Oh, Reddit. One could get lost on there for days. Most of the time you’re just watching cat videos or looking for the most ridiculous answers on Ask Reddits questions, but other times you come across true gems.
Take, for example, this short and true story by Redditor InsaneRN. When he found out his wife was cheating on him, he gave her another shot while he worked like a maniac to get out of debt and buy her a car. By the end, even her family was siding with him.
Check out the crazy tale below.
THE HAPPY: Years ago, I used to be married to She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-(In-My-Family). For the purposes of brevity, we shall call her Alice.
Somewhat significant age gap when we got married: I was 27 and Alice was 19 at the time. We had our share of ups and downs, and during one particularly hard time about a year after we got married, we were sunk in credit card debt and had to move in with her mother, who had a whole bunch of chronic medical problems and no insurance. Stepdad is a shadetree mechanic (who was not bad at it, actually), but couldn’t get regular work because he had medical problems all his own. Move in, cut some costs, help family. It’s the right thing to do, right?
Problem was, Alice and I couldn’t seem to both hold jobs at the same time. She would get laid off a week before I would start a new job, and vice-versa. After about 9 months of this, I was like, fuck it, Imma get ALL the jobs.
I get a job working weeknights. I get a weekend job. The temp service I signed up with was really aggressive and got me decent (weekday) jobs on a regular basis. Only problem was, these jobs were over an hour away from her mom’s and I’d be so dead tired from working, I’d crash at my brother’s place which was 10 minutes away the next city over. I’d only be able to go home to see Alice every few days, then have to get up a few hours later so I could beat the rush hour in to work. Four months pass, and we find ourselves slowly inching from the red into the black.
One day, Alice lets me know that she got a job. It’s about 20 minutes away, and only I have a (working) car. She has friends that can give her a ride when I’m not home, and I take her to work or pick her up every chance I get. This goes on for about a month. Finally she says, “I think I need my own car.” It’s all good, she’s an independent girl, and I can see how hard it is for her to be so dependent on other people. I do some quick math and figure it would take about four months for us to get enough money together to get a decent beater that won’t die in a year. She nods her understanding. I see her disappointment, and my man-pride cannot take it.
I level up and go beast mode. I start taking side jobs (mostly construction) with a friend of a friend who pays on a per-day basis to fill out the times when I have blanks on weekdays when the temp agency hasn’t got anything for me and I pull double shifts for the weekend job. I sleep an average of four or five hours a day.
Three weeks later, I have purchased a car for her, a cute little 4×4 that I saw on Craigslist. Mechanically sound, but was dirty AF. I park it at a friend’s place and over the course of a week, give that grimy bastard the most comprehensive cleaning of its life. You could have eaten off the wheel wells, I shit you not. My good buddy Nathan springs for some cheap but nice visuals (wheel paint, seat covers, floor mats, etc.) and we make it look even better. When we move it out of the garage, my friend’s mom swears it can’t be the same car and I have to prove it to her. I leave my car with Nathan, and drive home in her car.
Timing is perfect. I’m about 10 minutes away from home when Alice calls me on my cell. She wants to go get some groceries. I let her know I’ll be there in a bit and park by the curb one house down. I knock on the door and tell her to come out so we can go. She steps out and looks around.
“Where’s your car?”
“Left it at Nathan’s.”
“What did you drive?”
“That.” (I point at the car.)
“Whose car is that?”
She takes a couple of seconds to process that single word. Then, her jaw drops and Alice runs back inside screaming “MOM, InsaneRN GOT ME A CAR!”
A couple of years go by. Alice has learned how to use a manual transmission because Her Baby has one. Between myself and her stepdad, Alice has learned to change the oil herself, and even took an active part in replacing the brake pads and all four shock absorbers on Her Baby. She bathes Her Baby herself. She has learned to take care of Her Baby.
MIL’s medical problems are mostly manageable with meds now, and stepdad is getting almost regular work thrown his way by friends and previous customers. We have moved out of her mom’s place, and I’m only working two jobs now. Credit card debt is down by 80%. Alice also has a steady job, and is thinking of going back to school.
And then I find out she is cheating on me.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. There is no third time. There must be payback. My man-pride demands it.
A week after the nuke drops on our marriage, I’ve worked out the problem. She’s already gotten her stuff and moved out by then.
I call her up to meet. Lunchtime, her work. Just to talk, I say. There’s a little pseudo-eco-industrial picnic area right by the building she works at, and there’s a fair amount of foot traffic (ie, witnesses). There’s some chitchat, and she makes a vague appeal to work things out by dragging my dead dad into it. Hellz naw. You don’t have the right to do that. You had a one percent chance, but that just flat out dropped it to zero. I cut her off mid-sentence.
“I’m taking the car. Your car.”
“The pink slip is in my name. I’m taking back my property right now. And if you don’t hand over the keys right now, I’m going to report it stolen to the police.”
“But you gave that car to me!”
I’d been talking in a normal, conversational tone up until this time. Her betrayal rams into my chest for the thousandth time. My voice hardens.
“I didn’t give the car to you. I gave the car to my wife.”
Her brain still isn’t firing on all cylinders. She asks, “B-but how will I get to work?”
” . . . Get your boyfriend to drive you.”
I’m still looking at her. Her face goes slack as she realizes that I am. Not. Kidding.
I take the keys, get into the Her Baby, and drive off. I look at her as we pass. She still has the same look on her face.
And I drive all the way home with the biggest shit-eating grin on mine.
Four years into our marriage, I noticed that she was “going out” a lot with “friends”. “Work” was demanding more of her time. She was coming home later and later. She was skipping out on eating our meals together. Classic signs.
I finally confronted her. One day, she told me she was going out with friends. Again. I said it was fine. When her “friends” came to pick her up, I told her I wanted to meet them. “Oh, we have to be somewhere at this time and we’ll just make it if we leave now.”
I consider myself pretty laid back, but I took a hard line this time.
“You’re not going anywhere until I meet them.”
She knows she’s caught. She goes out the door . . . and comes back with one guy. My heart rate shoots up, and I try to keep my rage under control. My dad was an old-school soldier, and he taught usdiscipline. You learn discipline real fast when screwing up means you get the belt.
I have both of them sit down, she can’t even look at me. I straight up ask, “Are you her boyfriend? Is she your girlfriend?”
Guy has a smirk-sneer on his face. “What do you think?”
You know that saying “seeing red”? It’s true. I saw red. I wanted to get my machete and go to town.
But, discipline. You are better than they are. I control my breathing, take a deep cleansing breath.
My voice is shaky. I point to her. “You, woman, if this is how you treat our marriage, then I want nothing to do with you.” I point to the guy. “You. If she can do this to her husband, guess what she’s going to do to you?” I point to the door. “Both of you may now leave.”
The guy drops the smeerk off his face because he sees something in mine and both get up and scramble for the door. Right before it shuts I can hear her yelling at him about how close he came to dying. I hear the car peel out a few seconds later.
I lock the door and collapse down against it.
That night, she calls me up. She’s getting her stuff and getting the FO of my life. I’m still messed up, so I say yes. I tell her I’ll even stay out while she does this. Fine, she says. The next day, I go out and do stuff. Then I go do more stuff just to do stuff. When I get home, she’s taken her stuff. She’s also taken a shit ton’s worth of my stuff. Stuff that was sentimental to me but not to her, just to deny me that little bit more happiness.
That’s not right; that’s just rubbing it in with a rake.
I’m stone cold sober now, and I begin to plan. It takes a week, but end result:
I take her car.
First person I called immediately after I got home was her mom. I told MIL that we (her daughter and I) “couldn’t be together anymore.” MIL tries to get more information, but I tell her to get it from her daughter and call me if she needs any more details. MIL is cussing up a storm (not directed at me) when I hang up.
A couple of days later, I got a call from her brother who is 6’1″ and built like a brick shithouse. This is the guy who told me that if I ever hurt his little sister he would melt my dead body in acid so no one would ever find it.
“Bro, I’m sorry about what happened. If you need anything, just call.”
My MIL has ten siblings. She told all of them, and all of them were solidly behind me. Even the psycho aunt that nobody else in the family talked to. Her cousins, nieces, and nephews called me up to offer support. It was immensely gratifying.
Karma: About a year later, I heard through a friend that BF got her pregnant then dumped her. A year after that, heard she was pregnant again from a different guy who also dumped her.