I work as a project manager for a software business and thoroughly enjoy my work.
It pays me enough to support my small family.

Our two boys, Liam and Jake, are my main inspirations.

Liam, 12, has an inquisitive mind and an aptitude for science. Meanwhile, Jake, ten, is our little athlete.

Then there’s Kyle, my husband of 15 years.

Kyle is the calm in my madness, the constant presence that keeps our family grounded.

He worked as an operations manager for a logistics company, keeping him occupied while providing for us.

But everything changed one afternoon when Kyle strolled through the front door, holding a folder and appearing as if he had seen a ghost.

His face was pale, his lips pushed tightly together as he placed the folder on the table.

“Laura,” he began, his voice shaky, “I have muscular dystrophy.”

Muscular dystrophy. The words rang in my memory, causing my stomach to twist.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to tell you like this, but… I need to start tre:atme:nt. I think we’ll need to cancel the trip with the boys. I hate to do this to them, but…”

“I’m your wife,” I said, squeezing his hand. “We’ll get through this together.”
“We’ll need more money,” I murmured, staring at the ceiling.

“I can handle it.” I turned to face him, determination in my eyes. “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 following day, I went to a neighborhood restaurant and got a job cleaning tables in the evenings. After concluding my day at the software company, I’d go right there to clean.

I gave practically all of the money I earned to Kyle for his trea:tmen:t. And I could see that he was changing. He seemed happier and more relaxed.

The routine became second nature. Work all day, clean tables at night, and go to bed fatigued.

I was exhausted, but seeing Kyle grin or hearing him say, “Thank you for everything, Laura,” made it all worthwhile.

“It’s best if I go alone,” he’d say. “I don’t want you missing work for this.”

I’ve never questioned it. I absolutely trusted him.

But then, one evening, something unusual occurred.
On my way to the restaurant, a white SUV drove up alongside me. The window gently rolled down, revealing a stunning woman with dark glasses and neatly styled hair.

She removed her sunglasses, revealing sharp, piercing eyes. “Is Kyle your husband?”

The woman inclined her head slightly, a knowing smirk appearing on her lips. “Oh, he’s more than okay. But you should really check where he goes for his ‘treatments.’ And while you’re at it, look at his bank statements.”

What was that about?

Her words echoed in my mind during the walk to the restaurant. Why would a random woman say that? And how does she know Kyle?

Kyle packed his customary bag the next morning and kissed my cheek before leaving.

When he departed, I went directly to his laptop.

My hands shook when I accessed his financial app.
No payments were made to medical facilities. There are no hospital expenses. No doctor’s expenses. Nothing.

Instead, I noticed restaurant bills, golf club memberships, high-end apparel stores, and even a fee for a weekend getaway to a destination I had never heard of.

Later that evening, I decided to follow him as he left for his “special session.”

He visited a little bar downtown. A spot where individuals may relax and unwind.

They laughed loudly and carelessly, and my heart broke into pieces.

“And she’s still giving you money?” another friend asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“She even picked up a part-time job to make sure I’m covered. I gotta say, being married to someone so gullible has its perks.”

His words sliced into me like a knife.
As I was about to leave, I noticed the same white SUV outside the pub. When the woman from before saw me, she rolled down her window.

She sighed. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. My boyfriend is one of his friends. When I heard what they were doing… I couldn’t stay silent. You deserved to know.”

The following morning, I took action.

I called his office and informed them that 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 established a new account in my name.

When I was done, I texted Kyle.

It read, Kyle, treat your vanity and your cruelty — that’s your real illness. Don’t bother coming home.

Then I packed my belongings, changed the front door lock, and brought the boys with me to my parents’ house. I did not want to see Kyle’s face again.

I filed for divorce and am currently waiting for it to be processed so I can get rid of the man who betrayed me in a way that I could’ve never imagined.