My husband never said we were broke. He just acted like I wasn’t worth spending on, until I found a $10K receipt for a beach trip he booked for his mom and his ex.
I usually don’t count how many times I sigh during the day. But that evening, I was already at number five, and it was only 6 p.m.
The kitchen smelled like dry-erase marker. I’d just finished grading 28 notebooks, each one filled with spelling errors and my red-ink frustration.
On the table, a glowing notification: overdue utility bill.
The soup was bubbling, the kettle was screaming, and from the living room, Steve’s voice floated in:
“Babe, look! The new Tesla! Zero to sixty in 3.1 seconds! It’s not a car — it’s a missile!”
I didn’t even flinch. Just stared at the screen and asked, “Are we even gonna have power to boil water tomorrow? They’re threatening to shut it off.”
Steve didn’t move a muscle. He was sprawled in the armchair.
“Just pay it. You handle that stuff anyway.”
I paid it. Again. Just like I paid for the water. And the new washing machine. And the smart TV he was watching his car reviews on.
I was about to grab my old pajamas from the closet when something fell from the pocket of Steve’s coat. A paper receipt.
Rare these days, right?
I bent down and picked it up.
$10,234. Luxury Seaside Resort. 2 guests. 14 nights.
I stood frozen while my husband — my gold-medal-level cheapskate of a husband — crunched popcorn and mumbled about torque and acceleration.
“Steve?”
“Hm?”
“What’s this?”
I held the receipt like a murder weapon.
“Oh, that. A trip. For Mom. And… her friend. A gift. She’s never been to the sea.”
I waited for a punchline. Or a wink. But he just reached for the remote.
“She’s turning seventy. I thought she deserved something nice.”
“You didn’t even buy me flowers on my birthday. Said they’d wilt.”
“They do. And Mom — she deserves this. You know what she went through raising me alone.”
“And I? I’ve been raising this marriage alone for two years now. Paying the bills. The internet. Your phone — because your ‘plan is outdated’!”
Steve shrugged.
“You’re strong, El. You handle everything. But Mom… she’s fragile.”
I wasn’t listening anymore. My brain was playing the same three words on loop.
Two guests. Luxury. Ten thousand.
Mom and… which “friend”?
I walked into the bathroom. But I didn’t cry. I just sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the white tile.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to argue. I wanted the truth. Every last detail.
Right down to the cocktail umbrella.