One crisp fall afternoon, I finally decided to clean out the attic. For years, it had been a dumping ground for everything from old clothes to broken furniture. My husband, Jeff, had always said it was mostly junk anyway. He’d even mentioned more than once that his old high school jacket, buried in a pile of boxes, was trash that should be tossed.
So, as I worked my way through the clutter, I barely gave the jacket a second glance before tossing it onto the “dump” pile. It was faded, torn in places, and carried the musty smell of years in storage. To me, it was just another useless relic.
That evening, we sat down to dinner. The smell of roasted chicken filled the air, but Jeff seemed unusually quiet, barely touching his food. Hoping to spark some conversation, I casually mentioned, “I cleaned out the attic today. Threw away a bunch of old junk.”
The change in him was instant. His fork clattered onto his plate, his eyes went wide, and his voice rose sharply: “What junk?”
“Just boxes of old things,” I said, but his reaction had me unsettled.
Without another word, he pushed back from the table and stormed upstairs. I heard him rifling through boxes, muttering under his breath. Moments later, he came back down, fists clenched, eyes blazing.
“Where’s my old school jacket?” he demanded.
I shrugged. “I probably tossed it. It was with the dump pile.”
The color drained from his face. His voice shook with rage as he growled, “You threw it away? I told you to throw out the junk, not that jacket!”
I stared at him, stunned. “Jeff, you told me last year it was junk. You literally said it belonged in the dump!”
He let out a bitter laugh that sent chills through me. “Well, guess what? The day I married you was a curse.”
The words hit like a slap. Before I could even respond, he stormed out, snatched his car keys, and sped off.
Something in me said to follow him. I jumped in my car and trailed him across town, heart racing. When he pulled into the local dump, everything began to make sense. He was looking for that jacket. But why?
I watched as he frantically sifted through piles of trash, his hands filthy, his movements desperate. When I confronted him, he turned to me, pale and wild-eyed.
“Because, Stacy,” he snapped, “I was saving money. Fifty thousand dollars. In that jacket. It was for us—to buy a new house.”
Fifty thousand dollars? In a torn-up jacket? My mind reeled.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I asked.
“I didn’t think I had to!” he barked, going back to digging. “I was going to surprise you. Now it’s gone because of you!”
We never found the jacket that night. Hours later, he slumped in defeat, refusing to even look at me. We drove home in silence.
Back at the house, Jeff disappeared into the bedroom. But an hour later, I overheard him through the thin walls. His voice was low, hushed, but I could hear every word.
“I don’t have the money anymore. She threw it out with the jacket,” he hissed. Then came the dagger: “No, I wasn’t saving it for her. It was for us. For the house. For you and me.”
My blood went cold. Us? He wasn’t talking to me. He was talking to someone else.
I pushed open the door, rage boiling. “Who are you talking to, Jeff?”
He froze, phone still in hand, his face pale. “Stacy, I—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off. “Who were you going to buy a house with? Who?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. I already knew. He had been saving that money for another woman. His mistress.
“I’m filing for divorce,” I told him, my voice steady. “Everyone will know the truth. You called me useless to your mistress, Jeff, but you’re the one who destroyed this marriage.”
His face twisted with anger, but I didn’t give him the chance to respond. I walked out and didn’t look back.
A month later, after winning the house in the divorce, I returned to the attic to collect my sewing machine. As I shifted boxes, my hand brushed something soft. My breath caught as I pulled out the very jacket Jeff had lost his mind over.
I hadn’t thrown it away after all.
With trembling hands, I checked the inner pocket—and there it was. The fifty thousand dollars, neatly folded, exactly where he had hidden it.
This time, I said nothing. No confessions, no explanations. The money was mine now. Jeff had chosen lies and betrayal. I chose to move forward.
For once, the secret was mine to keep.