My husband and I had been fighting constantly—mostly about money. Our finances were tight, and he was always coming home late. One night, I decided to follow him. What I discovered shook me to my core: he went into his brother’s house, and a woman greeted him at the door.
“We can’t keep living like this. I thought you made more money. Where is all of it going?” I demanded, frustration boiling over. My husband, Wyatt, looked worn out. I knew deep down it wasn’t fair to put it all on him—after all, I wasn’t bringing in income either—but nothing made sense anymore.
He sighed and stared at the floor. “I don’t know what to tell you. Everything’s just more expensive. I’m trying—really trying.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to attack you,” I said, softening. “I just don’t get it. We used to make ends meet, and now we’re struggling. There’s never anything left to save.”
Something in my gut told me he wasn’t being completely honest. Yes, things were tough and I had quit my job due to a chronic illness that flared under stress, but even then, something wasn’t adding up. There should be at least a little left each month. But there wasn’t.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that Wyatt was hiding something—an expense, or maybe something worse.
Our fights had increased lately, especially when it came to his brother Dawson and Dawson’s wife, Faye. They were the last people you’d want in your family—selfish, cold, and judgmental.
When Wyatt and I were newlyweds and struggling financially, we asked Dawson and Faye if we could crash at their place for just one night. I was overwhelmed with medical bills and we were about to be homeless. Faye coldly responded, “That’s not my problem.”
Thankfully, a kind friend lent us money to rent a room, and we clawed our way back to stability.
I’ll never forget a family gathering where I mentioned to Wyatt’s aunt that I might have to quit my job because of my health. Faye rolled her eyes. Later that evening, when the topic of children came up, she scoffed at my dreams of motherhood.
“You? A mother? With your issues? Don’t even try,” she sneered. “No one’s going to rescue you when you’re broke with a baby in your arms. And who wants a mentally unstable mom anyway?”
Her words cut me to the bone. And Wyatt? He didn’t say a word.
We nearly split up that night. Eventually, we reconciled and decided to distance ourselves from Dawson and Faye completely.
But now, something strange was happening. Wyatt had been secretive, and my gut told me something serious was going on.
One evening, I waited outside Wyatt’s job. He said he’d be working late, but I watched him leave promptly at 5 p.m. I followed his car, my heart pounding. Was he cheating? Was he hiding something even worse?
To my surprise, I saw him drive into Dawson’s driveway. What was he doing there?
As he approached the house, Faye opened the door and wrapped her arms around him. I was stunned. Was he cheating on me—with her? My heart sank.
I couldn’t just sit there. I parked, stormed up to the house, and barged in, ready to confront them.
But what I saw stopped me in my tracks: Wyatt was holding a baby, and Faye was cradling another.
“What’s going on here?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Are those babies yours, Wyatt?”
“What? No! Of course not,” he replied quickly. “They’re Faye and Dawson’s twins.”
“But why didn’t you tell me you were seeing them again?” I asked.
Wyatt hesitated. “I didn’t know how to tell you. It’s complicated…”
Faye stepped forward, her expression unrecognizable—sincere, even apologetic. “Let me explain,” she said softly. “I know I’ve been awful. I said terrible things to you. I’m truly sorry.”
She went on to explain that Dawson had been caught doing something illegal at work. Not only was he now in jail, but he’d also been cheating on her with his secretary—the one who turned him in. Their accounts were frozen, and the only reason she still had a home was that it was in her mother’s name.
All of this happened when she was seven months pregnant with the twins.
“I was desperate,” Faye admitted. “Wyatt stepped in. He’s been helping us—financially and with the babies. That’s where the money’s been going.”
My heart sank. I had blamed Wyatt for our financial problems, thinking the worst, while he had been feeding and supporting two innocent children.
I didn’t know what to feel.
What would you do in my shoes?
Could you forgive someone like Faye—someone who belittled and judged you in your most vulnerable moments?
And what about Wyatt? He kept this from me. Yes, it was noble what he did, but he let me spiral, thinking our marriage was falling apart.
Should I forgive him?
Should I take the high road?
Or would you walk away?