When I got home early, I caught my husband, Mark, stealing cash from my secret stash—the money I had been saving to visit my dad’s grave. When I called, he lied, claiming he was at work.
I followed him to a motel and confronted him. Shocked, he admitted, “I was going to use it to pay off some debts… I didn’t want to burden you.”
Furious, I said, “You could’ve trusted me. That’s what marriage is supposed to be about—trust.”
Mark promised, “No more lies.” I left with my money, unsure if our trust could ever be fully restored.
