I gave up everything—my parents’ lake house, my car, my savings—to help Jake build the farm he always dreamed of. He called me his rock, his lucky charm. I believed him. Every morning, I watched him sip coffee and talk about fresh milk, clean soil, and a better life for our son. I wanted that dream too. So I sold the last piece of my childhood and handed him the money.
But fate has a cruel sense of timing.
At the bus stop, I realized we’d accidentally swapped phones. A call came through. “Hey baby,” a woman’s voice purred. “I’ve been waiting all night…” My heart stopped. I scrolled through messages—sweet nothings, promises of a future. Not with me.
I followed him. Another house. Another woman. She hugged him like I used to. When I told her I was his wife, she froze. She’d sold her inheritance for him too.
We didn’t cry. We plotted.
The next day, as Jake charmed her again, I stepped out from the shadows. “Hi, honey,” I said. His face drained of color. “I didn’t send a cent,” I added. She stood beside me. We walked away—two women, finally free.
“Pizza?” she asked.
“With wine,” I smiled.
