Kate gives up everything to aid her husband when he informs her that his mother is seriously ill. However, the story she believed to be true is revealed by a neighbor’s casual comment. As secrets are revealed and allegiances are shattered, Kate discovers that the person sleeping next to you frequently betrays you the most.
My name is Kate. I believed I had established a good life for myself at the age of 35. I once believed that cheating was the worst thing a husband could do. That was prior to Ethan tricking me into thinking his mother was dying so he could take everything I owned.
Four years ago, when I married Ethan, I thought I had at last discovered something stable and trustworthy.
Our days flowed in a carefree rhythm: calm nighttime strolls along neighborhoods lined with trees, inside jokes whispered over burnt toast, and leisurely weekend mornings spent eating pancakes and listening to jazz on the radio.
When a nice song started playing, he would spin me around the kitchen while I acted like I was reprimanding him for stepping on my toes. His laughter would reverberate off the tile.
Although it wasn’t glitzy, it belonged to us.
It was comfortable and secure, the kind of life you gradually construct with the conviction that everything will eventually lead to a stable destination.
And I really thought it was for a long time.
Gail, my mother-in-law, was never really present; she was always more of a shadow. She flew in for a brief visit after our wedding, and the following year, during a hurried holiday layover, I had my first encounter with her.
She often complimented the small things, like my earrings or the flowers on our kitchen table, and was kind, courteous, and soft-spoken. However, she exuded a feeling of coldness and detachment. She seemed to be keeping something back, even when she smiled, as if her warmth had a limit and we weren’t supposed to come too close.
Ethan once informed me, “Mom really values her privacy, honey,” in response to my question about whether mom ever called or FaceTimed. “She’s sweet and kind, but she’s… guarded.”
That response became her last word. Of course I did accept. Every relationship was different, and families were complex.
I refrained from pushing.
Then, around a year ago, I was still at work when Ethan called me one afternoon. Even before he articulated what was happening, I could sense that something was amiss. The mere mention of my name caused his voice to break.
“Kate… Mom went for her check-up at the doctor. Her test results came back… they’re looking bad,” he stated. “The doctors say it’s cancer. Early stages, but aggressive nonetheless. She needs to start treatment right away.”
My heart began to race as I sat up more erect at my desk. “Oh my goodness, Ethan,” I uttered as I gently exhaled. “Are you with her? Is she okay? What treatment do the doctors recommend?”
He said, “Chemotherapy, babe,” without missing a beat. “The doctor wants to be aggressive with her treatment. He is hopeful, of course. But… Kate?”
“Yes?” I inquired.
“Babe, it’s going to be… expensive. I don’t know how we’re going to handle everything. From the travel costs to the actual treatment… Kate, I just — I can’t lose her.”
It was like a kick to the gut to hear Ethan speaking in such a tight and tremulous voice. Between us, he was always the reliable one. In the midst of mayhem, he was the quiet. It was the first time I had ever heard him cry.
I said in a shaky voice, “You’re not going to lose your mom. We’ll figure it out, Ethan. I promise. We’ll do whatever it takes.”
He looked completely destroyed when he got home that evening. His face was pale, his eyes were crimson, and he hardly touched his spaghetti plate.
He whispered, “They’re starting chemo next week. The doctor doesn’t want to lose any time. And Mom… she’s scared, Kate. I’m scared, too.”
I put my head on his shoulder and put my arms around him. “Then we’ll be scared together. She’s going to beat this, honey. I told you, I won’t stop until we’ve done everything we can. We’re going to help her through this,” I answered, attempting to sound as confident as I could.
It became our joint mission from then on. Our lives were encircled by Gail’s disease. Ethan would get home late, appear hollow and aloof, and text me updates from hospital waiting rooms after rushing off to appointments. I did everything I could to assist him in carrying it.
I gave Ethan my funds. I started working as a freelancer, assisting small businesses with their websites. Weekends, migraines, and even Christmas were all things I worked through. We postponed roof repairs, canceled our vacation, and I even sold my grandmother’s exquisite gold snowflake necklace, which I had vowed never to part with.
Since this was ultimately not about money, I gave everything over without protesting each and every time Ethan asked for assistance. This has to do with survival, love, and family.
My husband once whispered to me, his forehead against mine, “You’re saving my mom’s life,” his voice raspy with grief. “You have no idea what this means, Kate.”
I gave Ethan $113,000 by the end of that year. Not all of it happened at once. One thousand dollars here, three thousand there—month after month until the sum was astounding.
How could I ask for proof? I never did. When he informed me that there would be another therapy, scan, or round of drugs, I never questioned a receipt or paused. Because to me, that’s what marriage really meant: making sacrifices together, sticking with each other through difficult times, and supporting those we love.
But one calm Saturday morning, everything started to fall apart.
I was balancing two bulky paper bags after returning from the grocery shop when I noticed Mrs. Parker, our neighbor, outdoors. She had on her typical weekend attire, complete with floral gardening gloves, a wide-brimmed sunhat, and a little pair of shears that she was using to delicately cut her roses.
She put down her shears and yelled, “Kate, sweetheart. You look exhausted. Is everything alright over there?”
I shifted one of the bags on my hip and hesitated. “It’s been a difficult year, Mrs. P,” I acknowledged candidly. “Ethan’s mom has been really sick. Between the cancer, the chemo — it’s taken a toll. On Gail and on us.”
She whispered, “Oh, Gail,” her smile melting in worry. “That’s terrible, sweetheart. I didn’t even know! I hadn’t heard anything about Gail being ill.”
“You know how… private she is,” I said. “But she’s been so brave. And Ethan’s been taking her to appointments, and staying by her side through it all.”
With furrowed brows, Mrs. Parker questioned, “Appointments? Here? Are you sure?”
I replied, “Yes, of course. Where else would they be? They do go out of town sometimes to see a specialist, but everything else is here.”
The elderly woman gave me a close look as though she was attempting to determine whether or not I was telling the truth. “Kate, my dear… More than ten years ago, Gail relocated to Arizona. She used to teach my niece to play the piano before she left, so I recall. She informed me that her joints required the dry air. She’s a beautiful woman. However, I haven’t really seen her since.”
Ethan had been seeing her almost every week, so I remarked, “Wait, that can’t be right,” as I looked at her in confusion. She needed help, he said. and that she felt afraid. Gail has lived a town away for as long as I’ve been married, but she hasn’t wanted to get in touch. I don’t understand—” Before I could continue the phrase, my voice broke.
“Are you certain he wasn’t referring to another person? Like an aunt or someone?” she asked, stroking my arm.
“No,” I muttered, feeling sick to my stomach, “Ethan claimed it was his mother. She was here, he said.”
Suddenly, something changed within me, a cold, taut knot that started at the base of my spine and steadily worked its way up. I walked back to the home after saying a brief goodbye, but my hands were shaking so much that I almost dropped the groceries.
There was something wrong, and the more I considered it, the more convinced I felt that it was something very wrong.
During supper that evening, I took a close look at Ethan, who appeared exhausted, but not in the sense of someone who had been sitting in a hospital chair for hours watching IV lines run into his mother’s veins. It was a surface-level tiredness, the kind that comes from acting, not the kind of exhaustion that eats away at your bones. How is your mother doing today?I pushed my salad about my plate and asked him, “Did the treatment wear her out again?” He stabbed a chunk of steak and muttered, “Yeah,” “It was a difficult day. She is battling, though. Though my chest felt constricted, I whispered, “She’s lucky to have you,” adding, “But I told you, if you need me to tag-team and spend some time with her, just let me know.” He answered, “Thanks, Kate,” without even raising his gaze from his meal, “but she’s private.” She would detest that. In all honesty, I had never spent enough time with Gail to get to know her well, even though I had met her before, so I didn’t want to intrude when Ethan mentioned that his mother preferred to be left alone. I thus didn’t know her well enough to remember every detail, even though I could remember the soft tilt of her smile and the way she had praised my attire during the wedding. It was simpler for him to blur the borders because, looking back, I realized how little I actually knew about her. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I would recognize her if I saw her across a parking lot, and that distance had made me vulnerable. Even now, when she was receiving chemotherapy, “Gail” always chose to go during my work hours, and because I worked on the weekends, I hadn’t been as present as I should have been. I reasoned that it didn’t really matter that I was there because I was paying the bills. I realized now how mistaken I was.
When Ethan stated he was taking his mother to another appointment two days later, I grinned, told him I had some meetings to attend, waited until he was gone, then picked up my keys and followed. He chose not to visit the hospital. I parked far enough away to preserve my distance, my palms sweaty on the steering wheel, my heart racing in my ears, and instead he pulled into a little medical facility across town. A few minutes later, a woman who appeared to be in her late forties, about Gail’s age, leaned heavily on Ethan’s arm and walked with an exaggerated limp. She had a scarf knotted tightly over her head. A wave of comfort passed over me for a while; perhaps this was Gail, perhaps Mrs. Parker had been mistaken, and everything I had been afraid of was psychosis. Ethan leaned down and muttered something, and the woman nodded too quickly, like a nervous actress waiting for her line, but then I saw how her eyes darted around, as if she was looking for signs. I gripped the driving wheel and sat still. They went back to the car shortly after, but this time there were no medical records, no nurse escort, no proof of treatment—just Ethan, speaking so softly that I could only make out a sliver of what he was saying. “You performed admirably. Next week, at the same time?”He inquired. With a flimsy smile, the woman gave him a folded envelope and turned to leave. The bottom fell out of my universe in that instant. There was no cancer, that woman wasn’t Gail, and it had never been true.
My heart thumping in my ears, I snuck out of bed and into my husband’s office that night, not confronting him, but smiling, kissing him goodnight, and waiting until his breathing steadied beside me. I had never snooped through Ethan’s belongings before, but now I felt as though my entire existence depended on it. His laptop was half-closed on the desk, and I lifted it, pausing for a second before opening it completely, my palms moist with sweat. He didn’t think I would have to look. I discovered it in a folder called “Finances,” along with documents titled “House.” The paperwork included interior mock-ups and mortgage pre-approvals, and there, beside Ethan’s name, was the co-applicant: Jenna M. I felt sick to my stomach. “Who is that, anyway?”To myself, I whispered. Desperate for insight, I searched even farther and discovered the emails, which at first glance appeared to be straightforward logistics: quotations for landscaping, furniture deliveries, and even a quote for installing a hot tub. The emails that caused bile to rise in my throat were then discovered by chance. “Kate has no suspicions. Haha. “The money is flowing in consistently. Soon, we’ll be covered. “We will soon own the house and be able to fulfill our goal!” After a while, I snapped the laptop shut and stood motionless in the dark office, my legs wobbly, my breath shallow, my hands shaking so badly that I almost erased all the emails. Somehow, I managed to get back to bed, resting next to a man who had been planning my humiliation for more than a year.
I forced myself into my routine the following morning, making coffee, scrambling eggs, toasting bread, each action feeling robotic, as if I were playing a part in a life that was no longer mine. Ethan entered, yawning, extending his arms above his head, and without realizing it, he bent down to plant a kiss on my cheek. “Wow,” he grinned, “What’s the event?” I said quietly, moving his dish across the table, “I just thought we could start the day together,” as it had been a long time. I am aware of how preoccupied you have been with your mother. I pushed the pile of papers across the table toward him as he sat humming and reached for his fork while pouring his coffee. “Ethan,” I continued, “but before you eat, why don’t you look at these?” His grin wavered as he looked over the papers: the mortgage forms, the emails, the picture of Jenna outside a model house. His bewilderment quickly became to fear, and then to rage. “Kate, what the devil is this?”He insisted. I stated, “The house is the truth, plain and simple.” The mistress. The woman posing as your mother, who is dying. Additionally, you are aware of… the ways in which the money I gave you was being used to save your mother’s life.” “You looked through my belongings?”You had no damn right!” he yelled, smashing his fist so forcefully against the table that the dishes trembled.” I shot back, “I had every right,” because you had deceived me. You came up with a method to exhaust me. You were also aware that I would never doubt your mother’s well-being. Ethan, you’re a sick man.” “Oh, hurry up. It’s the same routine every day, Kate,” he sneered, his voice brimming with disdain. “You’re not exactly fascinating.” The dreary life remains the same. Did you think I was going to use this to create a future?” “If I was… Why not leave if I was that bad?”I inquired quietly. “Because of your usefulness!”You made it easy and gave without asking,” he cried. At the end of the day, you wanted to be the hero. In fact, you didn’t even request to see the ailing woman.
My heart had already been broken in more subdued ways during the preceding year, so something inside of me became still. Now, all that was left was clarity. Simply, “Get out, Ethan,” I said. He stood up and screamed, “You’ll regret this,” with a flash of rage in his eyes. “No. However, you will,” I said. I immediately closed the kitchen door after him, putting an end to all I believed to be true. The dream home he’d dangled in front of his mistress disappeared, the mortgage application was flagged for discrepancies, and Ethan’s new life fell apart piece by piece in the months that followed without my money to support him. She left without turning around as she came to the realization that the future she had been promised was a lie. When I last heard from him, Ethan was attempting to borrow money from anyone who was still returning his calls while lodging at a dilapidated motel on the outskirts of town. He had changed from a man constructing a future to the sort of person people crossed the street to avoid, and even his colleagues stopped taking him seriously.
And me? I made a new beginning, closed the joint accounts, filed for divorce, and took back my house. The silence in the house is now mine, free from lies. The knock came on a calm Sunday morning, and as I opened the door, I saw a small, silver-haired woman standing there with a tentative yet proud stance. “Kate?”My name is Gail,” she said quietly. Mrs. Parker, your neighbor, located me in Arizona and informed me of the incident. She didn’t resemble the frail, scarf-wrapped figure Ethan had paraded through that parking lot, having who-knows-what with a lady posing as his dying mother, and for a moment I was speechless. She went on to say, “I’ve been living there for more than ten years. I disconnected Ethan from all of my accounts when I moved.” He constantly wanted more money and spent it carelessly. It’s been years since I heard from him. I was completely unaware of his marital status. Before he died, Ethan’s father bequeathed him this mansion, so I assumed… From here, I would relocate. I would also avoid him and his harmful behavior. With tears in my eyes, I continued, “He gave me the impression that you were dying and didn’t want anything to do with me.” Gail, I gave him everything.
Remorse dampened her expression. “Honey, I can pay back what he stole, but I can’t take back the suffering he caused. And I want to know you, if you don’t mind. She smiled and continued, “Mrs. Parker sang your praises.” I felt a knot in my stomach finally come loose. I said, “I’d like that,” When Gail and I sat at the kitchen table thirty minutes later, enjoying tea and freshly made scones, I realized that an honest relationship was about to begin.
