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?”
I walked toward him.
“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.”
