On a crisp fall afternoon, I finally tackled the attic, a cluttered space that held years of forgotten items. Among the dusty boxes, I found my husband Jeff’s old high school jacket, which he had previously deemed “junk.” Without a second thought, I tossed it into the pile for the dump.
That evening, during dinner, I casually mentioned my attic cleanup. Jeff’s reaction was shocking. His fork clattered to the plate as he froze, eyes wide. “What JUNK?” he demanded, rising sharply from his seat. I was puzzled by his sudden panic.
He rushed upstairs, rummaging through boxes, only to return with clenched fists, demanding, “Where’s my old school jacket?” The color drained from his face as I explained I had likely thrown it out.
“You THREW it away?” he growled, anger boiling beneath the surface. “I told you to throw away the junk, not that jacket!”
Confused, I reminded him he had said it was trash. He laughed bitterly, saying, “The day I married YOU was a curse!” With that, he stormed out, leaving me in shock.
A shocked woman holding an old jacket | Source: Midjourney
Something compelled me to follow him. I jumped in my car, racing after him, my heart pounding with worry. When he pulled into the local dump, everything began to click. He was searching for that jacket, but why was he so desperate?
I parked and approached him as he frantically sifted through piles of trash. “Jeff, what is going on?” I demanded.
His face was pale as he replied, “Because, Stacy, I was saving money. Fifty thousand dollars. For us… to buy a new house.”
Fifty thousand dollars? My mind raced as I struggled to process his words. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I asked, feeling a growing unease.
“I didn’t think I had to!” he snapped, continuing to search. Hours passed without any sign of the jacket. Finally, defeated, Jeff slumped to the ground, not even looking at me.
We drove home in silence, my mind racing with questions. What was so special about that jacket?
Later, I heard him speaking softly in the bedroom. Curiosity pulled me closer to the door. “I don’t have the money anymore,” he was saying. “That useless woman threw it out with the jacket!”
My breath caught. “US?” he wasn’t talking about me—he was talking about someone else!
I burst into the room, anger boiling over. “WHO are you talking to, Jeff?”
His face paled. “Stacy, I—”
“Who were you going to buy a house with?” I demanded. He stared, mouth opening and closing, unable to answer.
I felt the truth settle in. “I’m filing for divorce,” I stated calmly. “Everyone will find out who you really are.”
I walked out, leaving him behind.
A month later, I returned to the attic, now mine after the divorce. While searching for my old sewing machine, I stumbled upon the very jacket I thought I had discarded. My heart raced as I pulled it out, checking the inside pocket. There it was—the fifty thousand dollars, neatly folded.
No rush to share this secret with anyone. Jeff had made his choices; now, I was making mine. I kept the money, envisioning a new future. This time, it was my secret to keep.
