Sarah worked two jobs to save for their daughter Jenna’s college fund. Mornings at a clinic, evenings cleaning offices.
She saw her husband Dave work hard too. He was a doctor, always taking night shifts because they paid more.
She thought they were both saving for Jenna’s dream—studying marine biology at a prestigious college.
Until she checked their bank account.
Small withdrawals. $200 here. $350 there. Easy to miss individually. But over a year, they added up to nearly $40,000.
Half their college fund. Gone.
Sarah’s hands shook as she scrolled through the transactions.
That evening, she heard sounds from the basement. Dave rarely went down there.
She waited until he left for the hospital, then went downstairs.
The basement had been transformed into a research lab. X-ray images of hands and fingers covered the walls. Anatomical diagrams. Prosthetic models.
And photos. A beautiful woman with dark hair. In some photos, her right hand was missing two fingers.
Sarah found Dave’s research journal.
“Day 63: Diana’s depression is worsening. She can’t paint without her index and middle fingers. The accident destroyed her career.”
“Day 127: I’ve been accepted into the advanced prosthetics program. If I can perfect the synthetic finger integration, she might paint again.”
“Day 201: St. Michael’s Hospital can do the surgery. Revolutionary procedure. $45,000. But they need my research findings to proceed.”
Sarah felt sick.
When Dave came home, she was waiting with the journal.
“Who is Diana?”
Dave went pale. “Sarah—”
“Who. Is. Diana?”
Dave sank into a chair. “We had an affair. A year ago. One night, we were driving back from a conference. I was tired, not paying attention. We crashed. She lost two fingers on her right hand.”
Sarah’s throat tightened.
“She’s an artist. Was an artist. Her galleries closed. She fell into depression. She can’t create anymore.” Dave’s voice cracked. “It was my fault. I had to help her.”
“So you’ve been stealing from our daughter’s college fund?”
“I wasn’t stealing! I was working extra shifts—”
“And I’ve been working TWO JOBS!” Sarah’s voice rose. “While you funneled our savings to your mistress!”
“I’m trying to help her recover—”
“What about Jenna? What about her dream to study marine biology? The college she’s been working toward since she was twelve?”
Dave went silent.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” Sarah stared at him. “You completely forgot about our daughter’s future while obsessing over your mistress.”
“The surgery is revolutionary. St. Michael’s needs my research—”
Sarah didn’t let him finish. She went upstairs, grabbed a canister of gasoline from the garage, and returned to the basement.
“Sarah, what are you doing?”
She poured gasoline over his research notes, the diagrams, the prosthetic models.
“NO! That’s a year of work!”
“Yes,” Sarah said coldly. “A year of MY work too. Half that money in the account was MY earnings. A year of double shifts, exhaustion, sacrifice. Now you know how it feels to lose it for nothing.”
She lit a match.
“SARAH, PLEASE!”
She dropped it.
The research went up in flames.
Dave tried to salvage what he could, but it was too late. A year of work—gone.
Sarah called the hospital. “This is Sarah Chen. My husband David Chen sent you money for a patient named Diana. I’m requesting an immediate refund. The surgery is cancelled.”
“Ma’am, we can’t just—”
“That money was stolen from a minor’s college fund. Either refund it, or I’m calling my lawyer and the police.”
The hospital refunded the money within 48 hours.
Diana’s surgery was postponed indefinitely.
Sarah filed for divorce that week.
“I completely forgot about Jenna’s dream,” Dave admitted during mediation, voice hollow. “I was so consumed with guilt over Diana that I forgot my own daughter.”
“You chose your mistress over your family,” Sarah said. “Over Jenna’s future.”
Dave didn’t argue.
The divorce was finalized. Sarah got the house and full college fund control.
Dave was required to continue contributing to Jenna’s education as part of the settlement.
When Jenna found out—not all the details, but enough—she barely spoke to her father for months.
“You forgot about my college fund?” she asked him during one tense visit.
Dave couldn’t meet her eyes. “I made a terrible mistake.”
“Mom worked two jobs. And you just… forgot?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t get me into college, Dad.”
But Dave kept his promises. He paid his portion of Jenna’s tuition. Showed up to move-in day. Tried to rebuild what he’d broken.
Jenna eventually forgave him—partially. Enough to have a relationship. But the trust was gone.
Four years later, Jenna graduated with honors in marine biology. Got accepted into a prestigious graduate program.
Sarah sat in the audience, tears streaming, knowing every sacrifice had been worth it.
Dave sat three rows back, alone.
After the ceremony, Jenna hugged her mother. “Thank you. For everything. For fighting for me.”
“Always,” Sarah said.
Dave approached. “Congratulations, Jenna. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Jenna’s smile was polite but distant.
He’d helped pay for her education. But Sarah had fought for it.
And Jenna knew the difference.
Some mistakes can be repaid.
But some betrayals—forgetting your own child’s dreams while obsessing over someone else—leave scars that never fully heal.
Dave learned that lesson too late.
