The Cost of a Stash: How Victor Almost Lost His Wife
Rita stepped into the garden to hang up the freshly washed laundry. The day was fine, the sun warm as summer, and everything dried in no time. Out of habit, she glanced over the fence into the neighbours’ yard. There, pacing back and forth, was Victor, their neighbour, frantically searching for something. She watched as he peered under the porch, rummaged in the shed, and checked beneath the garden bench.
“Victor, what’ve you lost? Yesterday’s sunshine?” Rita teased with a smile.
But the man didn’t even turn, just waved his hand dismissively and disappeared into the house. Rita shrugged and turned back toward her door—but before she could step inside, it burst open, and in rushed Tasha, Victor’s wife, her face streaked with tears.
“Tasha, love, what’s happened?” Rita gasped, hurrying over.
“How could he?” Tasha sobbed, barely holding back her tears. “How could he even think such a thing?”
Rita patted her friend’s shoulder, confused. The couple had always seemed so happy—no fights, no grudges, just blooming flower beds and the scent of homemade cakes drifting from their window.
Victor and Tasha lived in a cosy cottage on the outskirts of Cheltenham. The house was like something off a postcard: vibrant with flowers in summer, neatly cleared paths in winter. Their daughter was married, and their son, Jack, was finishing college. Victor worked as an engineer, and Tasha sewed at a local atelier. They’d been friends with Rita and her husband Andy for years, celebrating holidays together and always lending a hand.
Victor had one odd habit—he loved hiding money. He stashed cash all over: in the shed, under flowerpots, even beneath the floorboards of the summerhouse. Not because he was hiding it from anyone—it just made him feel secure. The trouble was, he’d forget where he’d put it and turn the place upside down searching.
Tasha knew all about it. Early on, she’d scolded him, but eventually gave up—some habits never change. She’d never taken a single penny, even when she stumbled across his hiding spots. Twenty-six years of marriage had taught her patience.
That morning, Rita spotted Victor again, darting around the garden like a man possessed. Laughing, she called out, “Lost another stash, have you, you daft sod?”
But half an hour later, Tasha barged into Rita’s house, her eyes puffy and red. Rita sat her down, poured tea, and set out biscuits.
“Can you believe it?” Tasha choked out between sniffles. “He accused me of stealing his money! Said, ‘You found it, took it, and kept quiet!’ That’s Victor! The man who always swore I was ‘his angel.’ Now I’m a thief? I’ve never once touched his secret stashes, no matter how many I’ve found!”
Rita gasped. She’d never expected this from Victor. Tasha was gentle, caring—the kindest soul. To insult her was like spitting in church.
“Don’t take it to heart, love,” Rita soothed. “He’ll remember, find his little stash, and beg forgiveness on his knees.”
“I don’t want it! I’ve got leave next week—I’m going to my mum’s in the countryside. And I won’t come back! Let him live alone—with his precious money!”
Meanwhile, Victor tore through the village, searching not just for his cash but for his wife. He ducked into the corner shop where Tasha’s friend Tina worked.
“Tina, have you seen Tasha?”
“Nope, not a peep. Lost the missus, eh? She’ll be back. She’s not the leaving kind.”
Victor trudged home, only to bump into his son, Jack, and his girlfriend, Lily, clutching a lavish bouquet of red roses.
“Lily, is it your birthday?” Victor asked, suddenly recalling Jack had asked for money for a gift.
“Yes! Nineteen today. We’re off to a café with friends later,” Lily beamed.
Victor forced a smile, but his stomach twisted. He definitely hadn’t given Jack money—so where’d the roses come from?
He rang his son later.
“Jack, where’d you get the cash for that gift?”
“Dad, I found it yesterday under the shoebox on the veranda. Was looking for my rucksack, and there was an envelope. Knew it was your stash—meant to tell you…”
Victor went silent, equal parts ashamed and relieved.
“Right. Well… don’t mess things up with Lily.”
Now he just had to find Tasha. And beg forgiveness.
He headed next door, where Andy was fixing the gate. Spotting Victor, Andy chuckled.
“Proper mess you’ve made, mate. Tasha’s with Rita. Can’t believe you called your own wife a thief. Lucky she hasn’t packed her bags yet.”
“I know…” Victor muttered. “Going to make it right. And that stash? Jack spent it on flowers for his girl.”
“Good lad!” Rita called from the doorstep. “Now you’d better think of how to sweeten Tasha up!”
Victor rushed home, gathered every hidden envelope, jumped in the car, and sped off. An hour later, he returned with a small black bag.
He approached Tasha, head low.
“Forgive me. I was an idiot. I don’t know how I could’ve thought it. Please come home.”
Tasha eyed him warily, but her expression softened.
“Not yet…” she muttered, though the tears had stopped.
“I got you this. Remember that necklace with the pendant you liked at the jewellers’? I noticed.”
He handed her a velvet box. Tasha’s breath hitched as she opened it—a delicate gold chain with a pendant shaped like her zodiac sign.
“Oh, Victor…” she whispered, clasping it around her neck.
“There we go!” Rita clapped. “Presents like that make up for any lost stash!”
They laughed late into the evening, Rita setting the table right there in the garden. The story of Victor’s “missing” money became legendary at every neighbourhood gathering after that.
And Victor? He never stashed cash again. Too terrified of losing Tasha. After all—she was his true home.
