THE SHOCKING TRUTH I NEVER EXPECTED

I am 33 years old, working as a plumber. My wife stays at home and runs a small business. She is seven years younger than me, and it took me a long time, along with countless efforts, to finally marry her.

Ever since my wife gave birth, I insisted that she stay home and take on only light work. Even though I don’t earn much money, I never wanted her to go out and struggle. I believed that as long as I could still work, IToggle.

A year ago, our four-year-old son began suffering from a strange illness and had to be hospitalized repeatedly. The medical expenses were overwhelming. I took on extra jobs, borrowed money, and did everything I could to keep up with the treatment.

Every time I saw my son lying weakly on the hospital bed and my wife looking exhausted and pale beside him, my heart ached deeply.

From that point on, my wife became noticeably quieter. She spoke less and grew easily irritated. I never blamed her. I knew that spending entire days and nights in the hospital caring for a sick child was emotionally and physically draining.

After nearly a year of continuous treatment, our son’s health gradually improved. He was finally discharged and allowed to return home. My wife continued staying home to care for him, and I asked her to stop doing business altogether. I wanted her to rest, while I would shoulder the financial burden myself.

She didn’t argue—she simply turned her back on me and remained silent.

As time passed, our son’s condition kept improving. The doctor eventually allowed him to return to preschool. Feeling relieved, I told my wife that if she wanted to work again, she could find a job. It didn’t matter how much she earned—I just wanted her to get out of the house and feel better mentally.

Not long after, she found a job at a nearby shop. Since she started working, her mood improved noticeably, and I felt reassured.

One day, as usual, I went out to fix plumbing for a customer.

The house was large and beautifully furnished. As I stepped inside, I couldn’t help but admire it and quietly wished that one day I could earn enough money to buy a home like this for my wife and son. Thinking about that made me more motivated, and I focused intently on my work.

After finishing the repair, I didn’t see anyone around. I walked out to look for the homeowner—when suddenly, a woman walked out of the bedroom.

I froze completely.

The tools slipped from my hands and clattered onto the floor.

That woman was my wife.

Seeing me, she panicked and quickly tried to avoid my gaze. At that moment, the homeowner walked up behind her and casually asked what she wanted to eat.

Rage exploded inside me. I rushed forward, intending to confront him, but my wife hurriedly stopped me, desperately begging me to go home first and talk things through.

The man looked at me with open contempt. He threw the money onto the floor right in front of me, insulted us, and ordered both of us to leave his house.

I returned home like a man without a soul.

My wife collapsed in tears, begging me for forgiveness.

She told me that the man was her superior at work. He had told her that if she agreed to stay close to him for a while, he would give her 2,000 US dollars.

She admitted that she accepted immediately—out of despair from our poverty, the long illness of our child, and her own hopelessness.

I felt utterly powerless and heartbroken.

I hated my wife for betraying me.
But I hated myself even more—for being weak, for not earning enough, for failing to protect my family.

Standing there in silence, I could only ask myself:

What should I do now?