My Cheapskate Husband Gave His Mother and His Ex a $10K Beach Vacation—But He Didn’t See What Was Coming Next

My spouse never stated we were broke—he just treated me poorly. I discovered a $10,000 receipt for a beach holiday scheduled for his mother and ex.

I rarely count my daily sighs. I reached number five by 6 p.m. that night.

The kitchen smelled like dry-erase marker. After grading 28 student journals, I was exhausted and full of spelling errors.

Overdue utility bill flashed on my phone on the table.

Ryan’s excited voice came from the living room while the kettle shrieked and the soup boiled on the stove:

“Babe! Check out the new Tesla. Zero to 60 in 3.1 seconds! Basically a rocket ship! ”

I didn’t look up. Just gazed at the bill and mumbled, “Will we have electricity to boil water tomorrow? Their danger is to cut it off.”

Ryan was unfazed. He watched over his empire from the recliner, slouching.

“Just pay it,” he called sloppily. “You’re better at that stuff.”

So I paid. Again. Like I bought water. And the new washer. And the massive smart TV he watched driving videos on.

Something fell from Ryan’s coat pocket as I changed into my old pajamas in the bedroom. The receipt.

Paper receipts—rare today.

I bent to get it.

$10,234.
Luxurious Beach Resort. Two guests. Fourteen nights.

I froze. My cheapskate husband—who once fought about avocado prices—had just spent almost $10,000?

Ryan munched popcorn while muttering about torque and acceleration.

“Ryan? Walking toward him, I waved the receipt.

He looked up. “Hm? ”

What’s this? ”

He didn’t blink. Yeah, that. A trip. For Mom. And her friend. A present. She’s never been to sea.”

Waiting for a wink. One laugh. Something.

Nothing.

He said, “She’s turning seventy. I felt she deserved something nice.”

“You didn’t even buy me flowers on my birthday,” I remarked stiffly. I said they’d wilt.

“They do. Mom deserves this. You know her struggles parenting me alone.”

“And I? This marriage has been my whole responsibility for two years. Paying bills. Internet coverage. Even your phone bill—your ‘plan is outdated.’”

Shrugging. Ellie, you’re strong. You’re capable. Her mother is fragile.

Ringing in my ears. Despite his comments, my mind had already registered three others:

Two guests. Luxury. 10,000.

Mom, whose “friend”?

I entered the bathroom. I didn’t weep. I sat on the tub edge staring at the tiles. I wanted to stop arguing. I needed clarification.

Every little detail. Including the cocktail umbrella.

I didn’t spy. Not initially.

That afternoon, I checked Facebook to see if the summer camp had responded to my scholarship request.

My twenty-two-person class had only three financed slots. I had to decide who should go.

How can you choose between a kid who shares shoes with his brother and a girl who eats crackers for lunch because her grandma can’t afford them?

I wrote letters. Made calls. I tagged every sponsor I could find online.

Just polite rejections.

Mrs. Klein entered the teachers’ lounge with her forehead held like a Hamlet audition, and I struggled to breathe.

Can Ellie cover my reading class? Emergency migraine and dinner plans.”

Again with your nail tech? ”

It wasn’t denied. Naturally, I agreed. Because I wanted our kids to read.

I didn’t scroll seeking drama. But the cosmos likes a good punchline.

After checking my alerts, I clicked “Mentions” on Facebook.

There it was.

Lora.

Ryan’s ex.

Same woman with a surgically polished smile and drywall-cutting nails.

Her narrative blinking at the top of my screen felt alarming.

I tapped.

Two sunbeds. One umbrella.

Mother-in-law dancing on the shore, exuberant as an adolescent. Lora near her. Both in similar white clothes, hair loose, skin shining.

The caption?

“Girls trip with my almost mother-in-law  #blessed #familygoals”

I blinked. Played again. Maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe it wasn’t Lora.

Next slide.

Clink.

Beach picnic. Champagne glasses.

“Thank you, Ryan ” was written below.

My stomach sank. Standing up quickly, my chair scraped across the floor.

Amy, my coworker, looked up. You okay? ”

“Yeah,” I lied. “Just fresh air.”

I rewatched the narrative in the hallway.

Maybe he didn’t know? Maybe his mom invited her?

No. He knew.

He picked her for that extravagant vacation. Same guy who called my haircuts “optional expenses.”

My knees shook—not from sadness, but anger. Years ago, I believed I was overreacting. Too sensitive.

Guess what, Ryan? You’ve yet to witness drama.

I didn’t search for proof. Not really.

But that night, my thoughts kept talking.

Maybe it’s not as it appears.

I heard the shower.

Running. Doors locked. And Ryan’s phone? There with him.

He never showers with his phone.

“Really? I mumbled. Are you sixteen hiding snacks? ”

Snooping wasn’t my goal. But his laptop was nearby. Open. Waiting.

I froze. Don’t. Not you. Your not a spy.

But I whispered, “Just show me I’m not crazy.”

I opened it.

Messages. From “MOM.”

The weather is great. Already blazing Lora. Royal treatment. Can’t believe you succeeded.
How long will you pretend with that woman? She burdens you. You deserve more. We miss you! XOXO”

And Ryan?

My two favorite girls. Enjoy every moment. I’ll arrive soon.”

The end. No hiding. Not guilty. Entitlement.

My fave two females.

I could have screamed. Broken item. Demanded answers.

But why? To dispute with a man who dropped me from his story?

I fought for scraps. For space. He was now writing his mother and ex love letters.

I didn’t weep. I grinned.

If Ryan could spend $10,000 on an ex, maybe I should give him what he wants.

An ex.

I might get anything too.

A week later, the school van drove down a dusty woodland road with open windows, letting fresh summer air in like freedom.

In the rearview mirror, 22 excited, juice-sticky faces were pressing against the glass.

Everyone in class. Every single one.

Nobody behind this time.

I paid for the bus, camp, sleeping bags, and matching shirts.

They read:

Team Room 12—We Won! ”

Ten thousand dollars goes far when spent on actual things. There was enough for a lawyer.

I changed the locks the night before leaving. Installed security. Set motion alerts.

Ryan went to work expecting to return to the same house, woman, and invisible maid who paid his bills as he texted his ex.

Poor guy.

He didn’t realize his things was packed. A designer yard sale-style porch had color-coded waste bags.

Like two smug ex-lovers, his golf clubs rested against the fence. His beloved electric toothbrush was politely waiting by the doormat.

My last communication was above all:

Dear Ryan,
Have fun with your favorite gals.
Bring sunscreen—you don’t want to burn before the hearing.
See you in court. XOXO Ellie

I wanted to see his face. Not necessary.

Because then, the trees opened and the youngsters squealed at the glittering lake ahead.

Peace surrounded me like a soft blanket.

I acted correctly.

For them.

Finally, for me.

Hi Miss Ellie! Is this zipline camp?! ”

“Yup! Also the ice cream maker.”

The van burst in joy. My hair was blowing as I squeezed the gas harder.

First time in a while, I wasn’t left behind.