I had been saving money like my life depended on it, stashing every extra dollar in a little box in my closet. For months, I counted coins and hid bills, dreaming of one thing: visiting my late father’s grave in Europe.
He had passed away a few months ago, and I never got the chance to say goodbye. That trip was supposed to give me closure, a way to finally lay my grief to rest.
I never expected my husband, Ethan, to try to stop me. And yet, there he was, about to ruin everything—stealing my hard-earned money for his own selfish desires. But I wasn’t about to let him get away with it. Not this time.
Ethan and I had been married for four years. No kids, just the two of us navigating life’s ups and downs. I thought I loved him. Or at least, I thought I did—until that night.
I’m a nurse, which means my paycheck wasn’t huge. But I managed to save over $5,000, enough to finally make the trip to see my dad. Ethan knew about my plan—or at least, I thought he did. We weren’t rich, so every dollar mattered.
I’d even mentioned my trip to him, saying, “Three weeks from now, I’m finally going to see Dad.” He had nodded, smiling, promising to support me.
But that night, I got off work early and decided to go straight home. Ethan was supposed to be on the night shift, so I didn’t expect to see him. As I approached our house, though, I noticed the bedroom light was on. My stomach tightened. Something was wrong.
Curious, I crept to the window and peeked inside. My heart sank. Ethan was on his knees in front of our closet. And when I shifted slightly to see better… my worst fear came true. He was rifling through my secret stash of cash!
I grabbed my phone and called him, trying to stay calm. After four rings, he answered.
“Hi, babe. Where are you?” I asked casually, pretending I wasn’t looking straight at him.
“Why are you whispering? I’m at work! I told you I’m on night shift!” he snapped.
“Oh, sorry, honey! I forgot. I just wanted to ask if you could make dinner tonight. I’ll be late coming back,” I lied smoothly.
“No, I can’t. Gotta go back to work. Love you, bye.”
Click. He hung up and shoved on his jacket, ready to leave. My hands were shaking, but I ran to the car and moved it out of sight so I could follow him.
He left, got to the bus stop, and I tailed him through the dark streets. After the bus ride, he walked twenty minutes to a shopping center. My heart raced as I saw him enter… a fishing store.
I parked, slipped inside, and hid. And then I saw him: grinning from ear to ear, holding the largest inflatable boat I’d ever seen. Next to him was a cart overflowing with fishing gear—spinning reels, tackle boxes, everything a fisherman could dream of.
My jaw dropped. How was he paying for all of this? And then it hit me. The money. MY money. The cash I’d saved for months… was gone. He had stolen it to fund his fishing obsession.
“Ethan! What the hell are you doing?!” I shouted, storming toward him. Heads turned. Ethan froze, eyes wide.
“Lizzy! What are you doing here?” he stammered, trying to hide the boat.
“Shouldn’t you be asking yourself that? Did you take my money? The money I saved for my trip to Europe?!”
“What? No, Lizzy, you’re overreacting. I’ve been saving for this for months,” he lied, his face a mask of innocence.
I felt tears prick my eyes but refused to let them fall. “Don’t lie to me! That money was for something important—something that actually matters! And you spent it on a boat?!”
“Lizzy, calm down. You’re stressed,” he said, reaching for my arm. I jerked away. “Maybe you’re not thinking clearly. Let’s talk later.”
I couldn’t take it. I turned on my heel and left, ignoring the stares from the customers. Outside, the tears came, hot and angry. I felt betrayed, humiliated, and completely lost.
Later, Ethan came home, guilt plastered across his face. He stood in the bedroom doorway while I sat on the bed, arms crossed.
“Lizzy,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I took the money. I just really want to go on that fishing trip. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”
I remembered him telling me about it days ago—some “amazing trip with professionals.” He had been obsessed.
“I get it, Ethan,” I said, trying to stay calm. “But we can’t afford it now. My trip to Europe is coming up. Can’t you wait until next year?”
He’d agreed then, looking disappointed but nodding. “Yeah… I guess. Maybe just a day trip to the lake instead.”
But no. He had other plans.
“You knew how much my dad’s grave meant to me,” I said, shaking with anger. “And you stole my money for this?”
“I know, I know,” he said. “I’ll pay it back in a month. We can push your trip back, right? The fishing trip is really important to me.”
My blood boiled. He wanted me to delay visiting my father so he could play with a bunch of rods and boats? “Unbelievable,” I muttered.
That night, I plotted. The next day, I called my boss and arranged to take my vacation early. Then, while Ethan was at work, I packed up all his new fishing gear—the boat, reels, tackle boxes—and returned everything to the store. The clerk looked surprised but processed it without question. By the time I finished, I had an extra $2,000 in my pocket and a triumphant smile.
Finally, I packed my suitcase, left our home, and headed to the airport. I didn’t leave a note. I didn’t owe him an explanation. I just needed this—for me.
The flight to Europe was surreal. I stared out the window, thinking about everything that had happened, wondering what the future held. But all that mattered now was reaching my father’s grave.
The next day, I knelt before his headstone, placing a bouquet of daisies, his favorite flowers. Tears fell, but this time, they were relief. “I finally made it, Dad.”
Back in the hotel room, my phone buzzed. A text from Ethan: “Elizabeth, where are you? I came home, and everything’s gone. Please, talk to me?”
I stared at it, heart heavy. I knew I’d face him eventually, but not now. For the first time in months, I felt free, finally doing something for myself. Something I needed to heal.
The future was uncertain, but at that moment, I was at peace.