My Wife's Secondhand Habit Exposed Her Affair

On my birthday, my wife, Iris Lockwood, has ordered a few workers to carry a dust-covered second-hand air conditioner home as my birthday present.

She points at the air conditioner while gushing excitedly, "This is a big brand, you know! It might look dirty on the outside, but the insides are brand new!

"Remember, we're scrimping all the pennies we can get in order to move into a penthouse in the future. That way, we'll be able to live comfortably as a family of three!"

I'm very understanding toward Iris, seeing as it's very difficult to earn money nowadays. So, I endure the pain that's flaring from an old hip injury I've sustained during my early days as a manual laborer as I crouch on the floor and clean the air conditioner for two long hours.

But as soon as it's turned on, chemical powder sprays from it, soon filling the whole apartment. Because of that, our three-year-old son, Flynn Holt, goes into shock immediately from the severe allergy.

With red-rimmed eyes, I yell at Iris to take Flynn to the hospital. But she quickly leaves after taking a phone call.

"Crap, my biggest client is met with a car accident! I need to deal with it right away! You can flag down a cab and take Flynn to the hospital on your own!"

That midnight, I head over to Quantum Heights, which is known as the most luxurious residence in the city, after receiving a phone call regarding the wrong address.

In the corridor, I see Iris embracing a young man. She has nothing but love and affection for him.

"There's no need to save money, you know. Young men at your age love new and branded goods, don't you?"

Right… To Iris, a useless husband like me who didn't have an educational background only deserved to use second-hand things.

But even the most saintly man will revolt one day once his patience is worn out. Besides, I've been faking my nice, understanding personality all along.

My wife, Iris Lockwood, earned 45 thousand dollars a year, yet she was a penny-pincher. Almost all the furniture and appliances in our home were items she had scavenged from local secondhand groups.

The genuine leather couch in the living room had edges that were peeling and mottled, but she insisted, "Darling, this is top-grain leather. It originally cost more than six thousand dollars. The previous owner was in a rush to move abroad, so I snagged it for 100 dollars. Once you wipe off the dust, it's practically as good as new!"

The washing machine in the bathroom would let out a roar like a tractor during the spin cycle, but she would just smile and reassure me, "This brand has a great motor. The louder it is, the stronger it is, and therefore it washes better. We're pinching pennies now so we can move into a luxury apartment in the future and give you and our son a better life!"

Every time I heard her say things like that, I was reminded of how difficult it was for her to earn money. I even felt fortunate to have a woman who was willing to budget so meticulously for the sake of our family.

Consequently, I wore 5-dollar discounted shoes, smoked the cheapest cigarettes, and couldn't even bring myself to buy a shaver that cost more than 30 dollars. Every month, after I was paid, I only kept 80 dollars for myself as pocket money. The rest went straight into our joint account.

…

One afternoon, while I was cleaning, I fished a man's necktie out from the cushions of that secondhand couch. It was from a renowned luxury brand and appeared to be relatively new.

That evening, when Iris came home from work, I held up the tie and asked, "Honey, why is there someone else's tie inside this couch?"

Iris froze mid-stride while changing her shoes and naturally broke into a smile. "Oh, what's so strange about that? It's secondhand furniture. The previous owner must've dropped it in the gap."

"But you told me the previous owner was a woman."

After hearing that, she stiffened for a second before her face clouded with a hint of impatience. "It was probably her boyfriend's. Consider it a free gift, then. You never bother to dress up anyway, so this tie is a bargain for you…"

Her words didn't sit right with me, so I immediately tossed the tie into the trash. "No thanks. I don't want anything someone else has already had."

"Oh, so now you're being picky?" she teased. "Guys who use that brand are always clean and well put together. You really should learn a thing or two from them…"

With that, she turned and walked into the bedroom. An indescribable sense of unease welled up in my heart, but the sound of my son, Flynn Holt, wailing interrupted my stray thoughts.

…

Merely a few days later, the buzzing secondhand refrigerator in our home finally gave up the ghost. I called Iris and asked her to pick up a new one on her way home from work.

"Darling, buying a new one is such a waste of money. It just so happens that someone in the local group is selling a secondhand double-door fridge. It's in great condition, and it's only a grand! I'll hire a delivery van to bring it home tonight. Don't you worry about it!"

At 10:00 pm, Iris directed the movers as they carried a silver double-door refrigerator through the door. The fridge did indeed look brand new, but the moment I opened the door, a pungent scent—a heavy mix of odors dominated by strong cheese—hit me full in the face.

However, I was used to it.

I honestly had no idea what kind of people were in that secondhand group Iris had joined. Every time she scavenged an appliance, it looked fairly new, yet the previous owners never seemed to take care of it, always leaving behind stubborn stains and grime that were difficult to clean.

I had to wipe this fridge down three times with a rag and leave half a box of pomelo peels inside before the smell finally dissipated.

Late that night, I got out of bed to go to the kitchen for a glass of water. When I walked past the living room, I noticed Iris standing beside that "secondhand fridge", sending a voice message.

Her voice was extremely soft, yet I still caught bits and pieces of it. "...I've already gotten rid of the old one. It didn't cost me anything… That four-door fridge will be delivered tomorrow, so wait at home for it…"