When Damien insisted that a family trip was too expensive, I trusted him — until a $3,000 luxury spa charge appeared on our bank statement. Determined to uncover the truth, I followed the trail. What I found destroyed my trust and flipped my world upside down.
I always believed trust was like a carefully tended garden. You nurture it, pull the weeds, and water it often, so it grows strong and full. For twelve years, that’s what I did for my marriage to Damien. I believed in him. I believed in us.
We had what I thought was a happy life. Two kids, a house with a squeaky porch swing, and a Friday night tradition of making homemade pizza together. Damien was the kind of man who got respect wherever he went. A hardworking employee and a devoted dad.
And then there was Maribel, his so-called “office wife.” I’d met her many times, and I liked her well enough. She was bubbly, witty, and always mentioned her own husband with warmth. We weren’t friends, but I was relieved Damien had a coworker like her.
I even teased him at dinner sometimes, saying how nice it was that someone kept him sane during those endless late shifts.