Frugal Husband's Secret Identity

He said it was his first love, and so was I—I thought I'd struck gold, bypassing all the heartache, but I had no clue...

Given his rough upbringing and rural background, my parents were initially against it after scraping to get me through college.

But I stood by him, convinced that with enough elbow grease, we'd bake our bread eventually.

My folks finally caved, handed me the family records, and we skipped a wedding to save cash.

Three years on, I discovered he wasn't cash-strapped; he was just pinching pennies when it came to me.

I went home, packed up his stuff, dumped it outside, and changed the locks.

He didn't show up until six AM, knocking, pleading for forgiveness.

Not wanting to wake the neighbors, I let him in.

He has changed into the same cheap suit he wore when we got our marriage license, still hanging on after three years.

What a stark contrast to the dapper man at the bar.

I couldn't help but laugh—how tiring it must be, playing so many parts.

His face brightened, thinking I was over my anger.

"Mia, I nailed a huge deal last night! I've been promoted—I'm a manager now! We can finally afford our own place!"

He was holding a bouquet of red roses, all excited about his triumph, convinced we were on the brink of securing our dream home.

I stepped back, suddenly realizing the years of effort were just a farce.

"Let's get a divorce."

I spoke the words coldly, bluntly.

His smile froze, etched onto his face.

We'd clashed before, but I'd never mentioned splitting up.

I had intended to be with him for a lifetime.