My husband, Greg, acted like we couldn’t afford anything for me, but a $10,000 receipt for a beach vacation for his mom and his ex proved otherwise. When I uncovered his betrayal, I didn’t just get mad—I got even, in a way he never saw coming.
It was a rough evening, grading tests in the dining room, the air thick with marker fumes and worry over an unpaid gas bill. Greg lounged in the den, hyped about a new truck’s horsepower, brushing off my stress. “Just pay it,” he said, eyes on the TV I’d bought, like the stove and his gym membership. I was rummaging through his coat for change when a receipt slipped out: $10,000 for a 14-day stay at a fancy beach resort for two. I marched to him, waving it. “What’s this?” He shrugged, “A gift for Mom and her pal. She’s old, deserves it.” I snapped, “You said my haircut was too pricey!” He said, “You’re fine, Kate. Mom’s not.”
I was fuming. Who was this “pal”? I sat on the couch, mind racing, needing the truth. At school, I was fighting for camp funds for my students, kids who ate half sandwiches or wore worn-out sneakers. Checking social media for camp responses, I saw a post from Greg’s ex, Tara, lounging on a beach with his mom, captioned, “Dream vacay with my almost mom-in-law, thanks Greg!” My heart sank. They looked cozy, clinking glasses. Greg had planned this, ignoring me. That night, while he showered with his phone hidden, I checked his laptop. His mom wrote: “Tara’s radiant, we’re pampered. Ditch Kate—she’s a drag.” Greg replied, “Have fun, my favorite girls. I’ll visit soon.”
The words stung. I’d carried our marriage, paying bills while he splurged on them. I didn’t cry—I schemed. A week later, I drove my entire class to camp, their laughter echoing. I’d spent $10,000 from our account to cover it all—transport, tents, and shirts saying “Class of Courage.” I’d also hired a divorce lawyer. Before leaving, I’d swapped the locks, added alarms, and left Greg’s stuff in bags outside, his fishing rods propped up. A note read: “Greg, live with your favorite girls. Court’s next. Kate.” As the kids cheered at the camp’s zipline, I felt free, choosing myself and them over his lies. What do you think of this story? Share it with friends—it might spark a conversation.
