I always thought my marriage to Jess was solid. Sure, we had our ups and downs, but after seven years, I believed we were in it for the long haul. That was until last Saturday, when everything I thought I knew about us came crashing down.
I was at the local pawn shop to pick up my grandfather’s vintage watch after a repair. Jess was supposed to be running errands, so I figured I’d make a quick stop before our usual Saturday homemade pizza date. But as I stood at the counter, I saw her—Jess, standing at the jewelry counter, her back to me. My heart sank when I realized what she was doing.
“What’s the best price you can give me, Bob?” she asked.
She was selling her engagement ring. The one I’d saved for months to buy, the one she’d promised to cherish forever. I couldn’t believe it.
“Jess?” I called out, my voice trembling.
She spun around, her face pale. “Why are you spying on me, Mark?” she snapped, crossing her arms.
“I’m not spying! I came here to pick something up, and I see you selling your ring? What’s going on?”
An engagement ring in a pawn shop | Source: Midjourney
Her expression hardened. “It’s all your fault, Mark! You’re so irresponsible with money, and now I have to clean up your messes. I’m selling this ring to pay bills because you can’t!”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I tried to defend myself, but she stormed out, leaving me standing there, stunned.
That night, Jess barely spoke to me, only throwing in cutting remarks about how “a real man” wouldn’t let things get this bad. I felt like the worst husband in the world. But something didn’t add up. If things were so dire, why hadn’t she talked to me about it?
The next morning, I did something I never thought I’d do—I went through her phone. What I found shattered me. In a group chat with her friends, Jess had written: “Girls! Guess who just sold her engagement ring? Mark bought my sob story. I’m booking a solo trip to Bali tonight. He can keep paying the bills while I sip cocktails on the beach.”
I confronted her as she stepped out of the shower, holding up her phone. “Care to explain this, Jess?”
Her face drained of color. “You went through my phone? You monster!” she hissed, trying to deflect.
“Don’t turn this around on me,” I said coldly. “You lied to me, made me feel like I was failing you, all so you could fund a vacation behind my back?”
She stammered, trying to backtrack, but I wasn’t having it. “I’m done, Jess. Pack your bags.”
It’s been three days since she left. I’ve already contacted a lawyer to start the divorce process. Seven years of marriage, gone in a single weekend. The betrayal stings, but I know I deserve better.
When my mom came over the next day, she asked, “Where’s Jess?”
I sighed, barely able to speak. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Then start wherever it hurts most,” she said gently, slicing into a chocolate cake she’d brought.
