When my husband Greg said we couldn’t afford preschool for our daughter Emily, I believed him. I cut expenses, worked longer hours, and sacrificed little luxuries. Emily was bright and curious, and I wanted the best for her, so I searched for the perfect preschool despite the cost.

One evening, I showed Greg a brochure for Little Explorers Academy—a well-rated, nurturing place costing $1,100 a month. He shut it down immediately, insisting we simply couldn’t afford it. His harsh refusal didn’t sit right with me, but I pushed the doubts aside, hoping it was just stress.

Weeks later, Greg’s behavior grew secretive. Late nights, guarded phone calls, and changed passwords made me uneasy. One day, while he was out with Emily, I found a mysterious envelope in a junk drawer—a rent receipt for a luxury apartment downtown, addressed to Greg but with our home address crossed out.

Curious and heartbroken, I visited the apartment and found Greg’s mother living in style—luxury I’d never seen us afford. Greg had lied to me, prioritizing his mother’s comfort over our daughter’s preschool and our family’s honesty.

I packed his things and confronted him. He begged for understanding, but I told him to leave and rethink his priorities. I enrolled Emily in the preschool myself, juggling freelance work to make it work.

Months later, Greg returned, apologizing and asking to rebuild trust. I agreed—on one condition: honesty first. Some broken leases, I told him, don’t renew easily.