**The Cost of a Stash: How Victor Almost Lost His Wife**
Rita stepped into the backyard to hang the freshly washed laundry. It was a bright, sunny day—perfect for drying clothes in the summer warmth. Out of habit, she glanced over the fence into the neighbours’ yard, where Victor was pacing frantically, searching under the porch, rummaging through the shed, even checking beneath the garden
“Victor, what on earth have you lost? Yesterday’s sense of humour?” Rita teased with a grin.
But the man didn’t even turn around. He just waved a dismissive hand before ducking back inside. Shrugging, Rita turned to leave—until the door burst open, and in rushed Tanya, Victor’s wife, her eyes red and swollen with tears.
“Tanya, love—what’s happened?” Rita gasped, rushing to her side.
“How could he?” Tanya choked out between sobs. “How could he even think that of me?”
Rita patted her friend’s shoulder, baffled. The couple had always seemed so happy—no shouting matches, no bitter words, just flower-filled gardens and the comforting smell of home-baked bread drifting through the windows.
Victor and Tanya lived in a charming cottage on the outskirts of Oxford. Their home was picture-perfect: blooming roses in summer, neatly shovelled paths in winter. Their daughter was married, and their son, Jack, was finishing college. Victor worked as an engineer; Tanya sewed at a local tailor’s. Rita and her husband, Andrew, had been friends with them for years—sharing holidays, helping with chores, always looking out for each other.
Victor had one quirk—he loved stashing money. A few pounds here, a wad there—under floorboards, behind flowerpots, even tucked beneath the garden bench. It wasn’t secrecy, just habit. The trouble was, he often forgot where he’d left it.
Tanya knew. When they were younger, she’d scolded him, but eventually, she let it go—you can’t change a man’s ways. She never touched his money, even if she stumbled across it. Twenty-six years of marriage had taught her patience.
That morning, Rita spotted Victor again, tearing through the yard like a man possessed. Laughing, she called, “Lost another stash, have you, you daft sod?”
But half an hour later, Tanya stormed into Rita’s kitchen, her face streaked with tears. Rita poured tea and set out biscuits, waiting.
“You won’t believe it,” Tanya whispered, trembling. “He accused me of stealing! Said, ‘You took it, and now you’re lying!’ That’s Victor! The man who always swore, ‘You’re sacred to me.’ And now I’m a thief? I never once touched his money, even when I found it!”
Rita gasped. She’d never have expected this of Victor. Tanya was gentle, devoted—the kind of woman you’d sooner protect than wound.
“Don’t you mind him, love,” Rita soothed. “He’ll remember where he left it, then be on his knees begging forgiveness.”
“I won’t have it! My holiday starts in a week—I’m going to Mum’s in the countryside. And I might not come back! Let him live with his precious money!”
Meanwhile, Victor combed the village, searching for both his lost cash and his wife. He ducked into the corner shop, where Tanya’s friend Wendy was working.
“Wendy, you seen Tanya?”
“Not a peep,” Wendy said, raising an eyebrow. “Lost her, have you? Don’t fret—she’s not the leaving sort.”
On his way home, Victor bumped into Jack and his girlfriend, Lily, clutching a lavish bouquet of red roses.
“Lily, it’s your birthday, isn’t it?” Victor asked, recalling Jack had mentioned needing money for a gift.
“Nineteen today! We’re off to the pub with friends later,” Lily beamed.
Victor forced a smile, but his stomach twisted. He hadn’t given Jack a penny—he was sure of it. Where had the roses come from?
He called his son. “Jack—where’d you get the money for those flowers?”
“Oh, Dad—I found an envelope under the old toolbox in the shed yesterday. Figured it was one of your stashes. Meant to tell you…”
Victor exhaled, gripping the phone. “Alright, son. Just… treat Lily right.”
Now—find Tanya. And apologise properly.
Next door, Andrew was fixing the gate, chuckling as Victor approached.
“Done it now, mate. Tanya’s with Rita. Fancy calling your missus a thief—lucky she hasn’t packed her bags yet.”
“Yeah, 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 porch. “Now you’d best think how to sweeten Tanya up!”
Victor dashed home, gathered every hidden envelope, and sped off in the car. An hour later, he returned with a small velvet box.
He found Tanya, still sulking on Rita’s sofa.
“Forgive me, love. I was an idiot. Come home, please.”
Tanya gave him a sideways glance, but her frown was softening.
“Not yet,” she muttered, though the anger had drained from her voice.
“Then take this,” Victor said gently. “Remember that necklace you liked at the jeweller’s last month? The one with the sapphire?”
He placed the box in her hands. Tanya gasped as she opened it—a delicate gold chain with a sapphire pendant, her birthstone.
“Oh, Victor…” she whispered, fastening it around her neck.
“That’s more like it!” Rita clapped. “A gift like that’ll make any stash worth forgiving!”
They laughed long into the evening, sharing tea in the garden as the story of the ‘lost’ money became neighbourhood legend.
And Victor? He never hid money again. The fear of losing Tanya for good was too great. Because without her, what was home?
