When my husband Rick told me he’d be helping his brother fix a leaking roof after work for two weeks, I didn’t question it. Stuart even came by to reinforce the story, picking Rick up in his truck each evening. Everything seemed normal—until I ran into Stuart’s wife, Heather, at the grocery store. Her confused expression turned into suspicion when she asked if my roof was being repaired. Turns out, Rick told me he was helping Stuart, while Stuart told her the opposite. We both realized we’d been fed the same lie—just flipped.
The next evening, Heather and I decided to follow them. We hid near my house, watching as Rick came out—not in work boots, but dressed like he was headed to a brunch. Stuart picked him up, and we tailed them across town to a swanky spa club. Through the glass, we saw them laugh with the receptionist, accept plush robes, and vanish toward the pool and sauna. The cherry on top? The logo on Rick’s spa pass matched his company’s—this was a reward from work meant for him and a guest. But instead of taking me, he took his brother.
I didn’t yell or cry. I made moves. I pulled my money into a separate account, moved the bills to Rick’s name, and booked a two-week oceanfront vacation—with Heather. We toasted with piña coladas and sent a selfie to our husbands, captioned: “Your roof looks great from here!” According to our kids, Rick moped around the house, doing chores and leaving voicemails filled with regret.
I didn’t respond. The truth? I pay for most of our vacations. So if Rick wanted to enjoy a spa day without me, I’d return the favorwith a peaceful beachfront escape of my own. Let’s just say… lesson learned.