When I first met Nate, he was thoughtful, attentive, and full of charm. He’d show up with flowers, open every door, and remember the smallest details about me. So when he got down on one knee, I didn’t hesitate for a second.
But that version of Nate didn’t follow me home after the honeymoon.
Almost overnight, things started shifting.
It began with skipped date nights, piles of dishes collecting in the sink, and half-hearted excuses about being tired or “forgetting.” Our sweet morning coffee ritual—where he’d bring me a fresh cup with a cuddle and a corny joke—vanished like it had never existed.
Three years into marriage, I couldn’t recall the last time he did anything just to make me feel loved.
I told myself it was a rough patch. Everyone has them, right? Marriage is about weathering storms together—or so I believed. So I kept working, kept hoping, and kept swallowing my disappointment.
Until one Tuesday night shattered that illusion.
Nate came home and threw himself dramatically onto our couch.
“Work sucks. I nailed that forecast presentation today, and they didn’t even say thank you,” he muttered, staring at the ceiling like it owed him a promotion.
I set aside my laptop. “I know it’s frustrating, but hang in there.”
He sighed. “Or maybe I shouldn’t.”
The next day, he quit.
Just like that—no backup plan, no new job lined up. He just marched into his office and told his boss to shove it.
So I became the sole breadwinner. I even showed him where I kept a bit of cash in the drawer—only for emergencies. “We need to be smart right now,” I warned him. “That means no spontaneous generosity.”
He nodded, solemn. “Of course, I get it.”
Nate had always been oddly obsessed with spoiling his mom and younger sister. Designer handbags, custom spa days, you name it. Meanwhile, I couldn’t remember the last time he brought home a flower—let alone helped with groceries.
And his job search? That mostly consisted of Call of Duty marathons and watching crypto YouTubers promise riches with zero effort. He’d talk about “projects” and “opportunities,” but never followed through.
Meanwhile, I was working overtime, paying every bill, and drowning in chores he promised he’d handle while “between jobs.”
Then something unexpected happened: my boss called me in on a Friday afternoon.
“Lena,” he said with a rare smile, “You’ve gone above and beyond this year.”
He slid an envelope across the desk. I opened it and nearly cried—a $2,500 bonus.
I couldn’t wait to tell Nate. Maybe this would be the push he needed to believe in hard work again.
He gave me a hug and smiled. “Babe, you deserve it.”
But something in his voice was…off. Too smooth. Too sweet.
Still, I tried to ignore the unease creeping up my spine.
Two nights later, we hosted dinner for his mother, Diane, and let me tell you—she arrived like a queen visiting her loyal subjects.
She swept in, sniffed the air disapprovingly, and immediately commented, “You really should use better cleaning products. This place smells… average.”
During dinner, she picked at her food with the same disdain she reserved for my existence. “Salt’s not great for Nate’s blood pressure,” she added smugly.
I gritted my teeth. Nate had doused his food in salt before even tasting it.
And then, like a cherry on top of the chaos sundae, I noticed the shiny iPhone 16 Pro Max lying next to her wine glass.
“New phone?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even.
She beamed. “Nate bought it for me. Isn’t he the best son?”
I stared at Nate, who was suddenly very into his mashed potatoes.
My blood ran cold. I knew exactly where the money came from—but I had to see it with my own eyes.
Excusing myself, I went to our room and checked the emergency drawer.
Empty. All $3,000 I had set aside—gone.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw anything. I just stood there, breathing through the betrayal like a punch to the gut.
Then I fixed my mascara, smoothed my blouse, and returned to the dinner table like nothing had happened.
Nate had no idea what was coming.
Two days later, he brought up a gaming laptop he’d been obsessing over for weeks.
“My laptop keeps crashing. I can’t job hunt like this. Maybe we could use some of that bonus…?”
I smiled sweetly. “Actually, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I pulled up an email on my phone—a confirmation for the top-tier gaming laptop he wanted.
His face lit up like it was Christmas morning. “You’re serious? When’s it coming?”
I leaned back, enjoying every second.
“Oh, it already arrived. I had it shipped to Diane’s place. Figured she could use it for solitaire and Facebook since she clearly deserves tech upgrades more than your wife does.”
He blinked. “You sent my laptop to my mom?!”
“Your laptop? With my money? You mean like how you bought her a phone behind my back using our emergency savings?”
He started panicking, rambling apologies, promising to return the phone and repay the money.
“Oh, you will,” I said. “Into my new bank account. And you’ll no longer have access to anything I earn.”
I pulled out a printed job posting. “I even found a job for you. Good luck with the interview.”
The fallout? Let’s just say Diane called the next day and screeched like a banshee. “You’re ruining my son’s life!”
My response? “Maybe he should stop stealing from the woman keeping him afloat.”
Within two weeks, Nate had a job. Amazing what desperation can do for motivation.
As for us? We’re in limbo. Maybe therapy. Maybe not. But one thing’s for sure—he’s never touching a dime of my money again.
And if he tries?
Well, Diane better make room—because she might end up with a roommate.
