I work as a project manager at a software company and truly enjoy what I do. The pay is enough to support my small family.
Our two boys, Liam and Jake, are my biggest motivators. Liam, who’s 12, has an inquisitive mind and an affinity for science. Jake, on the other hand, is our 10-year-old athlete.
Then there’s Kyle, my husband of 15 years. He’s the calm in the chaos, the steady presence who keeps our family grounded.
Kyle worked as an operations manager for a logistics company, which kept him busy while providing for our family.
But everything shifted one afternoon when Kyle came through the door, holding a folder, looking pale and shaken. His lips were tight as he placed the folder on the table.
“Laura,” he said, his voice quivering, “I have muscular dystrophy.”
The words hit me like a ton of bricks. Muscular dystrophy. I couldn’t wrap my head around it, and my stomach twisted.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to tell you like this, but… I need to start treatment soon. We’ll need to cancel the trip with the boys. I hate to do this to them, but…”
I squeezed his hand, trying to keep my composure. “I’m your wife. We’ll get through this together.”
I paused, staring at the ceiling. “We’ll need more money,” I muttered.
“I can handle it,” I said, my eyes meeting his with determination. “I’ll get a part-time job after work. We’ll cut back on expenses. You’ll quit your job and focus on your health.”
The very next day, I went to a nearby restaurant and landed a job cleaning tables in the evenings. After my full day at the software company, I’d head straight to the restaurant to clean.
I gave nearly all of the money I earned to Kyle for his treatment. I could see the change in him. He seemed happier and more at ease.
The new routine became second nature: work all day, clean tables at night, and collapse into bed from exhaustion.
But seeing Kyle smile or hearing him say, “Thank you for everything, Laura,” made it all worth it.
He often insisted, “It’s better if I go alone. I don’t want you missing work for this.”
I never questioned it. I trusted him completely.
Then one evening, something odd happened.
As I was walking to the restaurant, a white SUV pulled up beside me. The window rolled down slowly, revealing a striking woman with dark glasses and perfectly styled hair.
She removed her sunglasses and looked at me, her sharp eyes piercing through. “Is Kyle your husband?”
The woman gave a small nod, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, he’s fine. But you really should check where he’s going for his ‘treatments.’ And take a look at his bank statements.”
Her words echoed in my mind as I walked to the restaurant. What was she talking about? And how did she know Kyle?
The next morning, Kyle packed his usual bag and kissed me goodbye.
“I’ll be back by three,” he said. “I have two procedures today. One’s at night.”
Once he left, I went straight to his laptop.
My hands trembled as I accessed his financial app. What I saw made my stomach drop.
There were no medical expenses, no payments to hospitals or doctors. Instead, I found charges for restaurant bills, golf club memberships, high-end fashion stores, and even a weekend getaway to a destination I didn’t recognize.
That evening, I decided to follow him during one of his “treatments.”
He went to a bar downtown, a place where people hang out and unwind. They were laughing and having a good time, and it felt like my heart was breaking into pieces.
“And she’s still giving you money?” one of his friends asked, disbelief in his voice.
“She even got a part-time job to cover my expenses. Honestly, being married to someone this gullible has its perks.”
His words cut through me like a knife.
As I prepared to leave, I noticed the same white SUV outside the bar. The woman from before rolled down her window.
She sighed. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this. My boyfriend is one of his friends. When I found out what they were doing… I couldn’t stay silent. You deserved to know.”
The next morning, I took action.
I called his office and let them know he was well enough to return to work.
Then, I went to the bank and froze our joint accounts. With the remaining funds, I paid off our mortgage and opened a new account in my name.
When I was done, I texted Kyle.
It read: “Kyle, treat your vanity and cruelty — that’s your real illness. Don’t bother coming home.”
I packed my belongings, changed the locks on the front door, and took the boys to my parents’ house. I didn’t want to see Kyle’s face again.
I filed for divorce and am currently waiting for the process to be completed. I never imagined that the man I loved would betray me like this.