We’ve been married for almost ten years now. I trust him with a lot of things, including financial matters. I decided to jointly file my taxes with my husband two years ago. We planned on receiving a big tax return by now to go on a vacation. I filed for the refund but only got a few hundred in deposit.
I immediately thought it was a glitch from the system and went to check again—the numbers were right. I asked him, “Are you in debt?” He shouted back, “That’s none of your business!” I responded, “You do know I can go and find out, right? I just wanted to hear it from you.” He stayed quiet, so I stormed out, wanting to find answers.
I checked one of his last payments and it was for a storage unit somewhere close by. I demanded he take me there. He tried to deflect. Said it was nothing, just “old stuff” he hadn’t gotten around to dealing with. But I wasn’t having it. I told him I’d go alone if he didn’t take me.
When we got there, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. There was row after row of vintage ventriloquist dummies. Some were lined up on shelves like a creepy audience. Others were in glass cases. There was even a mirror set up with one of them facing it—like it was admiring itself. And in the corner? A custom-built dummy that looked exactly like him. Same haircut. Same facial hair. Same weird little smile.
I stood frozen. I actually felt sick.
Turns out, he had been buying these things from antique shops, collectors, auctions, even overseas. He had spent over $35,000 on them across a few years. And not once had he mentioned it. He called them ‘investments’ and said they were ‘historical artifacts.’ But these weren’t collectibles. They were an obsession. A lie that’s been going on for over a decade.
I haven’t spoken to him since that day. I’m still staying with my sister trying to process everything. I feel like I’m living in a psychological thriller.
