My husband promised to save $3,000 monthly toward our future, but last night, I discovered he hadn’t saved a penny. What hurt most wasn’t just the empty accounts, but the realization that our dreams were suddenly on hold.
I stared at the laptop screen, the numbers refusing to add up no matter how many times I checked.
How could someone who worked in finance be so careless with our future? I thought. More importantly, how had I missed this for so long?
Paul and I have been married for two years now, and until yesterday, I would have said our lives were great. We’re financially stable, definitely in the upper-middle-class bracket, with good jobs and a beautiful home in a neighborhood we love.
Paul works as a financial analyst at a respected firm downtown, and I run my own marketing consultancy which I started 18 months ago after leaving my corporate job.
The business has been thriving, exceeding even my ambitious projections.
“I’m so proud of you, Em,” Paul had said when I landed my third major client. “You took the leap while everyone else was playing it safe. That’s why I married you.”
That’s one thing I’ve always cherished about Paul. His unwavering support.
Whatever crazy idea I’ve had, he’s always been my cheerleader. I consider that a true blessing in our marriage.
Money has never been an issue for us, at least, not in the way it is for many couples. From the beginning of our relationship, we committed to saving 30% of our paychecks.
Back then, we were saving for our wedding and our first home together. After achieving both those milestones, we agreed to reduce our savings to 20%.
“Twenty percent is still substantial,” I remember telling Paul over dinner the night we made the decision. “And it gives us more breathing room for enjoying life now.”
“Agreed,” he said, raising his glass. “To building our future while living in the present.”
That 20% savings was earmarked specifically for our emergency fund and for the expenses we knew would come with starting a family. We weren’t ready for kids yet, but we both wanted to be prepared financially when the time came.
I’ve stuck religiously to that commitment.
When Paul wanted to enroll in an executive certification program to boost his career, I covered the $12,000 tuition fee upfront so he wouldn’t have to take out a loan.
When his younger sister got engaged and he insisted on contributing to her wedding expenses, I gave him $5,000 from my savings to help.
Despite these major expenses, I’ve continued saving faithfully and maintained a solid emergency fund.
My business isn’t without risk, and that emergency fund helps me sleep at night. I’ve always assumed Paul was equally committed to our financial goals. He certainly appeared like he was.
Whenever we discussed things like renovating the kitchen, taking that trip to Japan, and eventually having a baby, he was enthusiastic about the plans and never once indicated there might be a problem with our savings strategy.
It wasn’t until the day I was sitting with my laptop on our bed that I discovered the truth that turned my world upside down.
“Hey, babe,” I called over to Paul, who was scrolling through his phone beside me. “I’m just going through our monthly finances. How much did you manage to put into our savings this month?”
He glanced up, his expression suddenly guarded. “Umm, about that…”
Something in his tone made me look up from my spreadsheet. “What do you mean, ‘about that’?”
Paul set his phone down. “I… uhhh, I didn’t actually put anything into our savings this month.”
“Oh,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. “That’s okay. Things happen. What about last month?”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Not last month either.”
“Okay… when was the last time you contributed to our savings?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Paul?” My voice sharpened. “When was the last time you saved anything?”
“I haven’t been able to save much lately,” he finally admitted. “Actually, I haven’t saved anything since… well, since we bought the house.”
The house. We’d been living there for nearly 18 months.
“Are you serious?” I closed my laptop and turned to face him fully. “We agreed on twenty percent. That was our plan.”
“I know, Em, but the credit card bills have been killing me.”
“Credit card bills?” This was news to me. “What credit card bills?”
Paul shrugged, still not meeting my eyes. “Just… stuff. Work lunches, some clothes, that weekend with the guys in Vegas.”
“Vegas?” My voice rose. “You told me that trip only cost you $800!”
“The flights and hotel were $800. Then there were the restaurants, the shows, the…” He trailed off.
I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Paul, based on your income, after all our joint expenses, you should have at least $3,000 leftover every month. Where is all that money going?”
He fidgeted with the edge of the comforter. “I don’t know. It just… disappears.”
“Money doesn’t just disappear.” I opened my laptop again. “Show me your statements.”
“Emily, come on—”
“Show me your statements, Paul.”
Reluctantly, he logged into his banking app and handed me his phone.
With each swipe of my finger, my anger grew. There was nothing that suggested cheating or gambling, thank God, but what I found was almost as bad. Hundreds spent at high-end restaurants I’d never heard of, shopping sprees at designer stores, tech gadgets we didn’t need, and inexplicable cash withdrawals.
“We talked about this almost a year ago,” I said. “You promised me you’d stick to the plan. You promised.”
“I tried, Em, I really did.”
“This isn’t just breaking our agreement,” I said, fighting back tears. “You’ve actually dipped into our savings account. Your personal savings account is completely empty.”
Paul reached for my hand, but I pulled away. “I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll cut back.”
“I can’t believe this,” I stood up, needing space. “All this time, I thought we were building something together.”
I paced our bedroom, trying to process what this meant for us.
“Do you realize what this means?” I finally asked, turning to face him. “We can’t have a baby anytime soon.”
Paul’s face fell. “What? Why not?”
“Because we have almost no savings, Paul! Do you have any idea how expensive having a child is? The medical bills alone would wipe us out, not to mention all the gear, the childcare costs—”
“We make good money,” he interrupted. “We can figure it out.”
“Figure it out? Like you’ve ‘figured out’ your savings?” My voice was louder than I intended. “And it’s not just the baby. We can forget about moving to a better school district in a couple of years too.”
“Em, calm down. You’re overreacting.”
The words “calm down” only fueled my anger. “Don’t tell me to calm down! This isn’t some small mistake. This is our future you’ve been gambling with!”
“I’m not gambling! I’ve just been… enjoying life a little.”
“While I’ve been sacrificing and saving for both of us!” I shot back. “Do you know how many times I’ve skipped buying things I wanted because I was thinking about our goals?”
Paul stood up and approached me. “Look, I know I messed up. But we can fix this. I’ll put half my bonus into savings this year.”
“Your bonus? The one we agreed would go toward your student loans? The loans with the twelve percent interest rate?”
“We’ll adjust the plan,” he said, as if it were that simple. “I’ll cut back on expenses, I promise.”
“Your promises don’t mean much right now.” I wiped away an angry tear. “I don’t understand why you went behind my back like this. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Or did you just not care?”
“Of course, I care! I just… got carried away.”
“For 18 months? That’s not ‘carried away,’ Paul. That’s a lifestyle choice you made without consulting me.”
“What do you want me to say?” he sounded annoyed. “I messed up! I’m sorry!”
“Sorry doesn’t rebuild our savings account.” I sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. “I don’t even know who you are right now. The Paul I thought I married would never be this reckless, this… selfish.”
“I’m still me,” he said softly. “I just made some mistakes.”
I looked up at him, and for the first time since we’d met, I wasn’t sure if I could trust him.
“This isn’t just about money,” I said. “It’s about honesty. It’s about respect. You made a decision that affects both of us without talking to me. How am I supposed to trust you with bigger decisions if I can’t trust you with this?”
“Emily, please. We can work through this.”
I shook my head.
“I don’t know if we can. I really don’t.” I stood up and grabbed my pillow. “I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight. I need space to think.”
“Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “Let’s talk it out.”
“We’ve talked enough for tonight.” At the door, I turned back to look at him. “I thought we were partners, Paul. But partners don’t lie to each other for over a year and a half.”
As I closed the door behind me, I felt like a weight had settled on my shoulders. I’d lost more than our savings tonight. I’d lost my faith in the man I married.
I didn’t just feel disappointed. I felt utterly disrespected and betrayed.
Would taking some time apart help clear my head? Could trust even be rebuilt after a deception this significant? I honestly don’t know how to move forward from here, or if I even want to try.
Did I make the right decision by walking away tonight, or should I have stayed and worked it out immediately? How would you handle a partner who completely undermined your financial future?