Chapter 4: The Price of Not Telling

The salty air was thick with the scent of fresh fish. Vendors shouted over each other, hawking shrimp and oysters by the pound.

"How about a lobster each?" I pointed at the live, waving creatures in the tank.

My husband gasped, forcing a smile at the owner. "J-Just one small one is fine."

He fumbled for his wallet, eyes wide at the prices. I waved him off and handed over my card, ignoring his protests.

Our daughter begged for beach toys, and I went ahead and bought the $45 Disney set.

She clutched the bucket to her chest like it was treasure. I couldn’t say no—not this time. My heart squeezed a little, thinking of all the times I had.

My husband quickly grabbed my arm. "You could get a set for $5 at a roadside shop!"

He tried to keep his voice down, but I could hear the anxiety behind his words.

"But the cheap ones might scratch her hands." I paid without hesitation.

I tried to sound nonchalant, but guilt gnawed at me anyway. Was I overdoing it?

Then I went to the outlet mall and bought several sets of cosmetics at once.

The bags felt both exhilarating and heavy in my hands. I wondered if I was trying to fill some emptiness I couldn’t name.

That night, he tossed and turned, finally unable to hold back: "Honey... things are easier now, but we really don’t have to spend so much."

His voice was soft, but it hit like a needle, pricking the most sensitive part of my heart.

I stared at the ceiling, the whir of the air conditioner suddenly deafening.

I sat up, my eyes instantly burning.

"Matt Carter, what did you say when you proposed? You said you’d make me a princess for life!"

The words tumbled out, sharper than I meant. Years of frustration and longing boiled over. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

"But now? We only eat with coupons, buy clothes on clearance, even skincare has to be measured out by the milliliter—is this your idea of a ‘princess’?"

My voice shook in the darkness, like a balloon popping. I wanted him to understand, to feel it too.

The words echoed in the small hotel room, louder than I’d intended.

All these years, for the sake of our relationship and his pride, I’d never said these things.

He panicked, reaching out to pull me close, but I dodged.

I rolled away, hugging my knees to my chest. I felt raw, exposed, and suddenly very small.

"That’s not what I meant..." he apologized softly, sounding helpless. "I’m just scared... scared things will get tough again..."

His voice cracked, the fear plain. I could hear the years of struggle in every syllable. It made me ache.

I said nothing more, turning my back to him.

The silence between us was thick, but I didn’t know how to break it. I wanted to reach out, but the words wouldn’t come.

I wasn’t sure if I was angry that life had been so hard since marrying him. Or maybe I was angry that he’d called out my growing spending habits. Maybe both. Maybe neither. I just knew I felt hollow.

The next morning, I woke up groggy and found the pillow beside me empty.

Sunlight spilled across the bed. For a moment, I panicked, thinking he’d left.

On the nightstand were three things:

A crooked elephant folded from a towel (with the room card clipped to its trunk).

A hand-drawn map with a heart: "10:00 Gulfside Boardwalk."

A note: "The princess gets a day off today. The knight will handle all the chores."

His handwriting was messy but earnest. I smiled despite myself, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.

I pushed open the balcony door and saw my husband squatting on the sand, clumsily helping our daughter build a sandcastle.

She giggled as he tried to shape the towers, his hands covered in wet sand. He looked back at me and smiled, the back of his shirt soaked through with sweat.

At ten o’clock at the Gulfside Boardwalk, he and our daughter were already waiting for me. He held a $5 sunhat from a beach vendor in his left hand and a plastic bag in his right:

Inside was a chilled coconut and a shell bracelet he’d bargained for at the night market last night.

He handed me the hat with a flourish, bowing like a dorky prince.

I laughed, the tension finally breaking. I felt the last of last night’s anger melt away.

As I walked over, the song "Sweet Caroline" started playing from somewhere.

The melody drifted over the boardwalk, mixing with the sound of waves. I couldn’t help but hum along, feeling lighter than I had in months.

"This is how I courted you when I was a broke student," he scratched his head. "We’re not much better off now, but I still want you to remember this feeling."

His cheeks flushed, but his eyes were steady. For a moment, we were just two kids in love again. I let myself believe in us, just for now.

The sea breeze blew my hair loose, and he naturally reached out to brush the strands from my lips.

His fingers lingered for a second longer, warm and gentle. I closed my eyes, letting myself just be. Safe. Loved.

Suddenly, I realized that this moment felt more satisfying than yesterday’s $75 seafood platter.

No price tag could compare.

I let the thought linger, holding onto it tightly. There are some things money just can’t buy.

4

"Erin Carter, your proposal is very creative."

In the meeting room, the boss nodded approvingly.

His voice carried across the table, surprising everyone—including me. I sat a little taller, pride blooming in my chest.

A year ago, at this same table, all I could do was echo, "Yes, that makes sense," and then quietly update the PowerPoint slides to match his offhand remarks. I remember those days—keeping my head down, afraid to speak up, scared of messing up. Looking back, it almost makes me laugh.

But freed from financial worries, I’d completely shaken off my wage-earner mentality.

The weight on my shoulders had lifted, and with it, my fear of failure. Now, I saw possibilities everywhere, not just obstacles.

I started to bravely share my own ideas.

That steady drip of $1.50 a minute was slowly washing away all my old fears.

Every midnight deposit felt like a tiny vote of confidence—a reminder that I could take risks and not lose everything.

At the start of this year, I really did get promoted and got a forty percent raise.

I framed the letter and hung it by my desk—a silent trophy over all the doubts that used to haunt me.

Colleague Marissa came over, her tone full of envy: "Erin, you’ve been killing it lately—three proposals in a row accepted."

She leaned in, eyes wide. I could tell she wanted to know my secret.

I smiled and handed her a coffee. "You can do it too, as long as you’re not afraid of rejection."

She laughed, but I saw hope flicker in her face. Maybe she’d take a chance, too.

By now, my bank balance had already passed five million.

The numbers barely felt real anymore. Sometimes I stared at them, half-expecting them to vanish.

Whenever Matt wasn’t paying attention, I secretly bought a few things for the house that I’d always wanted but never dared to get because of the price.

A new espresso machine, the softest sheets, a set of watercolor paints for Ellie. Little luxuries, just for us.

——

Ever since we came back from Destin, Matt had gotten strangely busy.

He came home later and later—ten, eleven, sometimes two in the morning.

The house felt emptier without him, the hours stretching longer. I started to worry.

At first, he just smelled like cigarettes, then it was mixed with cheap whiskey, and later, there were odd little gifts.

Discount mugs from convenience stores, wilted roses bought for five bucks at the subway entrance, even those lumpy ceramic cups from Ellie’s kindergarten art class.

I stared at the pile of gifts on the kitchen counter. Was this supposed to make things better? Ha. I almost wanted to laugh.

Each gift felt like an apology, but for what, I couldn’t say.

It all felt too forced.

Like he was hiding something.

He avoided my eyes, his smile a little too tight. I tried not to pry, but the distance grew.

One night, half-awake, I felt the mattress dip.

He smelled of alcohol and unfamiliar perfume, and his fingers gently touched my shoulder:

His touch was tentative, almost afraid. My heart pounded in the quiet. Was he about to confess something?

"Honey, can you transfer me $30? I’m out of pocket money."

I barely registered what he was asking. I was too sleepy to open my eyes, mumbling, "Do it yourself, you know the password."

He hesitated, but I heard him pick up his phone anyway.

In the dark, I heard him fiddling with his phone.

Suddenly—

"Password’s wrong?"

His voice was sharper than I’d ever heard it, confusion and hurt tangled together.

I was instantly wide awake.

Adrenaline shot through me, chasing away every trace of sleep. I sat up fast, heart in my throat.

Originally, both of our phones were open to each other.

We’d always shared everything—no secrets, no locked screens. Until now.

But since that transfer, I’d secretly changed my unlock code.

I sat up abruptly, snatched the phone from his hand. My voice shook as I forced a smile. "Maybe the system reset it after the last update. I’ll just use face recognition."

I pressed my face to the screen, trying to act normal, hoping he wouldn’t see through me.

The transfer success notification sounded especially harsh.

It was just a chime, but it felt like a siren. I winced, wishing I could take it all back.

He looked at me, about to say something.

His eyes were searching, hurt. I looked away, suddenly fascinated by the pattern on the comforter.

"Oh right," I quickly changed the subject, "remember that company project I invested in two years ago?"

He was clearly caught off guard: "Huh? The one you put $8,000 into?"

He rubbed his eyes, trying to piece together the timeline.

"Mm, the dividend just came in. Tenfold return." I stared into his eyes. "$80,000."

I tried to sound casual, but my heart raced. Would he buy it?

His expression shifted from confusion to shock, then froze in a strange hesitation.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally spoke.

"That much? How about... we pay off some of the mortgage first?"

His voice was hopeful, almost pleading.

"I want to invest it," I cut him off. "A friend recommended a new opportunity."

I felt the lie stick in my throat, heavy and sour.

"Is that reliable?"

He looked worried, his fingers drumming on the comforter.

"Don’t you trust me?" My tone was obviously impatient, trying to hide my guilt.

I regretted it as soon as the words left my mouth.

He swallowed, then looked away. His voice was small, defeated. "You handle the family finances. Do what you think is best."

The air suddenly felt thick.

The silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating. I lay back down, staring at the ceiling, wondering when things had gotten so complicated.

——

"Erin, did you hear?"

At lunch, Marissa leaned over, grinning like she couldn’t wait to spill. I braced myself, knowing that whatever came next would only make the knot in my stomach tighter.