When my husband insisted I take out a $15,000 loan for his mother, he assured me she’d pay it back within a month. But weeks later, my mother-in-law claimed she never borrowed anything. Now I’m left with the debt—and uncovering the truth is only beginning.
Some marriages look flawless from the outside—like those Instagram-perfect couples who post romantic beach photos and gushy anniversary messages that make you second-guess your own relationship.
But often, that polished exterior hides a far messier reality.
I should know. Mine did.
Andrew and I had been married for 16 years. We had a bright, athletic 14-year-old daughter.
We lived in a lovely home in a good neighborhood—check.
We had a functioning marriage, though it lacked warmth—also check.
It looked ideal from the outside, but behind closed doors, I knew I’d always come second to Andrew’s mother.
Let me give you a glimpse.
Andrew treated his mom, Susan, like royalty. Her birthday was practically a national holiday to him. He’d shower her with jewelry and send extravagant floral arrangements—think peonies in a crystal vase, not grocery store carnations.
They’d talk on the phone for hours in conversations that sounded more like heartfelt letters than casual chats between a mother and son.
Meanwhile, on my birthday? A quick “Happy Birthday,” a cup of coffee, and maybe a kiss on the cheek—if he remembered at all. Most years, I reminded him after the day had passed.
It hurt. I knew it wasn’t okay. But it didn’t feel like grounds for divorce either. I didn’t want to shake my daughter’s world just because my husband was permanently tethered to his mom.
So I kept quiet. I focused on my daughter. I played the part of the supportive wife.
That worked—until one night, Andrew came home with that look.
You know the one. The look that says, “I’m about to ask for something big, and you’re not going to like it.”
He paced around the kitchen like a cornered animal—tugging at his hair, glued to his phone, not looking me in the eye.
I just kept loading the dishwasher, waiting for the reveal.
Finally, he stopped and looked at me. “Honey, I need you to take out a loan.”
I blinked. “What for?”
“My mom needs $15,000.”
I nearly dropped the plate in my hand. “Fifteen thousand? Why does she need that kind of money?”
He hesitated, chewing his lip. Then he hit me with, “Don’t worry about it.”
Those four words stung more than any explanation could have. Like I was a child who didn’t deserve the full story.
I turned back to the dishwasher. “Why can’t you take out the loan?”
“Because I work at a bank. If it shows up on my credit record, it could mess with my job.”