I noticed my wife drawing strange tally marks on her hand, I shrugged it off as a quirky habit. But as those marks multiplied and her answers remained cryptic, I realized something much darker was lurking beneath the surface of our seemingly happy marriage.
“Married life is great, right?” I would say to my friends when they asked. And for the most part, it was. We’d only been married for a few months, and I was still getting used to being a husband. My wife, Sarah, was always so organized, so thoughtful. She had a way of making everything seem effortless.
But then, something changed. I started noticing a strange habit of hers. One day, she pulled a pen out of her purse and made a small tally mark on the back of her hand. I didn’t think much of it at first.
“Did you just mark your hand?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She smiled and shrugged. “Just a reminder.”
“A reminder for what?” I laughed, thinking it was a joke. But she didn’t answer. She just changed the subject.
Over the next few weeks, she did it more and more. Some days, there’d be only one or two marks. Other days, five or more. Then there’d be days with nothing at all. It seemed random, but it bothered me. What was she keeping track of?
The more I noticed, the more I started to worry. It was like she was keeping a secret from me, and that secret was slowly eating away at our happiness.
One night, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Sarah, what’s with the tally marks?” I asked as we were getting ready for bed. “You do it all the time now.”
She glanced at the marks on her hand, then looked at me with that same mysterious smile. “It helps me remember things, that’s all.”
“Remember what?” I pressed.
“It’s just… things,” she said, brushing me off like it was nothing. “Don’t worry about it.”
But I did worry. A lot. I started paying closer attention. She’d mark her hand after dinner. After we argued. After we watched a movie. There was no pattern I could see.
One evening, I counted the marks on her hand: seven. That night, I watched as she transferred them into a small notebook by her bedside table. She didn’t know I was watching.
I decided to check her notebook the next morning. I waited until she was in the shower, then flipped through the pages. Each page had rows and rows of tally marks. I counted them—68 in total.
I sat on the bed, staring at the notebook in my hands. What did this number mean? What was she counting?
I tried asking her again a few days later.
“Sarah, please tell me what those marks are for. It’s driving me crazy.”
She sighed, clearly annoyed. “I told you. It’s just something I do. It helps me remember.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” I snapped. “What are you remembering? Are you keeping track of something? Someone?”
“Just drop it, okay?” she said, her voice sharp. She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Please, just let it go.”
But I couldn’t let it go. The marks started to feel like a wall between us. Every time I saw her make a new one, it was like she was putting up another brick, shutting me out.
I became obsessed with the number 68. What was so important about it? I noticed I was being more careful around her, almost like I was afraid to give her a reason to add another mark. But then the marks would still appear, no matter what I did.
One night, after another tense conversation, I watched her add four new marks to her hand. I needed to know what was happening. I needed to figure this out before it drove me mad. But I had no idea how to get the truth out of her. And that scared me more than anything.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that our entire marriage was on the line, and I was helpless to stop whatever was happening between us. I left for several days to see if it changed anything. Well, the tally count has increased to 78 by the time I returned.
The obsession with Sarah’s tally marks was eating me alive. I needed a break from it, but everywhere I looked, I saw her hand with those little black lines, like they were taunting me. So, when Sarah suggested we visit her mother, I thought it would be a good distraction.
Her mother, Diane, and her fifth husband, Jake, lived in a cozy house in the suburbs. It was a typical Saturday afternoon visit: tea, cookies, and small talk. Sarah and her mom were in the kitchen, chatting and laughing. I excused myself to use the bathroom.
As I passed by the guest bedroom, something caught my eye. There, on the nightstand, was a notebook. It looked just like the one Sarah kept by her bed. I hesitated, but curiosity got the better of me. I stepped inside, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching.
I opened the notebook, my hands trembling. Inside, there were pages filled with tally marks, just like Sarah’s. But there was more. Next to the marks were labels: “interrupting,” “raising voice,” “forgetting to call.” Each tally had a label, like it was keeping track of mistakes.
“What the hell is this?” I muttered under my breath.
I felt a chill run down my spine. Was this some kind of family tradition? Was Sarah’s mom counting her own mistakes? Were they both holding themselves to these impossible standards?
I closed the notebook and returned to the living room, trying to act normal, but my mind was spinning. Sarah noticed my unease.
“You okay?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. “Just thinking about work.”
We stayed for another hour, but I was barely present. My thoughts kept drifting back to that.
On the drive home, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Sarah, I need to ask you something,” I said, gripping the steering wheel.
She looked at me, puzzled. “What’s up?”
“I saw your mom’s notebook today. It looked a lot like yours. Is this something you both do? Are you counting your mistakes? You don’t have to be perfect, you know. You don’t need to keep track of every little thing.”
There was a moment of silence, then she let out a bitter laugh.
“You think I’m counting my mistakes?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, relieved she was finally opening up. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. It’s okay to mess up sometimes.”
She shook her head, staring out the window. “I’m not counting my mistakes, Jack. I’m counting yours.”
The words hit me like a punch in the gut. “What?”
“Every time you break one of your vows, I make a mark,” she said quietly. “When you interrupt me, when you don’t listen, when you say you’ll do something and don’t. I’ve been keeping track since our wedding.”
On our wedding day, I promised Sarah the world in my vows. I vowed never to lie, to always listen without interrupting, and to be there every time she needed me, no matter what. It was a long list of grand, heartfelt promises that sounded perfect in the moment, but looking back, they were almost impossible to keep.
I felt the blood drain from my face. “You’re counting my mistakes? Why?”
“Because I want to know when I’ve had enough,” she said, her voice breaking. “When you reach 1,000 marks, I’m leaving.”
I pulled the car over, my heart pounding. “You’re going to leave me? For breaking some stupid promises?”
“They’re not stupid promises,” she snapped. “They’re our wedding vows, Jack. You made them to me, and you’ve broken every single one.”
I stared at her, stunned. How had we gotten here? How had I missed this? I’d thought she was being hard on herself, but I was the one who’d been careless, dismissive. I wanted to be angry, but I couldn’t. I was too shocked, too hurt.
When we got home, I couldn’t sleep. I called Diane, desperate for answers.
“Sarah told me what she’s doing,” I said. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
Diane sighed. “I did the same thing with my past husbands. I thought it would help, but it just drove us apart. It ruined my marriages.”
“Then why let her—”
“I tried to tell her,” she interrupted gently. “But she needs to see it for herself. I count good days now, Jack. Good things my husband does. It changed everything.”
I hung up, feeling more lost than ever. I could only hope that my mother-in-law’s words fell on fertile ground.
That evening, Sarah came home with tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me. “I didn’t realize how much this was hurting us.”
I held her close, feeling a mix of relief and hope. “Let’s forget the tally marks,” I said softly. “Let’s start fresh.”
The next day, I bought a new notebook—one for us to fill with good memories and happy moments. We made our first entry that night, writing about a quiet dinner we shared, laughing and talking like we hadn’t in months.
As we moved forward, the notebook became a symbol of our promise to focus on the positives and grow together. The tally marks were gone, replaced by stories of joy, love, and gratitude. We were finally on the same page, and it felt like the beginning of something beautiful.
Meet the two kids Sandra Bullock raised with late partner, Bryan Randall
In 2010, Sandra Bullock received a phone call that changed her life forever. “Your placement is here,” said the voice on the other end.
A few weeks later, she was on a stage, accepting her first Oscar for her appearance in The Blind Side, but she didn’t care she was there. “All I wanted was to go was just go home and feed Lou” she said of her newborn, whom she had been waiting for years to arrive.
Keep reading to learn more about this incredible actor and what inspired her to adopt two children!
In 2005, after Hurricane Katrina devastated Louisiana by flooding its grounds, Sandra Bullock had a feeling that inspired her decision to adopt a child.
“Katrina happened in New Orleans, and something told me, ‘My child is there.’ It was weird,” Bullock said in an interview with Today’s Hoda Kotb.
Years later, in January 2010, Bullock received the call she had been waiting years to receive.
Years later, in January 2010, Bullock received the call she had been waiting years to receive.
“He was unexpected, he was not planned. I got a call one day, ‘Your placement is here,’ and that’s after years after having filed it, years,” the 59-year-old star of Speed tells CBS News.
Little Lou
Gushing over Louis Bardo Bullock, the three-month-old boy from New Orleans she secretly adopted in 2010, Bullock said, “I looked at him like, ‘Oh, there you are.’ It was like he had always been there,” she recalled. “He fit in the crook of my arm. He looked me in the eyes. He was wise. My child was wise.”
The Miss Congeniality star adds, “The beautiful thing that I was constantly told was, ‘The perfect child will find you. You will find your child.’ But you don’t believe that when it’s not happening. When you’re going, ‘Where is my family?’ When it does happen, you know exactly what they’re talking about.”
Weeks after Lou arrived, Bullock was on stage at the Kodiak Theatre, accepting her first Oscar for her starring role in the film, The Blind Side.
But Lou owned her center stage and she wanted to be at home, with him.
“All I kept thinking about was, ‘He’s at home.’ Like, I didn’t care. I didn’t care that I was there, I just wanted to go home. And then I was sewn in the dress. I was sewn in the dress, and I had to get myself out of the dress, but all I wanted to do was just go home and feed Lou.”
Only days after, her marriage to reality star Jesse James came crashing down and Bullock became a single mother to an infant.
Bullock said, “I mean, so much had happened. How do you process grief and not hurt your child in the process? It’s a newborn, they take on everything that you’re feeling. So, my obligation was to [Lou] and not tainting the first year of his life with my grief.”
‘Louis’ got the stage’
“No one understands the shift in priorities about having a child in your life … until you have a child in your life,” Bullock said of shifting her focus from career to mom. “It naturally shifts…he showed up and now, Louis’ got the stage.”
Growing up in a healthy, happy environment, little Lou one day looked up at mom and predicted “I’m going to have a baby soon.”
Though Bullock admits she wasn’t planning on growing her family, she listened to her son, who planted the seed.
“I realized at that time, maybe he knew something. And when I think about it, it would have been around the time that Laila was born,” Bullock said. “It’s Louis’ way. Louis has a very strong way. He’s a fine leader, and he led me to Lai.”
Laila, who was living in foster care in Louisiana, is her daughter who joined the family in 2015 when she was three.
Recalling Laila’s trauma from being in childcare, the Ocean’s 8 star said, “She’d be in the closet with all her clothes on, she’d be on a bookshelf, she’d be hiding, she’d always be ready to leave,” the actress recalled of her daughter, adding that she always made sure Laila knew that she wasn’t “going anywhere.”
She then shared a conversation she had about Laila with Bryan Randall, the father figure to her children, and her partner from 2015 until ALS claimed his life in 2023. She said, “My partner said to me, ‘When she’s been with us longer than she hasn’t been, I have a feeling we’re going to see a change.’”
He was right. Recently, Bullock described Laila as “unafraid.”
“She’s a fighter, and that’s the reason she’s here today. She fought to keep her spirit intact. Oh my God, what she is going to accomplish. She’s going to bring some real change.”
Lou, now 13, “is super sensitive…He’s wise and kind,” the Bird Box star tells People. “I saw that when they handed him to me. There was a spiritual bigness to him.”
Though fans will be disappointed, the versatile actor is scaling back her work schedule to again be a single mother.
Bullock last appeared in 2022’s The Lost City with Channing Tatum and Bullet Train with Brad Pitt.
“I can be creative, I can be part of a community, but right now, work in front of the camera needs to take a pause,” she said.
What do you think of Sandra Bullock and her little family? Please share your thoughts with us and then share this story so we can hear what others have to say!
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