Charity Starts at Home

We had been married for three years, and together, our income was decent at twenty-six grand a month. Yet, we barely had two hundred bucks in savings.

My husband was a nice guy, lending practically his entire wages to our next-door widow and her daughter.

He covered their expenses when the daughter needed money for school, when the widow needed a little time at the spa, and when they wanted to give their home a new facelift.

The moment my father fell ill and needed surgery, I went next door to ask for the money back. However, my neighbors slammed the door in my face. “Your husband chose to give us the money. Why should we pay you back?”

Enraged, I sought help from my husband, only to be criticized. “I felt bad for them. Why did you demand payment when they are already struggling? What’s wrong with you?”

I smirked.

That night, I decided to do a good deed by spending my entire paycheck to help a broke college hunk.

The next day, our power was cut off for unpaid bills, and my husband lost an unfinished document he hadn’t saved.

Putting his finger up my nose, he gave me a piece of his mind. “Where’s your money? Why didn’t you pay the bills?”

I replied with the most innocent look on my face, “I helped a struggling college student. His life was falling apart because he had to deal with a sick mom and a deadbeat dad. His needs should come before the utility bills.”

“Mrs. Turner, the hospital requires a 150 grand deposit for your father’s surgery, and the subsequent treatments are likely to exceed 30,000 dollars.”

The message from the attending physician stung my eyes.

I tapped into my banking app, only to find a sad balance of 201 dollars and 38 cents.

Overwhelmed with disbelief, I had to check the amount three times.

Roddy and I had been married for three years. Between us, we earned a combined monthly income of 26 grand. Even after paying 6,000 for the mortgage and 3,000 for living expenses, we couldn’t possibly be left with only 200 bucks.

Besides, I recalled seeing at least 20 thousand dollars in there just the other day.

Unless…

Jolting to my feet, I dialed Roddy’s number.

It took the seventh to eighth ring before Roddy answered the call.

“Yeah? I’m in the middle of business right now. Why are you calling out of the blue?”

Roddy sounded annoyed.

“Roddy,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “Why is there only 200 bucks left in my account?”

The line went quiet for a second.

“What do you mean? Wait, I thought the account still had money in it.”

“Nope.” Gnashing my teeth, I asked, “All I have is 200 bucks. I just got word from the hospital, and my dad needs immediate surgery for his brain tumor. The initial payment is 150,000 dollars, and I have not spent a single cent. So tell me. How did my balance get so low?”

“Um… Easy there, babe.”

Roddy’s voice faltered. “About the money… I just remembered. I lent some to Lorelei a while back. We’ll figure something out for your dad’s surgery—”

“You lent the money to Lorelei?” I sneered. “Roddy, I’ve never seen a dime of the 14,000 dollars you make a month. I’ve been covering the household expenses for us, and you’re telling me now that you gave my wages to someone else? Where did your money go?”

“You’ve got more than enough from the 12,000 you earn. I’m your husband, so what’s the problem if I used some of it?”

Roddy was still making excuses.

“More than enough?” I grilled him furiously. “Have you forgotten that the mortgage alone is 6,000 dollars? What about utilities? My wages have been keeping the house running for three years. Yet, you’re telling me that I have more than enough?

“You have some nerve, Roddy. You contributed nothing, and still, you were happy to hand my hard-earned money to other women.”

I got to know Lorelei Leigh and her daughter, Natasha Leigh—whom Roddy often mentioned—when he lent them 8,000 dollars for Natasha’s first year of community college.

Lorelei later whined about her back pain, and Roddy lent another 3,000 for her physiotherapy sessions.

When the Leighs renovated their place last year, Roddy was there to supposedly lend another 20 grand.

I had tried to stop Roddy, but he swore up and down that he was just doing his bit and lending a helping hand.

My protests fell on deaf ears. Soon after, Natasha got a new phone and branded cosmetics. I lost track of how much he was giving away.

This year, Lorelei talked about taking up yoga, and sure enough, Roddy was there to meet her needs.

Roddy sounded so righteous in his justification that any objections seemed pointless. I had to hold my tongue.

However, my father was lying in a hospital bed, his life depending on the money.

Indifferently, I gave him an ultimatum. “Roddy, you have an hour to get home, and we’ll talk. You’ll need to come clean about how much of our money you have given away.”

Before Roddy had a chance to answer, I hung up on him.