After finally earning a long-overdue promotion in healthcare, I expected my husband to be proud. Instead, he demanded I use my new salary to pay his child support! For a daughter he barely sees. I thought that was the low point… until I found out what he did behind my back.
My feet ached as I climbed the front steps to our suburban two-story. The antiseptic smell from the hospital still clung to my scrubs, but I didn’t care. Today, that smell meant victory.
“Chris?” I called out, dropping my bag by the door. “You home?”
I couldn’t wait to tell him. After six years of missed birthdays, overnight shifts, and eating lunch standing up, I’d finally done it.
I was the hospital’s newest Healthcare Management Supervisor. The position I’d been killing myself for since before we got married.
I found my husband in the living room, barefoot and slouched on the sofa.
His fingers worked the Xbox controller with practiced precision, his eyes never leaving the screen. The faint smell of stale chips hung in the air.
“Hey,” I said, unable to contain my smile. “Guess what happened today?”
Chris glanced up, his eyes taking a moment to focus on me.
“That new MRI machine arrived?” he asked.
“What? No… honey, I had a meeting to discuss my promotion today, and I got the job!”
He paused his game and gave me a half-smile. “That’s great, babe. Really great! Now that you’re making more money, you can pay child support for my daughter.”
The words hit me like ice water.
I blinked, certain I’d misheard.
“You want me to pay child support… for your ex? From my pay rise?” My voice sounded distant, even to my ears.
Chris shrugged like he was suggesting we try a new restaurant. “It’s for my kid, not my ex. Your salary is our money. It’s only fair that you pay more if you’re earning more. I mean, I can’t keep draining my savings.”
The house suddenly felt too small. My skin flushed hot, then cold.
The joy that had carried me home evaporated, replaced by something that bubbled up from my gut — rage, yes, but beneath it, heartbreak.
“What savings?” I asked, my voice painfully controlled. “You haven’t paid a dime for diapers in six months. In fact, I can’t remember the last time you contributed anything around here.”
“Work has been slow,” he replied casually. “You know how it goes…”
I did.
Chris worked in freelance web design. Sometimes.
When gigs were “slow” (which seemed to be most of the time lately), he mostly played Xbox and complained about how hard networking was.
We’d agreed long ago that he’d stay flexible to help more at home while I handled long shifts. Except he didn’t. Not really.
Chris would tidy up just enough for everything to look good, but I was the one who cleaned. I managed the late-night feedings for our one-year-old son, and I bought his daughter’s last birthday gift!
I adore that little girl, even if we don’t get to see her often.
But asking me to pay child support? I shook my head.
“Lila is your daughter, and paying child support is your only financial responsibility right now—”
“No, it isn’t,” he cut in indignantly. “I’m also paying for Game Pass.”
He raised his Xbox remote like it was the make-or-break evidence in a court hearing.
“And the fridge is full because I bought groceries,” I replied. “I’m not paying your child support.”
He crossed his arms defensively. “So you’re just gonna let a kid go without? When you’re sitting on a raise?”
Let a kid go without? Was he serious?
“She won’t go without, because you’ll still be paying her mom child support,” I snapped.
“You’re being heartless—” he started, but I held up my hand.
“No,” I said quietly. “For the last time, I’m not going to pay your child support. That’s your responsibility, Chris, one you should be proud of. You’re her father.”
I walked away then, jaw tight, grabbing my phone from my bag. I needed to talk to someone who would understand how insane this was. I needed Megan.
“He said what?” Megan’s voice crackled through my phone as I sat on our back porch. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I wish I was,” I said, watching the sunset paint our backyard fence in shades of orange. “He actually expected me to pay his child support with my raise.”
“That’s messed up, Anna. Seriously messed up.”
“Tell me about it.” I sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”
Megan’s voice softened. “Has he always been this… entitled?”
I thought about it. Had he? Or had I just been too exhausted to notice?
“I need to think,” I told her.
Days stretched into weeks.
The house stayed eerily quiet. Chris didn’t bring it up again, and I assumed it was over, buried. I dived into my new job of managing staff and came home each night with a smile on my face that only grew wider when I played with our son.
Life moved on, or seemed to. I had no reason to guess I’d been deceived.
Two months after I got the promotion, I sat at our kitchen table, laptop open, ready to pay our son’s daycare deposit.
I logged into our shared savings account, waiting for the screen to load. When it did, my stomach dropped.
The transaction history showed multiple wire transfers from our account.
The amounts were small but consistent. All of it had been sent to an account in another woman’s name: Jessica, Chris’s ex-wife.
I called the bank, hands shaking. It took only a few minutes for them to confirm the payment information.
I had to assume Chris had decided to ignore my wishes and had started paying his child support from our joint account instead of his personal one.
I hung up, expecting to feel tears. Instead, I felt… nothing. A strange, hollow calm. I walked outside, sat on the porch in the setting sun, and breathed deeply.
Then I did something I never thought I’d do.
I called Chris’s ex-wife.
“Hello?” Her voice was wary.
“Jessica, it’s Anna. Chris’s wife.”
A pause. “Is everything okay?”
“Not really,” I said simply. “Did Chris start sending you child support payments from a new account in the last two months?”
“Yeah.” Her tone sharpened. “Why?”
I explained about the transfers, my promotion, the pay rise that came with it, and how Chris had asked me to pay Lila’s child support.
The silence on the other end grew heavy.
“That’s your money?” she finally asked.
“Every dime.”
Another pause. Then, “Oh, we’re going to ruin him.”
I surprised myself by laughing.
Jessica and I had never been friends. We’d only exchanged polite small talk a few times, but now, I felt like we were on the same side.
We hatched a plan. It was simple, direct, and devastating.
The next evening, I sent Chris out to the store for milk and bread. When he returned home, Jessica was rifling through our kitchen cupboards.
“What the hell?” he sputtered, freezing in the doorway.
Jessica slammed a cabinet door.
“I’m taking this cereal.” She shook the box of Cheerios in her hand. “My daughter’s gotta eat and since you haven’t sent support, I’m helping myself.”
His eyes widened. “What the — of course I’ve sent support!”
I stepped out of the hallway, feigning panic.
“Thank God you’re home!” I said. “She’s been yelling, our son is scared! Please show her the proof that you’ve paid child support!”
His eyes darted between us, confusion giving way to dawning horror.
“I-I don’t — my bank—” he stammered, voice cracking.
That’s when I dropped my facade.
I held up my phone, coolly. “Don’t worry, we already checked. Want to tell us whose money you were actually sending?”
He froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
Jessica clapped slowly. “So you were stealing from your wife to pretend to be a decent father?”
Chris looked at me, desperation in his eyes. “Anna, I can explain—”
I lifted a hand. “You don’t have to explain. I already spoke to a lawyer. Divorce is filed.”
His face drained of color. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. And guess what?” I continued, my voice steady and final. “Now you’ll be paying two child support orders. With your money this time.”
He tried to argue, to explain, to make me understand. But there was nothing to understand. He’d betrayed me. He’d betrayed all of us.
Two weeks later, he was gone. The house was lighter. Quieter.
You know what’s funny? I use my hard-earned money on who matters now. My steps echo with freedom. My son giggles more. I laugh louder.
Lila still visits. We bake cookies and read bedtime stories.
I’m determined that my son will know his sister and committed to cherishing the bond I’ve already built with her, and my newfound friendship with Jessica.
Sometimes, when Jessica and I are sitting on my back porch, watching our kids play together in the yard, I wonder if Chris ever understood what he lost.
Not just a wife who worked hard, but a family that would have done anything for him — except let him take us for granted.
But that’s his problem now. Not mine. Not anymore.
