My Bill-Splitting Husband Kept a Mistress; He Regretted Wiring $99,000

My husband is unbelievably stingy. Even after my third accidental miscarriage, all he was willing to cook me was plain rice porridge.

I was about to post asking for recipes so I could learn to make postpartum meals when I stumbled on a wildly popular thread:

How rich does a husband have to be before he'll happily spend money on a woman?

The pinned reply had tens of thousands of likes.

If he really loves you, he'll gladly turn himself into your ATM.

My husband and I never talk about money, but the moment he found out I was pregnant with our eighth child, he transferred me $99,000 as a nutrition fee allowance.

The comments were full of snark.

Is your husband some balding old geezer or something? What normal person gets pregnant eight times?

To shut the commenters up, the poster shared a screenshot of a transfer and the profile shot of a man.

Thanks for the concern. Even if I miscarried seven times, I'd still be willing to have his children.

The mockery kept coming, but I was the only one staring at that screenshot and that silhouette.

This peerless husband who transferred her $99,000, and the man who split every bill with me right down to a bag of brown sugar, were one and the same person: my husband, Colin James.

...

The glow of the phone lit up my face. The bowl of yellowish porridge had long since gone stone cold.

A sharp cramp twisted through my lower belly just as Colin walked in, briefcase in hand.

Out of habit, he flipped off the entryway light first, even though I was sitting there in the dark living room.

"Is electricity free now? Leaving the lights on all day, just sitting there spacing out."

He grumbled as he changed his shoes, then walked over to the table and glanced at the untouched bowl of porridge.

"Why aren't you eating? I got up early this morning just to make that for you. It's good for your stomach."

I stared at the gray sweater he was wearing, the collar already starting to pill.

I'd bought a few dollars' worth of yarn last winter to save money, and knitted that thing stitch by stitch over three all-nighters.

It was the silhouette of that exact sweater that had just shown up in Brenda Perez's post.

Right next to that screenshot of a $99,000 transfer.

"I want some brown sugar water. My stomach hurts so much."

Colin frowned.

"Didn't the doctor say a miscarriage is basically like having your period? Don't be such a baby about it."

"A bag of brown sugar costs over ten bucks, and it's full of additives. Drinking it is bad for you."

He paused, then pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"But if you really want it that bad, I'll run down to the corner store and get you a bag."

"Fifteen dollars, same rule as always, we split it, so transfer me seven-fifty."

I watched him open his payment QR code and hold it out in front of me.

Seven dollars and fifty cents.

I had just lost a fully formed baby, and my husband was demanding seven dollars and fifty cents from me for brown sugar.

While another woman, simply because she was pregnant, had gotten $99,000 in nutrition fees from him.

My stomach heaved, and I shoved the porridge bowl away hard.

Colin panicked instantly and hurried to protect the bowl.

"What's gotten into you? That bowl's from IKEA. If it breaks, we'll have to spend money on a new one."

I looked straight into his eyes, trying to find even the faintest trace of pretense.

"Colin, we've been saving up to buy a house for five years now. How much do we have saved by now?"

His eyes flickered, and then he quickly put back on that earnest, heartfelt expression.

"Why are you asking about that? The money's all in my fixed-term account. A little under a million."

"Marian, I know you're down because you just lost a baby, but we have to look ahead."

"Cutting corners now is all so that someday we can have a home in this city."

"Just hang in there a bit longer. Once we buy the house, I'll get you pork ribs every single day."

Empty promises.

It was the thing he said most over these past five years.

I used to believe it. For the sake of that home he kept talking about, I even switched my skincare to a few-dollar baby cream.

I pulled out my phone, opened that viral post, and shoved it in his face.

"Then take a look at this. This sweater, does it look familiar?"

Colin's eyes landed on the screen, and his pupils shrank sharply.

"Why do you spend all day looking at this junk online?"

He snatched my phone away and locked the screen right away.

"Everything online is fake. People just grab some random picture and make up a story. And you believe it?"

"I'm doing this for your own good. Stop reading this toxic nonsense, it hurts a marriage."

He tossed the phone back onto the table, his voice edged with irritation.

"I'm exhausted from working overtime today. I'm going to shower first. Hurry up and drink your porridge, don't waste it."

With that, he ducked into the bathroom without looking back, and even locked the door behind him.

Listening to the sound of running water inside, I just felt cold all over.

He wouldn't even bother making up a halfway decent explanation.

Seven dollars and fifty cents for brown sugar, $99,000 in transfers.

Those two sets of numbers slammed against each other in my head, tearing at my nerves.

Clutching my cramping belly, I slowly sank down to the floor, my back soaked through with cold sweat.

Early the next morning, I woke to the pain.

A surge of heat flowed from my lower body, staining the sheets crimson.

This was a consequence of my third miscarriage. The doctor had warned me that if I didn't rest and take care of myself, it would be very hard for me to conceive again.

I forced myself up and shook Colin awake beside me, where he was sleeping soundly.

"Colin, I don't feel well. I'm bleeding a lot. Come with me to the hospital."

He opened his eyes groggily, glanced at the sheets, and frowned.

"What happened? These sheets are going to take so much water to wash!"

He rolled out of bed and started dressing, grumbling the whole time.

"Why go to a hospital? Hospitals burn through money like water. You can't walk out of there without dropping several hundred bucks."

"This is just normal lochia. Drink more hot water and you'll be fine."

I was in so much pain I couldn't straighten up, and I gripped the edge of the bed hard.

"No, it really hurts. I have to go to the hospital."

Seeing how pale I was, Colin finally, grudgingly, picked up the car keys.

"Fine, fine. I must have owed you something in a past life."

Downstairs, I headed toward his secondhand commuter car, but he yanked me back.

"Why drive? It's rush hour. Traffic'll waste gas. There's a subway station right theretake the subway."

I stared at him, not believing my ears.

"I'm still bleeding, and you want me to cram onto a rush-hour subway?"

"The subway's three bucks. Driving is at least thirty in gas and parking. Isn't the money you save enough for two bags of brown sugar?"

He shot back like he had every right to, and he'd already started walking toward the subway station.

I stood there, watching his back as he strode away, my eyes stinging and swollen.

In the end, I took a cab to the hospital by myself.

Registered, waited in line, got an ultrasound.

The doctor looked at the results, his expression grim.

"Your endometrium is too thin and your recovery is very poor. We have to prescribe a specialized medication, and it needs to be combined with physical therapy."

"This medication isn't covered by insurance. Out of pocket, it'll run over two thousand dollars."

I walked out of the exam room with the paperwork in hand. Colin was sitting on a chair in the corridor, playing on his phone.

I handed him the paper.

"The doctor says I need a specialized medication. Over two thousand dollars."

He didn't even take it. He just shot to his feet.

"Over two thousand? That's daylight robbery!"

"What kind of specialized medication costs that much? This is just the hospital scamming women like you who don't know any better."

"No. Absolutely not. When we get home I'll make you some ginger tea with brown sugar. Same effect."

The patients and nurses coming and going in the corridor all turned to look at us.

My face burned, and I couldn't catch my breath.

"Colin, this is my body. It's about whether I'll ever be able to have children!"

"Children, childrenyou've already lost three, and I haven't seen a single one come out of it!"

Colin blurted it out, loud enough for the whole corridor to hear.

Everything went quiet. Everyone was watching me be made a fool of.

My face flushed red, then went pale, my nails digging into my palms.

Colin's phone suddenly rang.

He glanced down at the screen, and the fury drained out of his face, leaving it soft.

He took the phone to a corner by the stairwell, deliberately lowering his voice.

I quietly followed and stood behind the door.

"Oh, my precious little darling, you threw up again?"

"Okay, okay, I'll have the housekeeper go buy those imported cherries right away."

"Is the bird's nest soup on the stove yet? It has to be the premium kinddon't worry about the money."

"There, there. For our son's sake, hang in there a little longer."

The tenderness and the doting in his voice were things I hadn't heard once in these five years.

I leaned against the wall, my chest tight.

Imported cherries. Premium bird's nest soup.

He thought my two-thousand-dollar medication was too expensive, but he told someone else not to worry about the cost of bird's nest soup.

I took out my phone and opened Brenda Perez's page again.

Her latest post had gone up five minutes ago.

My morning sickness has been so awful, my husband just booked me the most expensive VIP suite at the maternity care center so I can rest and grow the babyten thousand a day!

Location tag: Harmony Private Maternity Hospital.

Only three kilometers from the public hospital where I was standing right now.

After we got home, Colin made an excuse about having something to do at the office and hurried out the door.

I watched him walk away, then turned and went into the bedroom.

At the very bottom of the closet sat an old, worn metal combination-lock box.

That was where Colin kept his passbook and bank cards.

He said it was our little family's vault, and only he knew the combination.

I used to trust him, so I never asked about it.

But now I had to find out exactly where that $99,000 had come from.

I started trying combinations.

His birthday, my birthday, our wedding anniversary.

Every one wrong.

Then I suddenly remembered the details on Brenda's profile pageher birthday was July 12, 1998.

With trembling hands, I typed in 980712.

Click. The lock opened.

Inside was a First National Bank savings card.

This was the card we both paid into every month, five hundred dollars each without fail, right after payday.

Over five years, there should have been around thirty thousand dollars in it.

I grabbed the card, threw on my coat, and headed straight down to the ATM downstairs.

I inserted the card and entered the same PIN.

The balance popped up on the screen: $0.52.

Thirty thousand dollars, and not a cent left.

I stared at that number, my mind completely blank.

Five years of scrimping. Five years of plain, cheap meals.

I didn't buy clothes, I didn't use makeup, and even on my period I only let myself buy the cheapest pads.

I thought we were working toward the same future.

And it turned out he'd taken every dollar of my blood and sweat and used it to build a golden house for another woman.

My chest was so tight it ached, but I couldn't shed a single tear.

I pulled out the card and took a taxi straight to Harmony Private Maternity Hospital.

It was a private hospital that only served high-end clients, and the lobby was lavish.

I walked up to the front desk, forcing down the tremor in my voice.

"Hello, I'm here to see Brenda Perez. I'm her cousinI've brought her a few things."

The nurse checked the computer and then spoke with a smile.

"Ms. Perez is in the VVIP suite on the top floor, room 801. You can take the private elevator straight up."

I thanked her and headed for the elevator.

The elevator doors were polished to a mirror shine, reflecting my pale face and the old down jacket I'd worn for three years.

As the floor numbers kept climbing, my heart pounded faster and faster.

With a ding, I reached the top floor.

The corridor was covered in thick carpet, so quiet you couldn't hear a footstep.

I followed the room numbers and found 801.

The door hadn't been shut all the way; a gap about a hand's width wide was open, and bursts of laughter drifted out.

"Honey, these grapes are a little sour, I don't want them anymore."

It was Brenda's sweet, coy voice.

"Sour means a boy, spicy means a girlsour is good, it means our son's healthy."

Colin's voice followed right after, warm with a fawning little laugh.

I peered in through the gap.

In the luxurious hospital room, Brenda lounged against the soft pillows in silk pajamas.

Colin sat at the edge of the bed, holding a crystal fruit dish, carefully peeling the skin off a grape.

As soon as he'd peeled one, he fed it into Brenda's mouth.

He even cupped his hand to catch the seeds she spat out.

The man who wouldn't so much as pick up a soy sauce bottle if it fell over at home, the man who made me drag my miscarrying body onto a crowded subway.

Now here he was, waiting on another woman like a servant.

My hand froze in midair as I reached to push the door open, my whole body trembling beyond my control.

"Colin, your wife won't find out, will she? I really don't want to be taken for some mistress."

Brenda chewed a grape and asked it carelessly.

Colin gave a cold snort, his face full of contempt.

"Find out what? That old hag is plenty stupidI make up any excuse and she believes it."

"Besides, she can't even manage to have a kid. Not throwing her out on the street is more than she deserves."

"Once she's finished saving up the down payment for the house, I'll divorce her. Then that money will be just right for buying our son a house in a good school district."

This was the man I'd loved for five years.

This was the man I'd risked my life to give a child.

I shoved the door open, and the two people in the room turned their heads at the same time.

Colin dropped the grapes in his hand to the floor, all the color draining from his face as he stood up.

"Mar... Marian? What are you doing here?"

Brenda was startled for a moment, then looked me up and down, a mocking smile curling at the corner of her lips.

"Oh, so this is your wife who can't even afford a few dollars' worth of brown sugar?"

She deliberately pushed out her belly, which wasn't showing yet.

"She's not even that good-looking. No wonder you'd rather spend ninety-nine thousand keeping me than spend a single penny on her."

Colin planted himself in front of Brenda's bed in a panic and snarled at me.

"Are you following me? Who told you to come here? Get out."

I walked in step by step, looking at the room full of fresh flowers, tonics, and that bowl of steaming premium bird's nest soup on the table.

"Colin, where's the three hundred thousand from the account?"

"Half of that money is my salary. What right do you have to take it and give it to this woman?"

Colin stiffened his neck, his eyes darting around, but he quickly hardened again.

"What's 'yours' and 'mine'? Once you're married, the money is joint property, and I'll spend it however I want."

"Besides, Brenda is carrying the only heir of our James family."

"You can't even hold on to one child. What right do you have to lecture me?"

He kept harping on how I couldn't hold on to a child, every word a precise stab into my wound.

I stepped forward and picked up the bowl of scalding bird's nest soup from the table.

"What are you doing!"

Colin roared.

Without hesitation, I flung the whole bowl of bird's nest soup, broth and all, into his face.

"Aah!"

Colin covered his face and screamed in agony, bird's nest dripping down his cheeks, an utter mess.

Brenda shrieked in fright and grabbed a pillow, hurling it at me.

"You crazy woman, where's security? Call security, now."

I ignored her completely and slapped Colin hard across the face.

"This three hundred thousand is what you owe me."

The slap enraged Colin.

He lunged at me, his eyes red.

"You bitch, how dare you hit me."

He grabbed me by the collar and shoved me hard away from him.

I was already weak, with no strength to fight back.

I lost my balance and fell out into the hallway.

Violent pain swept through my whole body. My vision went black, and I nearly passed out.

The bleeding below, which had already stopped, surged out again.

The warm liquid quickly soaked through my pants, spreading a large patch of dark red across the carpet.

I curled up on the floor in agony, feeling my insides tear apart with every breath.

The nurses in the corridor heard the commotion and ran over, freezing in shock at the sight.

Colin stood in the doorway, looking down at me without a trace of pity in his eyes.

He turned to the nurse and said:

"Get this crazy woman out of here. She dirtied your carpetmake her pay for it."

"Don't let her filth foul my son's eyes."

And with that, he closed the door without hesitation.

I lay on the carpet, staring at the shut door, the excruciating pain in my abdomen leaving me unable to think.

My marriage, my child, my money.

All of it was gone.