Frugal Husband's Secret Identity

He nervously touched his nose and muttered under his breath.

"Seeing things?"

"Eric, look what she did to the dress you got me!" The girl clung to his arm, sitting close.

"Forget it, it's just a dress."

He dismissed it carelessly.

But Mandy wasn't having it, insisting I pay for the damage.

"But it was a gift from you..."

Eric, annoyed, gestured dismissively again. "I'll just buy you another one," which finally silenced her.

My heart ached—yeah, just a dress.

A dress that could have bought a condo in Covelle, instead of us cramming into that tiny 320-square-foot rental for years.

No more rushing to find a new place whenever the landlord decided to sell or raise the rent, scattering like lost souls across the city.

Last year, when the rent spiked, he was away, and I scrimped to save a grand a month, moving in a downpour while sick with a fever.

I kept it to myself to spare him the worry, and when he returned, he just wrapped me in his arms, guilt-ridden, murmuring, "Honey, you've worked so hard."

At that moment, I believed our hearts were enough to carry us through.

Together, we'd make it—eventually, there'd be bread on the table.

That stormy night, I ran to a bike-share, soaked to the bone, suddenly realizing I no longer needed to struggle alongside him for a home.

The rain washed over my face, pulling me back to three years ago.

That day, also stormy, was rough at work—boss on my case, colleagues scheming, and I'd lost a major project.

Dazed on the street, I nearly didn't see the car coming.

He yanked me back just in time, and when I turned, there was his handsome face, calming me with his gentle tone. I fell for him right then.

We hit it off, and in no time, we rushed into marriage.