My husband vanished and CAME BACK 20 YEARS LATER!
When Gia was born, Jason and I were barely scraping by. We were young and unprepared. Money was tight, and he turned into the biggest cheapskate. He would yell if I bought name-brand diapers or left a light on for five extra minutes. We were exhausted, broke, and fighting every single day. The penny-pinching got insane; he started rationing food portions for me while I was breastfeeding.
But that wasn’t the worst part. One Tuesday, I came home, and everything was gone — his stuff, him. The closet was empty. The bank account was drained of the measly $400 we had saved. All he left was a note on the table: “I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.”
I was shattered. How was I supposed to be a single mom? But I looked at my baby girl, Gia, and she needed me, so I had to figure it out.
For ten years, I busted my butt raising her, always telling her it wasn’t her fault her dad left. I worked three jobs. I went to night school. Slowly, we climbed out of poverty. By the time Gia was 20, we had a beautiful home, she was in college on a scholarship, and life finally started to feel normal again.
Until there was a knock at the door.
It was a rainy Tuesday, just like the day he left. I opened it, and my jaw hit the floor.
Standing there, 20 years after disappearing, was Jason.
But, dear God… what happened to him?! He looked 80, not 50. He was missing teeth. His skin was gray and clinging to his bones. He was wearing a coat that looked like it had been pulled from a dumpster.
“Hi, Mary,” he wheezed. “Can I come in? It’s cold.”
I was too stunned to speak, so I stepped back. He limped into the living room—the living room I paid for—and collapsed onto the sofa.
“I made a mistake,” he whispered. “I thought… I thought if I didn’t have the expenses of a family, I could make it big. I went to Vegas. I tried to start a business. I lost it all, Mary. Everything. I’ve been living in a shelter for five years. I’m sick. I have nowhere else to go. You’re my wife.”
“Ex-wife,” I corrected, finding my voice. “I divorced you in absentia 18 years ago.”
“Please,” he begged, tears tracking through the grime on his face. “Family helps family. I just need a room. I need someone to take care of me.”
Just then, Gia walked in. She stopped dead. She looked at the stranger on the couch, then at me.
“Is this him?” she asked coldly.
“Yes,” I said.
Jason looked up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Gia? Look at you. You’re all grown up. I’m your dad.”
Gia walked over to the kitchen counter, picked up her purse, and pulled out a single $20 bill. She walked back to Jason.
“You left because we were too expensive,” Gia said, her voice steady as a rock. “You didn’t want to pay for my diapers or my food. You wanted to save your money. Well, now I’m saving mine.”
She dropped the $20 bill into his lap.
“This should cover a bus ticket to the nearest shelter. Get out of my mother’s house.”
He tried to argue, but I picked up the phone and dialed 911. “I have an intruder refusing to leave,” I said, locking eyes with him.
He shuffled out into the rain before the cops arrived. He spent 20 years avoiding the cost of a family, only to realize that the true cost was ending up with no one.
