I slipped quietly into the hallway and caught my husband, Geoff, slipping a banknote into his mother’s coat pocket. At that moment, my mother-in-law was seated at our kitchen table, chatting sweetly with the other guests. The sight stopped me in my tracks, leaving me frozen, my mind racing. Why was Geoff doing this in secret? And why did it feel like a betrayal in my own home?
Geoff and I have been married for five years. Our marriage isn’t perfect, but we love each other and are trying to build a life together. I work as an accountant for a small firm, while Geoff drives for a logistics company. We get by—paying the mortgage, saving for car repairs, occasionally treating ourselves to a modest holiday. His mother, Margaret, lives nearby. She visits often, bringing homemade pies and gossip. I’ve always been polite, though her remarks about my cooking or housekeeping sometimes stung.
That evening was no different. We’d invited friends over for dinner, and Margaret had joined. I was busy in the kitchen, preparing salads and the main course while Geoff set the table. As usual, Margaret held court—telling jokes, reminiscing about her youth, offering her famous jam. The room was warm with laughter. But when I stepped into the hallway for an extra plate, I saw him. Glancing around, Geoff quickly tucked a twenty-pound note into his mother’s coat.
My breath caught. My pulse hammered. Why the secrecy? We’d always been open about helping our parents. I sometimes gave my own mum money, and Geoff knew. But this—hidden, deliberate—felt different. I forced a smile and returned to the kitchen, but my thoughts churned. Margaret laughed at some joke while I watched her, wondering: *Does she know what he just did?*
When the guests left and Margaret had gone home, I couldn’t hold back. *”Geoff, I saw you putting money in your mum’s coat. Why didn’t you tell me?”* He hesitated, then frowned. *”Emily, relax. She needed it for medicine.”* *”Then why hide it? We could have talked about it.”* He shrugged. *”Didn’t want to bother you. It’s my money, my call.”*
The words stung. *His* money? Hadn’t we always shared expenses? We discussed big purchases, planned together. Now he was sneaking cash to his mum like I was some obstacle. I remembered Margaret flaunting a new handbag, bragging about a weekend trip. Was this just medicine—or something else? And why take the money without a word, sitting at our table, eating our food?
The next evening, I tried again. *”Geoff, I don’t mind helping your mum. But we should talk about it. It’s *our* budget.”* He sighed. *”She’s embarrassed to ask. Her pension barely covers things, and I didn’t want her to feel awkward.”* I nodded but pressed, *”Then why sneak? I’m not the enemy.”* After a pause, he admitted he’d feared my reaction. *”You get tetchy when I spend on things,”* he muttered.
I wavered. Maybe he was right. I *did* complain when he splurged on another fishing rod when the old one worked fine. But *this* was different. If he’d just *told* me—but the secrecy made me feel like an outsider. Worse, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that Margaret *knew* and played along, all smiles over tea.
I invited her over and steadied my voice. *”Margaret, I know Geoff gives you money. That’s fine—but not behind my back.”* She blinked, then softened. *”Oh, Emily, I never ask! He’s just sweet like that.”* Her innocent tone made me doubt myself. Was I overreacting?
Yet the sting lingered. I love Geoff. I respect his mother. But I need honesty in this house. We agreed to discuss expenses—helping parents included. He promised transparency; I vowed to ease up. But the unease remains. Now, when Margaret visits, I watch her, wondering: *Is she really as kind as she seems?* And can I ever trust Geoff the way I once did?
This whole mess taught me that even love has its shadows. I want a home without secrets. Maybe, in time, I’ll stop doubting Margaret—and Geoff will stop fearing my reactions. For now, I’m learning to speak up, hoping we’ll grow closer, despite those twenty quiet pounds tucked in a coat pocket.
