I had no idea how deep the betrayal ran until the moment I found out. For two years, my husband Luthan and I had been trying to get pregnant. Our lives had become a routine of tracking cycle days, hormone levels, and making sure our IVF fund grew steadily. We were determined. We cut back on everything—no vacations, no unnecessary expenses. I worked extra hours, and Luthan picked up overtime shifts. Every time we put money into the IVF account, we’d raise our mugs and toast to “One step closer to Baby.”
It was cheesy, yes, but it gave me hope. I cried the morning we h!t $18,000. It wasn’t just money; it was a dream, something tangible after so much heartache. We were closer than ever to starting our family. We were sacrificing everything for a chance at this dream, and I was ready to make it work.
Then, about three weeks ago, Luthan told me he had a conference out of town. “Just for a week,” he assured me. “It’ll go by quickly. And you can have some time for yourself while I’m gone.” I nodded, thinking nothing of it, just happy to get a break. He kissed me goodbye that morning, wearing a button-up shirt I hadn’t seen him wear in ages, and told me, “We’re so close, babe. Soon, we’ll have a little one running around.”
What I didn’t know was that those words would be the catalyst for everything that followed.
A few days before Luthan was set to return, I sat at the dining room table, sipping raspberry tea and preparing for the clinic consultation. I opened our joint bank account to check how much we had saved for the IVF procedure. The balance? $311.09.
I stared at the number, confused. I refreshed the page multiple times, thinking it was a mistake. But no, it was real.
I called the bank, heart pounding. The representative assured me it was no error. “Ma’am, these withdrawals have been authorized by a Luthan J. Your husband?”
It wasn’t a mistake. It was all planned. The realization h!t like a wave, and I was frozen.
The next few days were a blur. I went through the motions—work, emails, cooking—but everything felt hollow. I couldn’t shake the ache inside me. How had I not noticed? I thought I knew him, knew what we were building together. The IVF fund wasn’t just money. It was hope. It was our future.
When Luthan returned, he was tanned, relaxed, and clearly enjoying himself. He smiled and stretched as he put his suitcase down in the living room, acting like nothing was wrong. I wanted to scream, but instead, I smiled, a tight smile that didn’t reach my eyes.
“You’ve been so stressed lately,” I said, trying to keep my composure. “Maybe we should take a trip, just us, somewhere peaceful before the IVF.”
Luthan’s face lit up. “That sounds amazing, Teresa. You’re the best!”
“I know,” I said, almost sarcastically. “I think we really need it.”
Later that night, as he snored beside me, I lay awake, scrolling through social media. That’s when I saw the photos. Luthan, on a beach with his friends—beer, jet skis, the whole carefree scene. All of them were laughing, clearly enjoying themselves while I was here at home, keeping our dreams alive.
I felt rage building inside me. How could he do this? How could he betray me and steal from us like this?
The next morning, I woke him up early, much earlier than usual. “Let’s hike to the overlook,” I suggested, my voice firm.
He groaned but agreed, and we set off, leaving his phone behind. I told him to “disconnect” for once, and he didn’t argue.
The hike was steep and quiet. As we reached the overlook, Luthan dropped his bag and exhaled, taking in the view. “Wow, this is insane. Worth it.”
I didn’t respond right away. Instead, I stared out at the mist-covered valley below.
“Hey,” he said, walking toward me. “You good?”
“You know what’s funny?” I asked, my voice soft but firm.
“What?” he grinned.
“I always imagined us doing this together. Not just a hike, but starting our family. You holding my hand while we went through IVF. Whispering, ‘We’ve got this,’ while I cried in the clinic bathroom.”
Luthan’s grin faltered. He was beginning to sense the gravity of my words.
“But instead,” I continued, “I got a lie and a bank account with $300. You got a tan, a vacation, and some fun with your buddies.”
Luthan blinked. “Wait…”
“I saw the photos, Luthan. The ones your friend’s girlfriend posted. The beer, the jet skis. The beach!”
He tried to laugh it off, but it was weak, unconvincing. “Look, I—okay. It wasn’t a work thing. It was just a quick getaway with the guys. One last break before we got serious.”
“One last what?” I snapped. “One last break before we had this baby and the stress started? What baby, Luthan? You drained our IVF fund for a trip. How selfish can you be?”
He stepped back, eyes widening. “I didn’t steal—”
“You drained it, Luthan. All those months of sacrifices. I was working extra hours, cutting back on everything, and you blew it on jet skis and beer pong like a man-child!”
His mouth opened, but no words came out. He was speechless.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he muttered. “I thought I could make it up to you. I thought it wouldn’t matter once we had the baby.”
“Well, what do you think we’ll have a baby with, Luthan? You’ve ruined it all. I’m leaving,” I said, taking a step back.
He grabbed my arm. “Please, don’t do this. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I said, pulling away. “You did this. I’m just reacting. Finally.”
I hiked down alone. It took 90 minutes, but I didn’t care. I checked into the spa, ordered a cappuccino, and let the quiet surround me. When I returned that evening, I left a note for him.
“This is what betrayal feels like. Hope you enjoyed the view.”
Later that night, Luthan returned, dirty and silent. He looked like a man who had just lost everything.
“I can explain,” he said.
“Don’t bother,” I said, handing him a manila envelope. Inside was a notarized cancellation of our IVF paperwork, my termination notice for the apartment lease, and a copy of my new apartment agreement.
“You can keep the old place if you want, but you’ll pay for it. Just like you paid for that trip.”
He slumped onto the bed, hands over his face.
“I panicked,” he whispered. “I didn’t know if I was ready.”
“Well, we were supposed to talk about it, Luthan. But instead, you chose yourself.”
Luthan and I aren’t divorced yet, but the papers are ready.
I’m living in a quiet apartment now. The calendar is free from injections, appointments, and lies.
The only thing on the calendar I’m looking forward to? My first appointment with the adoption agency.
A few months later, Ilya, who had become a big part of my life, told me that he and his family wanted to help me with the children’s new lives. And it felt like finally, things were falling into place.
Sometimes, life offers you unexpected turns—and sometimes, those turns lead you to something better than you could have ever planned.
