Until I went to pick up cash for my husband, I had no idea his actual salary was twenty thousand dollars, not the five thousand dollars he always claimed.
Five thousand dollars he gave to me. The remaining fifteen thousand, every first of the month, went to a Ms. Vance.
I placed the bank statement in front of him, my voice shaking with accusation.
“For thirty years, youve lied to me, saying your salary was only five thousand dollars. Even the year our son got pneumonia, you claimed you couldn’t spare a single dime. Who *is* this Ms. Vance who gets fifteen thousand dollars from you every month?”
My husbands lips trembled, about to speak, when our son, Dennis, burst out of his room.
“Mom, Victoria’s been through a lot by herself all these years. Don’t go giving her a hard time.”
It was in that moment I realized: for thirty years of marriage, my husband had been financially supporting his first love.
And my son, it seemed, had found another mother figure outside our home.
Faced with my silence, David’s lips moved a few times, as if he wanted to say something.
Dennis quickly followed suit, trying to backtrack.
“Mom, I didn’t mean it like that, I was just”
But deep down, I knew. What people blurt out subconsciously is often the unvarnished truth.
For thirty years, David had faithfully handed me five thousand dollars every month, never late.
In the beginning, five thousand dollars wasn’t a small sum, and we lived comfortably.
But as time went on, our child grew up, and our parents grew old.
Everything went up C prices, expenses C except the money he gave me. That stayed rock solid, unwavering.
I slowly started to feel the strain.
To make sure he had a hot meal waiting when he got home late from overtime, to ensure our growing son had proper nutrition, and to free up some cash for my aging parents,
I had to find a part-time job on top of my full-time work and endless family responsibilities.
Was I tired?
Of course I was.
But looking at my happy, bustling family, I always felt it was worth it.
Now, he was telling me his salary was twenty thousand dollars, and three-quarters of it went to his first love.
Thirty years of my suffering felt like a cruel joke.
Seeing my silence, David’s face darkened.
“Sarah, I’ve already explained it to you. What more are you unhappy about?”
“Besides, we’ve had a good life all these years, haven’t we? Why do you insist on digging up old scores now?”
His face held genuine incomprehension, as if I truly were being unreasonable.
I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh in my heart.
Before we got married, hed looked into my eyes just like that, promising hed give me the best of everything.
Back then, if I worked late, he’d wait for me at the alley’s entrance, clutching a cup of hot milk, saying he worried I’d be hungry.
Now, if I was sick in bed, he’d only send a text: “Drink more hot water.”
Even as I felt the changes, I’d always comfort myself.
But every line on those bank statements was a stark reminder.
For thirty years, my life had been built on a foundation of lies.
That kind of life? I didn’t want it anymore.
I said,
“David, let’s get a divorce.”
David froze, clearly not expecting those words from me.
Dennis, however, panicked first, frowning as he looked at me.
“Mom! What are you doing?! Dad and Victoria, there’s nothing going on between them, really!”
“You’re at this age, breaking up the family over something so trivial? Aren’t you embarrassed?”
I looked at Dennis’s desperate, yet accusing face, and felt a sudden, unfamiliar chill.
More than my husband’s deception, my son’s words cut deeper.
“Alright, that’s enough.”
David stopped Dennis, putting on a conciliatory face.
He pulled out his phone, tapping a few times.
My own phone buzzed softly a moment later.
“You’ve worked hard all these years. Here’s ten thousand dollars.”
His tone softened.
“Go buy that dress you’ve been eyeing lately. Stop holding back.”
See? He remembered.
He always remembered these little things, my preferences.
But it was always just verbal remembering.
This was the first time, however, that money and affection arrived simultaneously.
David seemed to believe that ten thousand dollars and a few soft words were enough to pacify me.
He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and, like countless nights before, headed to the balcony.
Dennis glared at me before retreating to his own room.
In the vast living room, I was left utterly alone.
The lights were still bright and warm, the furnishings still familiar and comforting, but in this moment, everything felt suffocating.
I went back to the bedroom and called my best friend, Monica.
She’d been a lawyer her whole life. Shed know what to do.
“I’m getting a divorce.”
“Yes, he cheated. It started thirty years ago.”
After hanging up with Monica, David finished his cigarette and returned to the bedroom.
He went through his usual nightly routine, then lifted the covers and got into bed.
Only in the light did I truly notice,
Despite both of us being at retirement age, he looked significantly younger than he was.
His figure hadn’t really thickened, his hair was still dark, and the wrinkles on his face were shallow.
Time seemed to have been incredibly kind to him.
But what about me?
My gray hairs were rapidly outnumbering the dark ones, my face was a tapestry of wrinkles, and my body, from years of constant labor, had lost its shape.
Perhaps it wasn’t time that favored him, but me.
It was only then that I remembered I had actually seen Victoria Vance before.
On a TV show, she was interviewed as a “beacon of independent womanhood.”
On screen, she wore a tailored, expensive-looking suit, her makeup was flawless, and her demeanor confident and articulate.
I even pointed at the TV back then, half-admiring, half-sighing, as I told David:
“Look at her, living such an exciting life. I wish I could be an independent, capable woman like that.”
What was David’s reaction then?
He stared at the screen for several seconds before snapping back, his voice casual.
“People like that usually come from wealthy families, or have powerful connections. We shouldn’t compare ourselves. As long as you keep our home running smoothly, you’re the best in my eyes.”
At the time, I felt a little embarrassed by his unexpected compliment, and my fleeting envy faded.
Now, thinking back, the look in his eyes as he watched the screen was clearly pride.
Pride that he had played a part in making that radiant woman on TV shine.
And I, meanwhile, with my meager five thousand dollars a month, buried myself in endless chores and side hustles, becoming a haggard woman who only knew how to pinch pennies.
“What are you looking at?”
David noticed me staring at him, and his brows furrowed.
I knew this was the first sign of his temper.
Usually, at times like this, Id immediately avert my gaze or find a topic to lighten the mood, avoiding unnecessary arguments.
But now, I didn’t want to do that anymore.
I didn’t answer, instead lowering my head and continuing to tap on my phone. The screen displayed some preliminary divorce asset division clauses Monica had just sent me.
My phone was so old, the screen was already starting to blur.
My silence clearly infuriated David.
He abruptly sat up, snatched my phone, and tossed it carelessly to the foot of the bed.
“Sarah! Are you ever going to stop?”
“We’ve been together for thirty years, and I never thought you were so obsessed with money! You’d throw away our family for a few bucks?”
Even now, he stubbornly believed my anger was solely about money.
I almost wished I *was* the kind of woman he described, obsessed with money.
Then, at least, I wouldn’t have endured these thirty years of hardship.
I looked into his eyes and said, every word deliberate,
“David, we’re getting a divorce. I’m serious.”
Hearing me mention divorce again, David completely lost his temper.
“Divorce? What divorce?! Where did you pick up this trick? Are you trying to threaten me with divorce?”
“I’m telling you, that trick won’t work! If we actually divorce, how am I supposed to hold my head up?”
“At work, with our friends and family, how am I supposed to live?”
“Dennis is getting married soon, and you, as his mother, want to deliberately embarrass him in front of his fiance?”
He was frantic, but every single word, every concern, was about his own reputation, Dennis’s reputation.
My feelings, my pain, were utterly insignificant.
A powerful wave of grief and indignation washed over me.
I sat up straight, my voice unconsciously rising.
“David, these past thirty years, do you really not know what I’ve done for this family?”
“That one hundred twenty thousand dollars for your dad’s bypass surgery? I scraped it together from my pre-marriage savings, plus pulling all-nighters doing freelance accounting for three different companies.”
“When Dennis enrolled in that elite prep school, the fifty thousand dollar tuition? I put in my entire severance package from work, leaving myself with absolutely nothing for retirement, no safety net at all.”
“Over the years, every major household expense, every financial hole, wasn’t it me who gritted my teeth and filled it?”
The bedroom door was pushed open.
Dennis, drawn by the argument, stood in the doorway, his face etched with unconcealed annoyance and disapproval.
“Mom! Haven’t you caused enough trouble?!”
“So you contributed to the family. Does that give you the right to blackmail Dad now?”
“It’s no wonder you can’t compare to Victoria Vance, no matter how hard you try. You deserve what you get!”
His words felt like a bucket of ice water.
I looked at that face, so strikingly similar to David’s when he was younger.
This was the son I carried for ten months, the child my own mother gave her life for.
When Dennis was seven, he got pneumonia. I couldn’t reach David anywhere.
I borrowed from every friend and relative, but was still two hundred dollars short for the surgery.
My mom, without telling me, sold off something incredibly valuable meant to prolong her own life.
In the end, Dennis recovered and came home, but she passed away due to worsening heart failure, without me even getting to say goodbye.
Now, it seemed neither her sacrifice nor my countless contributions were worth anything at all.
In the past, after every argument, they were the ones who would slam the door and leave.
This time, I was the one who walked out of the house.
Lying in the hotel bed, I quickly fell into a deep sleep.
In my dream, I seemed to be reliving that painful moment.
Dennis’s small face, burning red with fever. The nurses’ repeated to pay the fees.
My missing husband, and my mother, confined to her sickbed.
Later, Dennis got better. My mother was gone.
My husband returned from his “business trip,” travel-worn and full of remorse.
He claimed he’d taken an urgent out-of-state project to earn more for the surgery, and the cell service there was terrible.
I believed him.
I even felt sorry for him, thinking we were a couple struggling through adversity, unfairly treated by life.
I never imagined that my always-honest husband, earning twenty thousand dollars a month,
Wouldn’t give a single cent for his own son, yet was willing to spend fifteen thousand dollars to enrich another woman’s life.
Thirty years. Everyone else moved forward, but I was stuck in that painful moment of losing a loved one.
The nightmare was interrupted by the phone ringing. The caller ID showed “David’s Mom.”
I stared at those two words for a few seconds before answering.
“Sarah, dear, Mom knows you’re hurting. What David did he really wronged you.”
“But it hasn’t been easy for you two to get this far. Thirty years of marriage, and your child is all grown up now.”
“At this age, some things it’s better to just turn a blind eye, live a little less clearly. It’s better for everyone, and it saves the family, doesn’t it?”
I gripped the phone, my fingertips icy.
“Mom, you knew about Victoria Vance all along, didn’t you?”
A sudden silence fell on the other end.
A few seconds later, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
This old woman who, from the moment I married into the Miller family, had held my hand and said, “From now on, you’re my own daughter”;
This ‘good’ David’s Mom who, whenever David and I had conflicts, always scolded him first and sided with me without hesitation.
It turned out she was just another silent observer in this long, elaborate deception.
The phone screen suddenly went dark.
This old phone, used for many years, had a failing battery and often shut down automatically.
My drowsiness completely vanished.
I leaned against the headboard, plugged in the charger, and opened my mobile banking app to check my balance.
It held the few tens of thousands of dollars I’d managed to save over the years, plus the ten thousand dollars David had “graciously” transferred me yesterday.
The next morning, I went to the mall and bought myself a new phone.
I’d thought about getting a new one before, but as I got older, I felt a bit intimidated by electronics.
I wanted Dennis to help me.
Dennis had just grumbled then,
“Mom, you’re this old. A phone that can make calls and send texts is all you need. Buying an expensive one is a waste; you won’t even use it.”
Now, the text was finally clear, and video apps no longer lagged.
It was only three thousand dollars.
All the suffering I’d endured before, it really wasn’t worth it.
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