Budgeting has always been my thing. I track every single household transaction because it gives me peace. I’m not controlling, I just love knowing where every dollar goes. Numbers are neat and organized. People, however, are not. Especially my husband, Eric.
One evening, like every Friday for the past five years, I sat down with a glass of wine and my bank statement. I made sure everything was accounted for: mortgage, utilities, groceries, savings. Everything was in its place. But then, something stood out. A $380 withdrawal.
I took another sip of wine, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar transaction. It didn’t fit. It wasn’t like our usual small purchases. Just one clean cut out of our account, and it didn’t add up.
In the kitchen, Eric was chopping vegetables for dinner. His dark hair fell across his forehead in that way that still made my heart skip a beat.
“Hey,” I said casually, trying to sound normal. “Did you make a big purchase recently? There’s a $380 withdrawal from the card ending with 12.”
His knife paused for a split second before continuing its rhythm against the cutting board. “Probably just gas and groceries. Why?”
I leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “It was just one transaction. Not multiple small ones.”
“Maybe I filled up the tank and grabbed some stuff at the store the same day,” he said, shrugging without looking up.
“It’s from a place I don’t recognize.”
The chopping stopped. Eric’s shoulders tensed beneath his t-shirt.
“Why are you interrogating me like I’m on trial, Luna?” he snapped, his voice rising.
The shift in his tone sent a chill down my spine.
“I’m not interrogating you,” I said, trying to stay calm. “I’m just asking about our shared account. Like I always do.”
Eric slammed the knife down with a loud clatter. “You’re always so paranoid. Just because you’re the ‘budget person’ doesn’t mean I need to report every little thing I do.”
His words hit like a slap, sharp and unfamiliar. In five years, he had never spoken to me like that.
“Since when is asking about a $380 expense being paranoid?”
“Just drop it, okay?” He swept the onions into the sizzling pan with an angry gesture. “Not everything needs your approval.”
That night, I lay awake, the tension thick between us. Eric’s breathing was steady beside me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. The Eric I knew wouldn’t have snapped at me for asking a simple question. He wouldn’t hide things from me.
But maybe the Eric I thought I knew wasn’t the man I was married to?
The next morning came with no answers, just more questions. Eric and I both had the day off. He was home, taking a “mental health day,” while I had a salon appointment to get my hair done.
Eric moved around the kitchen, brewing coffee like everything was normal. Like he hadn’t just revealed a crack in our foundation.
“Don’t forget we’re switching cars today,” he said, sliding a mug toward me. “Your appointment’s at four, right?”
I nodded, distracted. “I’ll clean yours out before I take it.”
The morning dragged on as I tried to focus on anything but the way Eric had acted the night before. While he was watching TV in the living room, I called my sister, Jen.
“Am I crazy, Jen? He acted like I accused him of murder.”
“People get weird about money, darling,” Jen said calmly. “But defensiveness usually means something’s up.”
I stared at the phone, my stomach a tight knot. I couldn’t ignore the feeling that something was seriously wrong.
When Eric announced he was going to take a shower that afternoon, I knew it was my chance.
I grabbed the registration from the kitchen drawer and headed to his car. The familiar scent of coffee and his woodsy cologne filled the air as I slid into the driver’s seat. I opened the glove compartment to put the papers away, and that’s when I saw it: a crumpled receipt, hidden beneath the manual.
I shouldn’t have looked. Some part of me knew that. But I did anyway. And the world around me froze.
$379.89. Stroller + Car Seat Combo from Tiny Treasurezz.
My hands went ice cold. We didn’t have a baby. We weren’t expecting one, and we weren’t even trying. Why would Eric be buying something like this?
Tiny Treasurezz. A boutique in Ridgewood Heights. Just ten minutes from Rachel’s apartment. Rachel. Pretty, pregnant Rachel who I’d met at a company holiday party. Eric had mentioned her before, saying she was “doing it all on her own.”
Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The receipts, the strange behavior, the weird tension. I felt like I was suffocating.
Heart pounding, I hurried inside, trying to act normal. The shower was still running. I grabbed Eric’s phone from the nightstand. It was unlocked, an odd detail in itself. He must have been checking something before getting in the shower.
I scrolled through his contacts. There she was. Rachel.
I saved her number to my phone, returned the phone to its spot, and slipped outside to the backyard.
It only took three rings before Rachel answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Rachel. This is Luna. Eric’s wife.”
There was silence on the other end, followed by her sharp intake of breath.
“I know this is strange,” I said, “but I need to talk to you. It’s important. And please don’t mention this call to Eric.”
More silence, and then: “Okay. When?”
“Today? Cloudsidez Café at four?”
“I’ll be there.”
The call ended. I stood there, trembling with anxiety. This wasn’t how I imagined spending my afternoon, but I couldn’t back down now.
Cloudsidez Café was busy, the afternoon crowd buzzing with chatter. But my eyes only found one person—Rachel. She was sitting at a corner table, her honey-blonde hair pulled back, a blue sweater hugging her round belly. Seven months, maybe eight?
She didn’t smile when I sat down across from her.
“I wasn’t sure if I should come,” she said quietly, her hands wrapped protectively around her mug.
I placed the crumpled receipt between us. “I found this in Eric’s car.”
Her eyes widened as she read the amount. “Oh god.”
“Rachel, why is my husband buying you a stroller?”
She looked up at me, confusion painting her face. “Your husband? Eric told me you two were separated. That you moved out months ago.”
My heart stopped. “What??”
“He said you were in denial about the divorce. That he was just helping you transition while he found his own place. He’s been staying with me three nights a week for months.”
The room felt like it was spinning. My stomach dropped.
Suddenly, it all made sense. Every “business trip,” every “late night at work,” every excuse. He wasn’t working late. He was here. With her.
Rachel’s hand moved to her belly. “He said he dreamed of being a father. That he would move in before the baby arrives.”
“We’ve been married for five years,” I said, my voice tight with disbelief. “I live with him. Every day. How could he…?”
Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know I was the ‘other’ woman.”
“You weren’t the other woman,” I snapped. “You were just another woman he lied to.”
She pushed her tea away, her face hardening. “What do we do now?”
I stood up, suddenly feeling a strength I didn’t know I had. “We make sure he never gets the chance to lie to either of us again.”
That evening, I packed an overnight bag with a strange sense of calm. Eric was lounging on the couch, his face buried in his phone.
“Where are you going?” he asked without looking up.
“My sister’s. Just overnight.”
“Right. Drive safe.”
He didn’t even look up from his screen, probably texting her.
The next morning, I texted Rachel: “It’s time.”
Her reply came instantly: “He’s coming for brunch at 11. Said he has a surprise for me.”
Me: “So do we.”
I arrived at Rachel’s townhouse at 10:30 a.m. She opened the door, pale but resolute.
“I wrapped the stroller,” she said, pointing to a large box with a bow on it.
We waited in silence. She made tea we both ignored. I fiddled with the silverware on the dining table.
At 11:05, the door opened.
“Rach?” Eric’s voice called out. “Where’s my beautiful girl? I brought cinnamon rolls from —”
He froze in the doorway, eyes wide as he saw me sitting at the table.
“LUNA? What are you…??” His voice faltered as he looked from me to Rachel and then to the stroller.
“Hi, honey,” I said softly. “Surprise!!”
The color drained from Eric’s face. “This isn’t… I can explain…”
“Please do,” Rachel interrupted, her voice sharp. “Explain how you’re living with your wife while telling me you’re separated.”
I slid the receipt across the table. “Explain this. A $380 stroller that mysteriously disappeared from our account.”
Eric set the cinnamon rolls down, his hands trembling. “You both need to understand… this is a complicated situation.”
“Actually, it’s quite simple,” I said, crossing my arms. “Are there any other women who have your babies?”
Eric flinched. “This is an ambush. You’re twisting everything.”
“No one’s twisting anything, Eric,” Rachel spat.
“There’s been some emotional confusion,” he stammered. “I never meant to hurt either of you.”
I stood up, my exhaustion outweighing the anger. “That’s the thing about lies, Eric. You don’t get to control who they hurt.”
“Luna, please —” He reached for me, but I stepped back.
“We’re done. I’ll be getting a lawyer. You can stay with Rachel if she’ll have you.”
Rachel crossed her arms. “I won’t.”
Eric’s face contorted in disbelief. “You can’t just —”
“Yes, we can,” Rachel interrupted. “The lease is in my name. I want you to leave. NOW!”
“But the baby…?” Eric’s voice cracked.
“Will have a father who pays child support,” Rachel finished. “Nothing more until I can trust you again.”
Eric’s face twisted, his panic showing through. “You’re making a mistake.”
“No,” I said, picking up my purse. “The mistake was thinking you were the man you pretended to be.”
The weeks that followed were a blur of paperwork and tears. I moved in with my sister, filed for divorce, and built walls around what was left of my heart.
Eric called every day at first, his texts ranging from apologetic to angry. I blocked his number.
One month after brunch, my phone buzzed with an unknown number.
“Hi. It’s Rachel. Hope it’s okay if I text you. This is my new number.”
I paused before replying. “It’s fine. How are you?”
“Eight months pregnant and surprisingly okay. Wanted to let you know Eric’s been trying to ‘win me back.’ Claiming he’s changed.”
A small part of me felt something stir—concern, maybe. But then I remembered the lies.
“And?”
“I told him the only relationship we’ll have involves a parenting plan and child support payments.”
“Good for you,” I replied.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” Rachel added. “For telling me the truth before it was too late. Before I built a life on his lies.”
I stared at her message. I remembered the woman I had been, so sure of my marriage, so blind to the cracks.
“We both deserved better!” I typed back.
As the sun set that evening, painting the sky with colors of hope, I raised my glass to new beginnings. The pain was still there, but alongside it grew something new—strength, and the freedom to rebuild. Tomorrow would be another day, but for now, I let myself believe in the power of women who refuse to settle for beautiful lies.
