My husband Eric Pike had dreams but was light on cash. I fell for his solid character and ditched the dowry. We skipped the whole wedding spectacle.
Over the three years we've been married, I've seen his relentless hustle and have been financially backing him all the way.
For my birthday, he surprised me with sneakers he snagged for a steal at a hundred bucks—I was touched beyond words.
Then, while moonlighting one day, I discovered he splurged on a high-end dress for his old flame, costing a small fortune.
That was a real eye-opener—turns out he wasn't exactly broke; he was just pinching pennies on me.
I threw the divorce papers in his face and demanded, "Get lost, and repay every dime—you owe me double!"
***
Eric's birthday was just around the corner.
He's a basketball fanatic, and those top-tier twelve-thousand-dollar sneakers in his online cart had been collecting dust for a year.
I decided to buy them and give him a knock-out surprise.
Between my day job and two night shifts, I barely dragged myself home after midnight, utterly wiped.
The moment I stepped inside, there he was, coming out of the kitchen with a steaming plate of spaghetti, smiling like it was Christmas.
"Sweetie, you must be starving. Dig in!"
Catching sight of his rugged, good looks, still in his delivery digs, with bags under his eyes, he must be a step earlier home than me.
I was hit with a wave of affection, concern written all over my eyes.
"Babe, you work too hard. No need to stay up so late for me."
Eric's job in sales keeps him out until nine, but he's still hustling with food deliveries after hours.
It tears me up seeing him stretch so thin, and I've told him to cut it out.
But he just wraps me up in his arms, gives my hair a gentle tousle, and grins.
"Love, it's no sweat. I promise we'll be living large one day."
To sock away money for a house, everyday expenses and even socializing costs are on my tab.
His earnings? Locked away for our future home.
After a cozy night in, I showered and found Eric already deep in sleep.
Had I not seen that text on his phone, I might have stayed lost in this sweet illusion.
His phone buzzed relentlessly. I caught a glimpse, and a message from a certain Mandy lit up the screen.
[Eric, thanks a ton for the stunning dress!]
[Isn't it a bit too lavish?]
[Eric, you up? Tomorrow's my big day—you better show up!]
It had the address of that upscale joint where I moonlight.
A place where the bill runs into the thousands. I eyed Eric suspiciously—where was he getting this kind of dough?
It was the first time in three years I'd snooped through his phone.
I scrolled and finally found Mandy's contact in WhatsApp, but only a trivial message remained; he'd wiped the rest.
Then I stumbled upon a receipt in his texts. My hands shook as I counted the zeros—was I seeing this right?
A dress worth 1.2 million dollars? My breath caught in my throat.
There I was, next to the man I thought I knew, feeling a surge of panic.
Yet, my mind snapped to clarity, recalling my own birthday this year.
He had given me 130-dollar clearance sneakers and looked so guilty.
This towering man, with tears in his eyes, clung to me, swearing someday I wouldn't have to worry about a thing.
Just two days earlier, he had said his mom was under the weather and he couldn't make it because of work. I had wired him 10 thousand dollars.
As he held me close, he called me the best wife anyone could ask for.
Ridiculous, isn't it?
Eric couldn't manage to finance a home for us or even his mom's medical bills, yet he could fork over six figures for a dress for his high school old flame.
2I lay awake all night, and as dawn broke, he pulled me close in his sleep.
I felt only revulsion and coldly turned my back. Eric, looking wounded, asked, "Mia, why so cold today?"
Normally, we'd cuddle for ages; I mean, the guy has got the looks and the body—I've always been happy to invest in him.
But now, everything's changed.
I made an excuse and got up; he suspected nothing.
He said he had a major deal to close today and might be late, telling me not to wait up.
He kissed my forehead and murmured, "Soon, we'll have our dream home."
That night, dressed as a waitress with a hat and mask to avoid recognition.
I was bracing myself, hoping it was all a misunderstanding, but right at the entrance, I overheard some snickers.
"Eric and Mandy were the golden couple back then. If she hadn't gone overseas, they'd likely be married by now."
"Man, cut it out—Eric's hitched now."
Another chipped in, "Eric's been burned before, that's why he rushed into this marriage. Without Mia Mark's eyes reminding him of Mandy, would he even bother with plain Jane?"
My heart skipped a beat. Instinctively, I texted Eric: [Where are you?]
[Babe, I'm out with clients—don't wait up, get some rest.]
Then a sweet voice piped up, "Oh, Eric, is that true?"
Eric replied, "Sorry, folks, gotta head home."
Laughter erupted around him.
"Eric's on a tight leash, huh?"
"Yeah, home by midnight, every night."
A wave of laughter swept through as I pushed the door open, tray in hand.
3Eric slammed his wine glass down, pulling Mandy in close with a smirk. "It was just a bit of fun, you think she was anything special?"
"It's the same old routine in bed, dull as dishwater. I got bored ages ago."
"Can you believe her? Walking around in hundred-buck sneakers, yet splurging on 12,000-dollar kicks for me, all while juggling three jobs?"
The guys around him roared with laughter, egging him on.
"Seriously, she's all skin and bones, like a middle schooler—definitely not Eric's type."
"Eric was just messing around with her."
"Ha, let's drink to that!"
He casually raised his glass. "Tonight, we're not stopping till we drop!"
It felt like my heart had been ripped open, bleeding out.
Tears welled up in my eyes. The man who was so tender just the night before, now he was dismissively trashing me.
My grip slipped on the wine bottle, splashing some onto that girl.
"Ah!"
"What are you doing? Do you know how much this dress costs? Think you can afford to replace it?"
Mandy stood up, screeching, her voice filled with fury.
My eyes started to burn, and I looked down, afraid he'd recognize me.
I stuttered out an apology, desperate and flustered.
"I'm so sorry, it was an accident."
Tears streamed down my face, free of charge.
Eric Pike... Eric Pyke? From the wealthy Pyke Group in Covelle? I once teased him for being one letter different from a rich kid. He'd hang his head, claiming he was just a poor boy from the countryside, hoping I wouldn't hold it against him.
The way he pulled the pity card, I genuinely felt for him and never brought it up again.
The girl, now livid, pointed a pale finger at me. "Call your manager over here, I want an explanation!"
I kept apologizing, but Eric seemed to recognize my voice, telling me to look up.
Our eyes met—his red with panic, and at that moment, he knew he was caught.
4He nervously touched his nose and muttered under his breath.
"Seeing things?"
"Eric, look what she did to the dress you got me!" The girl clung to his arm, sitting close.
"Forget it, it's just a dress."
He dismissed it carelessly.
But Mandy wasn't having it, insisting I pay for the damage.
"But it was a gift from you..."
Eric, annoyed, gestured dismissively again. "I'll just buy you another one," which finally silenced her.
My heart ached—yeah, just a dress.
A dress that could have bought a condo in Covelle, instead of us cramming into that tiny 320-square-foot rental for years.
No more rushing to find a new place whenever the landlord decided to sell or raise the rent, scattering like lost souls across the city.
Last year, when the rent spiked, he was away, and I scrimped to save a grand a month, moving in a downpour while sick with a fever.
I kept it to myself to spare him the worry, and when he returned, he just wrapped me in his arms, guilt-ridden, murmuring, "Honey, you've worked so hard."
At that moment, I believed our hearts were enough to carry us through.
Together, we'd make it—eventually, there'd be bread on the table.
That stormy night, I ran to a bike-share, soaked to the bone, suddenly realizing I no longer needed to struggle alongside him for a home.
The rain washed over my face, pulling me back to three years ago.
That day, also stormy, was rough at work—boss on my case, colleagues scheming, and I'd lost a major project.
Dazed on the street, I nearly didn't see the car coming.
He yanked me back just in time, and when I turned, there was his handsome face, calming me with his gentle tone. I fell for him right then.
We hit it off, and in no time, we rushed into marriage.
5He said it was his first love, and so was I—I thought I'd struck gold, bypassing all the heartache, but I had no clue...
Given his rough upbringing and rural background, my parents were initially against it after scraping to get me through college.
But I stood by him, convinced that with enough elbow grease, we'd bake our bread eventually.
My folks finally caved, handed me the family records, and we skipped a wedding to save cash.
Three years on, I discovered he wasn't cash-strapped; he was just pinching pennies when it came to me.
I went home, packed up his stuff, dumped it outside, and changed the locks.
He didn't show up until six AM, knocking, pleading for forgiveness.
Not wanting to wake the neighbors, I let him in.
He has changed into the same cheap suit he wore when we got our marriage license, still hanging on after three years.
What a stark contrast to the dapper man at the bar.
I couldn't help but laugh—how tiring it must be, playing so many parts.
His face brightened, thinking I was over my anger.
"Mia, I nailed a huge deal last night! I've been promoted—I'm a manager now! We can finally afford our own place!"
He was holding a bouquet of red roses, all excited about his triumph, convinced we were on the brink of securing our dream home.
I stepped back, suddenly realizing the years of effort were just a farce.
"Let's get a divorce."
I spoke the words coldly, bluntly.
His smile froze, etched onto his face.
We'd clashed before, but I'd never mentioned splitting up.
I had intended to be with him for a lifetime.
6He looked stunned, kneeling down, gripping my hands with tears welling up.
"Mia, I really had an emergency last night. I didn't mean to stay out. Please don't be mad."
"I'm begging you, I'll never do it again. Forgive me, I really can't bear to lose you."
His eyes were swimming with tears, giving me that pitiful look.
He knew it would work every time we fought.
"Ha," I chuckled, "you're quite the actor, aren't you? Should've been on a stage, not in sales."
He really could put on a show; for three years, I never doubted him for a second.
Not that there weren't slips; it's just that love had blinded me to them.
Once during an outdoor shoot, I caught him in a sports car, dressed like a trust fund kid.
He claimed his boss thought he looked sharp and wanted him to model for a shoot, the car just a prop.
And I bought it, hook, line, and sinker.
He'd joke about having the face of a tycoon but not the fortune to match.
If it weren't for seeing through his facade, I might have been moved by his tears once again.
I leaned in, disappointment dripping from my words, "Eric Pyke, have you enjoyed your little charade?"
He looked rattled, flopping to the floor, his pleading eyes locked on mine.
"Just go. I'm no plain Jane for a rich kid like you. Did you come close because I remind you of her?"
It turns out that when you hit rock bottom, you find a peculiar calm.
I was emotionless, and couldn't even bring myself to look at him anymore.
I'm just glad that during these busy three years, we never thought about having kids.
If we had, I might not have had the strength to end this now.
I took a deep breath.
"Since she's back, you might as well be with her. But don't forget, I've invested a lot in you these past three years. You owe me."