My husband Steve never said we were broke he just acted like I wasn’t worth spending on. I paid the bills, the new washing machine, even the smart TV he used to drool over cars we’d never afford. Then one evening, I found a paper receipt in his coat pocket: $10,234 for a luxury seaside trip for two.

When I asked, he casually said it was a gift for his mom’s 70th. “She’s never seen the ocean,” he shrugged. “She deserves this.” Meanwhile, I hadn’t even gotten flowers for my birthday. I might’ve believed him until I checked Facebook at work and saw the truth. His mother was at the beach all right with his ex, Lora. They posed in white dresses, sipping drinks, dancing on the shore. One caption read: “Thanks, Steve 💋.”

That night, I saw their texts. His mom: “We’re being treated like queens. You deserve more than that woman.” Steve replied: “My two favorite girls. I’ll be there soon.” So I did what I had to. I used his $10K — and funded a summer camp trip for my entire class. Every child got to go. I even had enough left for a divorce lawyer.

While my students laughed in the back of the van, headed toward the lake, Steve came home to a locked house, packed bags on the porch, and a note taped to the door: “Hope you enjoy your favorite girls. Don’t forget sunscreen — see you in court. XOXO.” I didn’t look back. For once, I wasn’t the one left behind.