This Is Exactly What I Did When I Found Two Cruise Vouchers in My Husband’s Pocket—And One Had Another Woman’s Name on It

Author Emily TaylorReading 3 minViews 5

Thats exactly what I did when I found two vouchers for a sea cruise in my husbands coat pocket. The name on one of them was that of another woman.

I first crossed paths with my husband, Matthew, at a bus stop. By chance, I managed to misplace my keys while rummaging for my purse. It was late; streetlights flickered, and I fumbled in the dimness, failing to find my keys. Matthew helped search with me under the soft, chilly glow, until he spotted them by the kerb. I thanked him, flustered and grateful. As luck would have it, we boarded the same bus together.

Matthew walked me home afterwards. From that night, we began meeting up, and half a year later we were married. He always said it was love at first sight. Our life together was blissful, each day content, for three years. Then Matthew landed a new job. It was then I noticed he began to change, becoming distant and distracted. But I kept my suspicions to myself, convincing myself it was only my imagination. Until one day, Matthew told me hed need to travel for two weeks on business.

That evening, while Matthew was in the shower, I collected his things for laundry. It was then, in his trouser pocket, that I discovered two cruise tickets. One was in my husbands name, the other in a womansCharlotte. Hed betrayed me, crushed all the trust and love Id given.

Fury and heartbreak raged inside me, and I resolved to give Matthew a taste of his own medicine. I loved him deeply, trusted him truly; now I felt as though my world had come undone. I kept quiet, never breathing a word. Instead, I phoned Daniel, an old schoolmate Id always counted on, and asked him for a favour. Daniel and I went to the very place my husband had planned to visit with his mistress, and there we acted as if we were lovers in our own right.

When Matthew appeared and caught us together, he stormed over, accusing me of betrayal. I looked him in the eye, my voice icy but calm.

So, you can be unfaithful, but I cant? I retorted. I found someone else for myself just as quickly!

Nearby stood Charlotte, the woman from the ticket. Her face was frozen with disbelief; I realised she had never known her lover was a married man. Matthew had deceived not only me, but her as well. Soon after, Matthew and I divorcedI could not forgive him for what hed done.

Half a year later, I married Daniel, and with him, I found joy again. Charlotte left Matthew too, unable to forgive his deceitshe could never accept that hed hidden a wife from her.

Why Should It Matter Who Cared for Grandma? Legally, That Flat Should Be Mine! – My Own Mother Is Fighting Me Over Grandma’s Home My own mother is threatening to take me to court. Why? Because grandma’s flat didn’t go to her, or even to me—it went straight to my daughter. My mum says it’s shockingly unfair. She believes the flat should have been hers. But my grandmother had other plans. Most likely because my husband and I lived with her and cared for her for the last five years of her life. My mum could easily be described as self-centred. Her wants and interests always seemed to matter far more to her than anyone else’s. She’s been married three times, but only had two children: me and my younger sister. My sister and I get on brilliantly, but our relationship with our mum is… complicated. I don’t even remember my father. He divorced my mum when I was just two. Until I turned six, I lived with Mum at Grandma’s place. For some reason, child-me thought Grandma was rather harsh—probably because Mum seemed to cry all the time. It wasn’t until years later, as an adult, that I realised Grandma was truly good at heart; she just wanted to help her daughter find her way. Later, Mum remarried, and the two of us moved in with my stepdad. That marriage brought my little sister into the world. Mum stayed married to him for seven years, but—once again—she got divorced. This time, instead of going back to Grandma’s, we stayed in my ex-stepdad’s flat, with his permission, until Mum married again three years later and we moved in with her new husband. He clearly wasn’t thrilled about his new wife’s children, but, to be fair, he never hurt us—he simply ignored us. Mum barely seemed to notice us, either. She was utterly absorbed in her new marriage, often jealous, even dramatic—smashing crockery to make her point. Roughly once a month, Mum would pack our bags, but our stepdad always got her to stay. My sister and I got used to it, barely reacting anymore. I took over caring for my sister; our mum was too busy. Thank goodness for our grandmothers, who really did their best to help. When I went off to uni, I moved into halls, and my sister moved in with Grandma. Our dad always did what he could for her. Mum? She only rang us at Christmas. I came to accept Mum as she is; I learnt not to expect her to worry about us. My sister, however, never really did—she harboured a lot of resentment. She was especially hurt when Mum didn’t come to her school-leaving do. We grew up. My sister got married and moved to another city. My boyfriend and I, while together a long time, weren’t in any rush to wed. We rented a flat and often visited Grandma, who I’d grown very close to. I tried not to be any bother to her. Then Grandma fell ill and ended up in hospital. The nurses said she’d need proper home care, so I started going round every day—shopping, cooking, cleaning up, chatting with her, and most importantly, making sure she took her medication. That went on for six months. Sometimes my boyfriend came with me—always fixing things, tidying up. Eventually, Grandma suggested we move in full-time; we could save for our own place instead of wasting money on rent. We jumped at the chance. Grandma adored my boyfriend and I loved being there for her. Six months later, I got pregnant. We happily decided to have the baby; Grandma was overjoyed to know she’d be a great-grandmother. We got married quietly, with a small celebration at a café with family. My mum didn’t even come—not a phone call, not a card. When my daughter was two months old, Grandma broke her leg. Suddenly I was caring for a newborn and a bedridden elderly lady. I desperately needed my mum’s help, so I rang her, but she refused—said she didn’t feel well and would come later. She never did. Six months later, Grandma suffered a stroke and became completely bedridden. The care was exhausting. Without my husband’s support, I don’t know what I’d have done. Over time, Grandma rallied—she could walk, eat, and talk again. She managed another two and a half years. She got to see her great-granddaughter take her first steps. When she passed away, peacefully in her sleep, it left my husband and me heartbroken—we loved her deeply, and we miss her so much. Mum only showed up for the funeral. A month later, she tried to evict me and claim Grandma’s flat for herself. She was certain it should be hers. What Mum didn’t realise was that Grandma had transferred ownership right after I gave birth to my daughter. So Mum got nothing. She was furious. She demanded I give her the flat, threatening court if I refused. — “Just look at her! You tricked the old lady, took her home, and now you’re living in it! Don’t think you’ll get away with this! It doesn’t matter who looked after Grandma—her flat should be mine!” But my mum will never get the flat. I’ve spoken to a solicitor and a notary, and everything’s perfectly legal. We’ll stay right here, in the home Grandma left us. And if we have another little girl, I’ll name her after my beloved grandmother.