I sold my parents’ home and even let go of my car to finance my husband’s dream of owning a farm. I believed in him without question—until a single phone call on my way to the bank made me realize I might not know who he was truly building that future with.
Early that morning, I sat on the edge of our worn-out bed, watching Jake sleep. He always looked so peaceful, as if unpaid bills and endless expenses didn’t exist. I reached over and lightly touched his shoulder.
“Jake. Wake up. We agreed I’d take the money to the bank today.”
He blinked awake and smiled lazily. “Morning, baby. You’re up early again, huh?”
“Well, who else if not me?”
I headed into the kitchen to make his coffee, giving him another chance to sit there dreaming about the farm he couldn’t stop talking about. A few minutes later, he appeared in the doorway, picked up his mug, and settled into the chair across from me.
“Martha, you know I love you, right? You’re my rock. You’re everything I’ve got.”
I smiled quietly.
“Tell me again. What are we going to do?”
Jake pushed his mug aside and stretched his arms wide as though he could already feel acres of farmland around him.
“We’ll have our own land, fresh milk, no chemicals. People will come from all over the country. Our name on every jar. And that’s just the beginning!”
“And the kids? When will we finally be able to send Benny to a decent school?”
“Soon, baby, soon. It’ll all work out. You sold the lake house — that’s the beginning.”
I nodded. That little lakeside house was the final piece of my parents I still had. But if sacrificing it helped my husband reach his dream…
“But your money — that’s the final piece.”
My eyes drifted to the envelope resting on the shelf.
