It had been just a month since my husband passed away when I suddenly “received” an apartment worth nearly $160,000—but when I learned the truth behind it, I was utterly shocked and filled with rage.

My husband, Jason Miller, and I had both moved to Houston, Texas from out of state to build our lives. I married Jason at 25, giving him all my youth. We lived in a rented apartment, with a combined monthly income of only about $1,000. Three years later, we welcomed two children, a boy and a girl. Our lives revolved around work and taking care of the kids, and no matter how hard we worked, we couldn’t save enough to buy a home in the city.

When our son turned four, Jason had been unemployed for two months. An old friend, Hannah, introduced him to a job, but the salary was much lower than his previous one. I handled the finances on my own, trying to support him emotionally. With our youngest only two years old, I couldn’t take on extra shifts to earn more money. But after Jason started the new job—hard work for less pay—he often argued with me and the kids when he came home. Our married life became exhausting and suffocating.

I never asked Jason for extra money, fearing he would feel insulted. Fortunately, when our eldest turned seven, I was promoted to a management position, doubling my salary, while Jason remained a regular employee. I gently suggested he look for a better job, but he became furious, accusing me of being ungrateful. He even said Hannah had helped him in his time of need, and now that her company was struggling, how could he leave her? To keep the peace at home, I stayed silent.

A few years later, I managed to save $16,000 to discuss buying a condo with Jason. But as soon as he heard the plan, he insisted on using the money for business. After a heated argument, I reluctantly gave him $12,000, postponing our dream of buying a home.

Then tragedy struck. Jason died in a car accident. I was devastated beyond words, crying my heart out on the day of his death. I had no idea what happened to the money he had taken for his business ventures. He had never told me, no matter how often I asked.

About a month after his death, Jason’s phone rang. It was a call from a real estate company, informing me that the apartment worth nearly $160,000 was completed. I was both stunned and thrilled—could it be that Jason had secretly invested and bought a home as a gift for me and the kids?

But when I heard the name on the title, I was shocked beyond belief. The beautiful, luxurious apartment was in Jason’s name and another woman’s—the same Hannah, the old friend who had introduced him to his job.

Meeting Hannah in person left me speechless when I learned she had a two-year-old son with Jason. Ever since helping him get the job, she had become the other woman, and she had a child with him.

That meeting filled me with rage. Hannah arrogantly claimed that it was my fault for not keeping my husband, and that the apartment was money they had earned together. In front of my husband’s mistress, I clenched my hands until they bled, swallowing back tears as I realized Jason had spent our $12,000 savings on building a home with her. There was nothing I could do to reclaim my money, so I left, bitter and broken.

Back home, I threw away all of Jason’s belongings. The greatest pain a woman can feel is discovering that she has been deceived—both emotionally and financially—for years without ever knowing. If Jason hadn’t died, how much longer would his betrayal have continued?