My Husband's Secret Scorecard He Fined Me but Spoiled His Mistress

My father had suffered a sudden heart attack.

The ICU cost over ten thousand dollars a day.

My personal savings burned through in three days.

I went to Brad for money. Our money. The money we'd saved together.

He opened the shared spreadsheet.

"Gay, take a look at your points for this quarter."

"-45."

"Per the rules, your access privileges are frozen."

I looked at him.

"That's my father's lifeline in there. Half of it came from my paychecks."

"Rules are rules." He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. "The moment we make an exception, the whole system falls apart."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"I'll lend it to you personally. You sign an IOU."

I thought he was joking.

But he pulled a blank loan agreement out of his briefcase.

"Even family keeps clean books. Interest at prime rate plus thirty percent. That's the lowest I can offer."

I stared at the contract.

Three years.

Three years of walking on eggshells, terrified of losing points.

And the payoff was this: my father lying in the ICU, and me having to pay interest to my own husband for money I'd helped save.

I picked up the glass of water in front of me and took a sip.

My phone buzzed.

A WhatsApp message from Aria Wells, my best friend.

"Gay, has your husband's firm got an intern named Mary Pruitt? Have you seen her Instagram?"

Aria and I worked at the same company. She had a cousin who worked the front desk at Brad's firm.

She'd warned me before.

"The way that Mary girl looks at your husband isn't right. Keep your eyes open."

I hadn't taken it seriously.

Brad was the kind of man who docked me five points for squeezing the toothpaste from the middle. How would he have the bandwidth for an affair?

I tapped on the screenshot Aria sent.

It was that three-hundred-thousand-dollar post.

"Made a work mistake that cost $300K. Thank God Mr. Mason covered the whole thing for me. My poor little wallet is bleeding! "

Attached was a partial photo of a transfer receipt.

The account holder's name was blurred out.

But I recognized the bank logo in the upper right corner.

Chase.

The same bank where our family fund was held.

I sat on the hospital bench.

Zoomed in on the screenshot.

Three hundred thousand dollars.

Brad always said he was a man of ironclad principles.

At the firm, when an intern made a mistake, they usually bore the consequences themselves, or the partners deducted it proportionally from bonuses.

A three-hundred-thousand-dollar hole.

He'd covered every cent.

Hadn't even mentioned an IOU.

My poor little wallet is bleeding?

Whose wallet, exactly?

I drew a long breath.

Then I called Brad.

"I've written up the IOU. Sent it to your email."

"Let me check." The sound of typing carried through from his end. "Mm, format looks fine. Sign it, take a photo, send it over. Bring the original home tonight."

"When will the money come through?"

"Within half an hour."

"Fine."

I hung up and borrowed a pen and paper from the nurses' station.

Following the template he'd sent, I wrote the IOU out by hand.

"I, Gay Fox, due to urgent medical expenses for my father's treatment, hereby borrow the sum of $100,000 from Brad Mason..."

The last line.

"Interest calculated at an annualized rate of 5.2%, payable on the 15th of each month."

I signed my name.

Pressed my thumbprint into the paper.

Took a photo. Hit send.

Twenty minutes later, my personal account received a transfer of one hundred thousand dollars.

Sender: Brad Mason.

I went straight to the payment window and handed over every cent.

The nurse said, "Payment's cleared. Medication won't stop. Don't worry."

"Thank you."

I took the receipt and sat down in the hallway.

Then I opened my chat with Aria.

"Aria, can your cousin get me the details on that Mary Pruitt situation?"