After forty-three years of marriage, I thought I knew every corner of my husband Tom’s life. We had shared decades of routines, joys, and challenges. He worked as a school janitor, I sold clothes at the local department store, and together we built a home that was modest but warm—a place filled with laughter, small victories, and the quiet satisfaction that comes from years of honest work.
Our life had never been about wealth or extravagance. It was about steady days, shared meals, and supporting each other through everything from illnesses to family squabbles. I trusted him completely—or at least I thought I did.
Then, one afternoon, while sorting through the mail, I came across a bank receipt tucked between bills and advertisements. My eyes caught the figure: an $80,000 transfer from Tom’s account to a charity I had never heard of. My heart skipped. I stared at the paper, rereading the numbers over and over, trying to make sense of it.
Forty-three years together, and suddenly I realized I might not know him at all.