Hoping to surprise my husband with a homemade meal at work, I was stunned to learn he’d been jobless for months. This betrayal tore apart our long marriage, but it also sparked a journey of self-discovery and resilience I never expected.
I prepared Michael’s favorite—ravioli, breadsticks, and cannoli—wanting to lift his spirits after late work nights. At his office, the guard looked puzzled. “Michael hasn’t worked here for four months,” he said. My stomach churned. “That’s not right. He’s here every day.” He replied, “He was laid off. Ask him.” Embarrassed, I left, questions swirling. Why was Michael hiding this?
Next morning, I watched Michael get ready for “work.” “Any news on that raise?” I asked casually. He fiddled with his phone. “Still grinding,” he said. After he drove off, I hailed a taxi. “Follow that black truck,” I told the driver, who nodded. We followed Michael to a gritty area where he parked and entered a small diner. Peering inside, I saw him with an older woman, then three more women joined, making six. I took photos, baffled.
I approached a woman leaving. “How do you know Michael?” She rolled her eyes. “He’s clueless about real skill. Good luck.” She left abruptly. That night, I confronted Michael with the photos. “What’s this?” His face fell. “You tailed me, Lisa?” “You’ve been lying!” I said. He sighed. “I quit to produce a play—my passion.” I was floored. “A play? What about our mortgage? The kids’ college?” He confessed, “I spent $45,000 of our savings.”
“Forty-five thousand?” I yelled. “That’s our future!” He argued, “It’s my shot at success.” I demanded, “Cancel it or we divorce.” Michael paused, then said, “I can’t abandon my dream.” Stung, I shouted, “What about us?” He snapped, “I need this for me!” I retorted, “Not at our expense!” He insisted the play was his legacy. “You had a family,” I said, voice cracking. “Wasn’t that enough?” He looked away, resolute. “I’m doing this.”
I felt clarity. “Then we’re done.” Michael left, and months of legal battles followed to recover my savings. Our son, Alex, asked, “Why can’t you fix things with Dad?” I said, “Trust is broken.” Michael invited me to his play. I went, but the half-empty theater and clumsy script disappointed me. I left at intermission. Days later, Michael showed up, worn out. “The play bombed,” he said. “I was wrong.” I felt sorry but firm. “That doesn’t change us. We’re over.”
Shutting the door, I felt free. I called my cousin, planning a Greece trip. The next day, I ran past our old diner, seeing Michael writing inside. I kept going, embracing my path. At breakfast, I told Alex and Mia, “What about a new city?” They were intrigued, Mia asking for a cat. I smiled, “We’ll see.” Chatting with my friend, I shared plans to study art. Later, Michael texted about a Denver job. I supported it, focusing on the kids. Watching him leave, I felt ready for a vibrant future with my family.
