When my husband, Greg, told me we couldn’t afford preschool for Emily, I believed him without question. I cut back on every little thing — no more expensive coffees, no more spa days — and I worked longer hours from home, trying to keep up with my freelance graphic design job while caring for our three-year-old daughter.
I was stretched thin, exhausted, but I thought it was all for our family.
The kitchen table was always cluttered with colorful preschool brochures and flyers, pictures of smiling kids building block castles or finger-painting wild masterpieces. I had spent weeks visiting different schools, searching for the perfect one for Emily. I wanted a place where she could learn, make friends, and grow.
One afternoon, Emily came running up to me, her small hand holding a piece of paper covered in purple scribbles. “Mama, look! I drew a cat!” she exclaimed proudly.
I crouched down and kissed her head. “That’s the most beautiful cat I’ve ever seen, sweetheart.”
At three years old, Emily was curious, friendly, and full of energy. But balancing work and motherhood was harder than I thought. I felt guilty all the time, like I was never doing enough. She deserved better.
One brochure caught my eye — Little Explorers Academy. It promised a great mix of play and learning, bright classrooms, caring teachers, and a safe outdoor playground. The cost? $1,100 a month. It was a lot. But I was ready to make sacrifices.
No more fancy lattes. No more massages. Greg could skip a few golf weekends. “We can make this work,” I told myself over and over.
That evening, as I was daydreaming about the new preschool, the front door opened. Emily ran toward the sound. “Daddy!”
Greg appeared in the doorway, tired but smiling, Emily wrapped around his leg. His tie was loose, and his eyes lit up when he saw us.
“How are my favorite girls?” he said, ruffling Emily’s hair.
“We’re good,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Emily, sweetheart, can you go play in the living room for a bit? Mama needs to talk to Daddy.”
When she was out of earshot, I slid the brochure across the kitchen counter. “I found it, Greg. The perfect preschool for Emily.”
He glanced at it but his expression shifted quickly. “Sandra, we’ve talked about this.”
“Just look at it, please,” I begged. “Little Explorers has everything — curriculum, outdoor play, experienced teachers. Emily needs this, and I need to focus on work without feeling guilty all the time.”
He sighed heavily, barely looking at the brochure. “And the cost?”
“$1,100 a month. I know it’s a lot, but—”
“Eleven hundred dollars?” His eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?”
“I can pick up more freelance jobs. We can cut back on eating out and skip that weekend trip.”
He slammed his hand on the counter. “Sandra, stop. We just can’t afford that right now.”
“We can if we make it a priority. This is about Emily’s future.”
“I said no. End of discussion.”
At that moment, Emily appeared, her lip trembling. “Why are you angry, Daddy?”
Greg’s face softened instantly. He knelt down and opened his arms. “I’m not angry, princess. Daddy just had a long day.”
He scooped her up and took her to the living room. I gathered the brochures, tears pricking at my eyes. Something didn’t feel right.
Our finances weren’t perfect, but we owned our condo, had reliable cars, and even took vacations. Where was this sudden strict no?
“I don’t understand you anymore,” I whispered, staring after Greg.
Days passed. Greg started working late, but instead of coming home tired, he seemed energized. He guarded his phone and laptop more than usual. His secretive behavior made me uneasy.
One night, I confronted him in our bedroom. “Are you hiding something from me?”
He looked shocked. “What? No! Why would you think that?”
“The late nights, secret texts, changing your banking password… something’s off.”
“The bank told me to change it for security,” he said quickly. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Then what is it? Because I feel like you’re shutting me out.”
“Work’s been stressful. I’m just trying to protect you and Emily.”
His eyes were warm, sincere. I wanted to believe him. “I’m here for you,” I said softly. “Whatever it is.”
He kissed my forehead. “I love you for that.”
One Saturday, while Greg took Emily to the park, I decided to tackle our messy junk drawer. Amid old receipts and takeout menus, I found a cream-colored envelope addressed to Greg. The return address was from a property management company, but the address was our home crossed out and replaced with his office.
I hesitated, but my curiosity won. Inside was a receipt.
“Payment received: $3,400
For: Rent – Unit 504B, The Grand Apartments
Thank you for your timely payment.”
My heart raced. Three thousand four hundred dollars? For rent? Monthly?
I knew The Grand — a luxury high-rise downtown with rooftop pool and concierge. We had joked about it as “how the other half lives.”
I took a picture and put the envelope back exactly where I found it.
That night, I watched Greg feed peas to Emily, who giggled with delight. He looked happy. But what was he hiding?
“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, noticing me.
“Just tired. Thinking about work,” I lied.
“You work too hard. Maybe you need some help with Emily.”
I forced a bitter smile. “That would be nice. If only we could afford it.”
His eyes flickered for a moment, then he smiled at Emily. “More peas, princess?”
Sleep eluded me that night. Greg snored softly beside me, but his face looked strange, unfamiliar. The man I’d loved for seven years was suddenly a stranger.
The next morning, I went through the motions — pancakes for Emily, packing Greg’s lunch, kissing him goodbye.
“I love you,” he said as he left.
“Love you too,” I replied, my voice shaky.
As soon as the door closed, I grabbed Emily’s things and we drove to my sister Lisa’s house.
“Where are we going, Mama?” Emily asked, curious.
“To see Aunt Lisa. She’ll play with you while I run an errand.”
Lisa didn’t ask questions, just took Emily’s hand and said quietly, “Take all the time you need.”
Twenty minutes later, I stood nervously outside The Grand Apartments. The building gleamed in the morning sun, all marble floors, fresh flowers, and a uniformed doorman.
I told the concierge, “Hi, I’m here to check on my mom in unit 504B. She hasn’t answered her phone.”
The man named Thomas looked concerned. “I’ll call her right now.”
“I actually have a key,” I said quickly, “So I won’t disturb her if she’s resting.”
He hesitated but let me go up.
The elevator ride felt like forever. When I knocked on 504B, the door opened, and my mother-in-law Meryl stood there, wearing silk pajamas and holding a smoothie.
“SANDRA? What are you doing here?” she said, startled.
“MERYL??”
I pushed past her into the apartment — it was straight out of a luxury magazine. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city skyline, designer furniture everywhere, marble countertops, expensive appliances. Everything I dreamed of.
“What are YOU doing here, Meryl?” I asked.
She sighed dramatically, sitting on a white leather couch. “I live here. Obviously.”
“And Greg pays $3,400 a month for this?”
“He wants me to be comfortable.” She sipped her smoothie, calm and unapologetic. “Is that so terrible? A son taking care of his mother?”
“It is when he told me we couldn’t afford $1,100 for his daughter’s preschool.”
“Greg understands priorities,” she said with a smirk. “Preschool is a luxury. Emily has you.”
“While you get a luxury apartment with a view?” The pieces fell into place. “You knew about the preschool fight, didn’t you?”
“Maybe. I reminded him family obligations come first.”
“Emily is his family!”
“I raised him alone for 28 years. I sacrificed everything. Now he owes me.”
I stared at her, horrified. “Don’t you feel bad about this?”
Meryl met my eyes, cold. “Not really.”
There was nothing left to say.
The drive home was a blur. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. By the time I picked up Emily and returned home, my anger had hardened into determination.
I spent the afternoon packing Greg’s things. The hallway was soon lined with his clothes and boxes.
When he came home, he stopped at the door, stunned.
“What’s all this?”
“I visited your mother today. At The Grand. Unit 504B.”
His face drained of color. “Sandra, I can explain.”
“You lied to me. You told me we couldn’t afford preschool, yet you pay $3,400 a month for your mother to live like a queen.”
“It’s complicated.”
“No. You chose your mother over your child. Over our family.”
“She was lonely. Depressed in that townhouse. She needed help.”
“What about Emily? What about honesty? Partnership? Parenting?”
“You wouldn’t understand. You’ve never liked her.”
“This isn’t about liking her. It’s about trust. You shut me down when I wanted the best for Emily, but hid this from me.”
Tears streamed down my face. “You didn’t even discuss this major expense with me.”
A heavy silence fell.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to leave. Go stay with your mother. Figure out your priorities.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Maybe forever.”
The weeks after were brutal and beautiful. I enrolled Emily in Little Explorers and paid the deposit with money from our joint account before Greg could touch it. I worked harder, surviving on four hours of sleep.
Emily blossomed. She came home every day full of stories about new friends and games. Watching her grow made the pain bearable.
Greg texted about Emily, kept visits on weekends, always returning her with a sad smile I pretended not to see.
One rainy Tuesday, two months later, Greg showed up at the door, soaked and thinner.
“Can we talk?”
I let him in.
“My mom moved to Miami with her boyfriend. She maxed out my credit cards. The lease at The Grand is still in my name for ten months.”
“Why tell me now?”
“Because you were right. I let her manipulate me. I betrayed you and Emily. I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t fix the broken trust.”
“I know. But maybe with time… I can make things right. I miss you. I miss us.”
Emily asks about you every night,” I admitted. “When will Daddy come home?”
He looked hopeful. “And what do you say?”
“I don’t know.”
“What would you tell me?”
I pulled my hand away gently. “You can rebuild trust, finances, maybe even marriage. But not overnight. And not without showing we come first.”
“I understand. Can I start with dinner? Once a week? The three of us?”
I pictured Emily’s face lighting up.
“Dinner once a week. We’ll see.”
He smiled. “It’s a start.”
As he left, I called after him, “And Greg? If you lie to me again—about money, your mother, or anything—there won’t be another chance. Some leases can’t be renewed.”
“I know,” he said, looking me in the eyes with new honesty. “I won’t waste this one.”
