My work trip ended early, and I planned a surprise for my husband, Mike, and our kids, Ava and Lucas. Their laughter and Mike’s warm grin always welcomed me home after twelve years. But our house was eerily quiet—no toys, no noise. Mike worked from home, and the kids should’ve been there. In the backyard, a strange tent stood, the grass around it worn. Curious, I approached, expecting a fun family activity, but Mike emerged, sweaty and flustered, fumbling with his shirt.
“What’s this?” I asked, uneasy. He froze as the tent moved. I peered inside, hit by patchouli, and saw Mike’s mother, Ruth, surrounded by crystals and a “Soul Cleansing” chart. “You’re early,” she said. I demanded clarity. Mike mumbled about “energy rituals,” while Ruth said my job brought “bad vibes,” needing weekly fixes. The kids were at Mike’s cousin’s, kept away for “clear energy.” Stunned, I tried to understand, joining a session, but then I saw our bank records.
Monthly $1,000 transfers to Ruth’s “PureSpirit Co.” and a $50,000 equity withdrawal floored me. “It’s for her wellness hub,” Mike said, ignoring our kids’ college funds. “Without telling me?” I asked, furious. He called it “growth,” blaming my “closed mind.” I gave him an ultimatum: us or this. He chose Ruth. I froze our accounts, hired Mom a lawyer, Lisa, and filed for divorce and custody, citing financial betrayal. I shared the truth online, and Ruth’s “healing” venture collapsed.
The divorce was fast. Mike lives with Mom, his mom hawking crystals. The kids and Mom and I kept our home, rebuilding. The tent showed Mike’s true colors, guiding me to protect our family with newfound strength.
