He Never Said We Were Broke… He Just Acted Like I Wasn’t Worth It.
I didn’t know how many times I sighed that day. I stopped counting after five, and it was only 6 p.m.
The kitchen smelled weird—like those whiteboard markers teachers use. That’s because I’d just finished grading 28 notebooks, each one packed with spelling disasters and my red pen bleeding frustration onto the pages. I was tired. Exhausted, actually. My head hurt, my back hurt, and even my soul felt tired.
I sat at the table, and there it was—a glowing red notification on my phone screen. “Overdue Utility Bill.” Great. One more thing.
The soup was bubbling on the stove, the kettle was screaming like a banshee, and from the living room, I heard Steve’s voice.
“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 react. Just stared at the phone and muttered, “Are we even gonna have power to boil water tomorrow? They’re threatening to shut it off.”
Steve didn’t even turn his head. He was comfortably spread across the armchair like melted cheese on toast.
“Just pay it. You handle that stuff anyway.”
And I did. Again.
Just like I paid for the water last week. And the new washing machine. And the smart TV that he was currently watching those car reviews on.
My feet dragged toward the closet. I wanted to change into my oldest, comfiest pajamas—the ones with the coffee stains. But as I reached for them, something slipped from Steve’s coat pocket and floated to the ground.
It was a receipt. An actual, physical, old-school paper receipt. Those things are practically extinct now.
I bent down and picked it up.
And then I froze.
$10,234. Luxury Seaside Resort. 2 guests. 14 nights.
I stared at it like it was a bomb. My husband—the man who claimed we couldn’t afford to fix the garage door—just dropped ten grand on a vacation?
Meanwhile, he was crunching popcorn and mumbling about torque and engine acceleration like nothing was wrong.
“Steve?” I called out, walking toward him.
“Hm?” he answered, still not looking away from the screen.
I held the receipt out like a weapon.
“What’s this?”
He blinked, casually. “Oh, that. A trip. For Mom. And… her friend. A gift. She’s never been to the sea.”
I waited for the smirk. Or a laugh. Something. But nothing came.
He just reached for the remote like I’d asked about grocery coupons.
“She’s turning seventy. I thought she deserved something nice.”
I stared at him. “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.”
I blinked slowly. “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’!”
He shrugged like I just told him it might rain tomorrow.
“You’re strong, El. You handle everything. But Mom… she’s fragile.”
I stopped listening. My brain was only repeating three words:
Two guests. Luxury. Ten thousand.
“Mom and who?” I whispered.
I walked to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub. Not crying. Not yelling. Just thinking.
I didn’t want to argue. I wanted answers. Real ones. Right down to the little umbrella in the cocktail.
The next day, I wasn’t even trying to snoop. Honestly.
I just wanted to check if the summer camp had replied to my desperate email. I had begged them for more scholarships. My class had 22 kids, and the school could only fund three spots.
Three.
How do you pick which kids deserve a memory they’ll never forget?
One boy shares his shoes with his little brother. One girl brings stale crackers for lunch every day because that’s all her grandma can afford.
So I’d written emails. Tagged sponsors online. I was basically groveling at this point.
Still, nothing. Just polite rejection emails with a fake sparkle.
“We hope to partner in the future.”
Sure. Maybe next summer I’d pick my three least hungry students.
Just as I was about to take a deep breath, Mrs. Klein came swanning into the teachers’ lounge holding her head like she was Lady Macbeth.
“El, I need you to cover my class during reading. Emergency migraine… and a dinner date.”
“With your nail tech?” I asked without looking up.
But I said yes. Because unlike her, I actually cared if our kids could read.
So, no—I wasn’t on my phone for drama. I was just hoping the camp replied.
I opened Facebook. Checked my notifications. Then tapped the “Mentions” tab.
And then I saw it.
Lora.
Steve’s ex. The one with the magazine-model face and nails sharp enough to slice a pineapple.
Her story glowed at the top of the screen.
I tapped.
Two sunbeds. One umbrella.
My mother-in-law dancing near the shore like she’d just won the lottery. And right next to her?
Lora.
Both of them in matching white outfits. Looking like the cover of a tropical perfume ad.
“Girls trip with my almost mother-in-law 💙🌴 #blessed #familygoals”
I blinked. No. No way. Maybe my eyes were just tired?
Next slide.
Clink.
They’re sipping drinks on the beach.
“Thank you, Steve 💋” the caption read.
I felt like my stomach was dropping down an elevator shaft.
My chair screeched as I stood up.
“You okay?” Amy asked, eyes wide.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just… need some air.”
I walked down the hallway, phone clutched in my hand. Replaying the story.
Maybe Steve didn’t know? Maybe his mom invited Lora?
No. He knew.
And worst of all—he chose her.
The same man who told me my $35 haircut was a “luxury expense” just spent ten grand to give his mom and his ex a tropical honeymoon.
My hands were trembling. Not from heartbreak—from rage.
For years I thought I was “too emotional.”
Guess what, Steve?
You haven’t seen emotional yet.
That night, I wasn’t planning to snoop.
But when I heard the shower running and saw the door locked with Steve’s phone inside, something snapped.
He never locked the door before. He never took his phone into the bathroom.
“Come on. You’re locking the door now like a teenager hiding snacks?”
My body moved before I told it to.
In the bedroom, his laptop was sitting on the desk. Unlocked.
It stared at me like it was daring me to look.
“Don’t,” I whispered. “You’re not that woman. You don’t spy.”
But my heart whispered back, “Please. Just show me I’m not crazy.”
I clicked.
Messages.
Mom:
“The weather is divine. Lora’s already tanned and glowing. We’re being treated like queens. Can’t believe you pulled this off.
But seriously, how long are you going to keep pretending with that woman? She drags you down. You deserve more. We miss you. XOXO”
And Steve’s reply?
“My two favorite girls. Enjoy every second. I’ll be there soon.”
That was it.
No shame. No attempt to hide it.
I stared at the screen, numb.
My two favorite girls.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw anything.
What’s the point of screaming at someone who already erased you from the picture?
I stood up. Smiled.
If Steve could spend $10,000 on his ex, maybe it was time to give him exactly what he wanted.
An ex.
A week later, a bumpy forest road twisted ahead of us. My hands gripped the steering wheel of the bus. The windows were down. Warm summer air rushed in like freedom.
In the rearview mirror, I saw twenty-two smiling faces, sticky with juice boxes and joy.
My class. Every single kid.
No one left behind this time.
I paid for everything—the bus, the camp, the sleeping bags, the t-shirts.
Each one read:
“Team Room 12 – We Did It!”
Turns out, $10,000 goes a long way when you spend it on something real.
Even had some left over for a divorce lawyer.
The night before the trip, I’d changed the locks, set up motion sensors, and packed Steve’s things into color-coded garbage bags.
His golf clubs were leaning against the porch like sad little exes.
Even his electric toothbrush was sitting on the welcome mat.
And taped to the front door was my final note:
“Dear Steve,
Hope you’ll enjoy life with your favorite girls.
Don’t forget sunscreen — don’t want you to burn before the hearing.
See you in court. XOXO”
I didn’t wait to see his reaction.
Because as the trees opened and the lake sparkled ahead, one of the kids yelled:
“Miss El! Is this the camp with the zip line?!”
“Yup! And the ice cream machine!”
The van exploded with cheers.
I pressed the gas just a little harder.
The wind tangled my hair.
And for the first time in a long, long while…
I wasn’t the one left behind.
