Frugal Husband's Secret Identity

My husband Eric Pike had dreams but was light on cash. I fell for his solid character and ditched the dowry. We skipped the whole wedding spectacle.

Over the three years we've been married, I've seen his relentless hustle and have been financially backing him all the way.

For my birthday, he surprised me with sneakers he snagged for a steal at a hundred bucks—I was touched beyond words.

Then, while moonlighting one day, I discovered he splurged on a high-end dress for his old flame, costing a small fortune.

That was a real eye-opener—turns out he wasn't exactly broke; he was just pinching pennies on me.

I threw the divorce papers in his face and demanded, "Get lost, and repay every dime—you owe me double!"

***

Eric's birthday was just around the corner.

He's a basketball fanatic, and those top-tier twelve-thousand-dollar sneakers in his online cart had been collecting dust for a year.

I decided to buy them and give him a knock-out surprise.

Between my day job and two night shifts, I barely dragged myself home after midnight, utterly wiped.

The moment I stepped inside, there he was, coming out of the kitchen with a steaming plate of spaghetti, smiling like it was Christmas.

"Sweetie, you must be starving. Dig in!"

Catching sight of his rugged, good looks, still in his delivery digs, with bags under his eyes, he must be a step earlier home than me.

I was hit with a wave of affection, concern written all over my eyes.

"Babe, you work too hard. No need to stay up so late for me."

Eric's job in sales keeps him out until nine, but he's still hustling with food deliveries after hours.

It tears me up seeing him stretch so thin, and I've told him to cut it out.

But he just wraps me up in his arms, gives my hair a gentle tousle, and grins.

"Love, it's no sweat. I promise we'll be living large one day."

To sock away money for a house, everyday expenses and even socializing costs are on my tab.

His earnings? Locked away for our future home.

After a cozy night in, I showered and found Eric already deep in sleep.

Had I not seen that text on his phone, I might have stayed lost in this sweet illusion.

His phone buzzed relentlessly. I caught a glimpse, and a message from a certain Mandy lit up the screen.

[Eric, thanks a ton for the stunning dress!]

[Isn't it a bit too lavish?]

[Eric, you up? Tomorrow's my big day—you better show up!]

It had the address of that upscale joint where I moonlight.

A place where the bill runs into the thousands. I eyed Eric suspiciously—where was he getting this kind of dough?

It was the first time in three years I'd snooped through his phone.

I scrolled and finally found Mandy's contact in WhatsApp, but only a trivial message remained; he'd wiped the rest.

Then I stumbled upon a receipt in his texts. My hands shook as I counted the zeros—was I seeing this right?

A dress worth 1.2 million dollars? My breath caught in my throat.

There I was, next to the man I thought I knew, feeling a surge of panic.

Yet, my mind snapped to clarity, recalling my own birthday this year.

He had given me 130-dollar clearance sneakers and looked so guilty.

This towering man, with tears in his eyes, clung to me, swearing someday I wouldn't have to worry about a thing.

Just two days earlier, he had said his mom was under the weather and he couldn't make it because of work. I had wired him 10 thousand dollars.

As he held me close, he called me the best wife anyone could ask for.

Ridiculous, isn't it?

Eric couldn't manage to finance a home for us or even his mom's medical bills, yet he could fork over six figures for a dress for his high school old flame.