Chapter 4: Secrets and Setups Over Beer

Seeing how stubborn she was, I didn’t want to argue anymore. I stormed out, needing someone to vent to, and called my best friend for drinks.

I just needed to vent. Maybe a drink—or three. The city lights blurred past as I made my way to our favorite bar.

When we met, he teased, “Newlywed and already looking for me to eat with you?”

He grinned, nudging me in the ribs. I managed a weak smile, sliding into the booth across from him.

I just handed him the menu. Didn’t order food, but I did order a lot of beer.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press. Sometimes, you just need a friend who knows when to shut up and pour another round.

“What’s going on? Are you trying to get me drunk?”

He eyed the growing stack of empty bottles, concern flickering in his eyes. I shrugged, taking another swig.

I unloaded everything—my mother-in-law’s pregnancy, my wife giving all our money to her family.

The words spilled out, raw and unfiltered. By the end, I felt lighter, but also exposed.

When I finished, my friend gave me a complicated look.

He leaned back, arms crossed, studying me. I braced myself for whatever he was about to say.

“Just say it. Don’t look at me like that—people might get the wrong idea about us.”

I tried to joke, but my voice was hoarse. He snorted, then clinked his glass against mine.

He clinked his glass with mine and finally said, “We’ve been buddies for years, so I’ll be straight with you… Everything about this sounds like a setup.”

He didn’t sugarcoat it. I appreciated his honesty, even if it stung.

“Maybe I’m just cynical, but why would your mother-in-law have another kid at her age? It can’t just be that she’s bored at home. Are you planning to have her help raise your kids later?”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to answer. I shook my head, unable to find the words.

“And why wait until after the wedding to tell you? Even if it’s just over three months, with today’s tech you can find out the baby’s gender. I bet it’s a boy. And the money that was supposed to come to your new home is now being ‘invested’—if that person runs off, are you going to chase your in-laws for it?”

He laid it all out, no holds barred. I felt my anger simmering again, this time mixed with shame.

“In the end, it could all just vanish. I wouldn’t be surprised if that money’s already gone.”

I didn’t answer. The silence sat heavy between us.

I drained my glass, the burn in my throat fueling my frustration.

The alcohol didn’t help, but it numbed the edge. I slammed the glass down, feeling emptier than before.

Of course I knew things weren’t that simple—especially looking back at everything before the wedding. I was angry at myself for being so naïve.

I replayed every conversation, every promise, every red flag I’d ignored. It all seemed so obvious now.

When our families discussed the wedding gifts, my parents offered $30,000 and her family was to provide a $15,000 dowry.

I remembered sitting at the dining table, paperwork spread out, everyone nodding along as if it were all routine. I should have known nothing about this was routine.

Later, when my parents said they’d buy me a car outright, my father-in-law started talking about how his niece got a $150,000 wedding gift when she married.

He’d brought it up casually, but the message was clear. I felt the pressure mount, like I was being measured against someone else’s yardstick.

My mother-in-law chimed in, mocking us for only offering $30,000.

Her words were sharp, laced with sarcasm. I tried to brush it off, but it stung.

Eventually, the conversation turned to adding the $45,000 for the car to the wedding gift, just to make it look good.

I’d nodded along, not wanting to cause a scene. I told myself it was just money, that it would all work out in the end.

My mother-in-law swore up and down that their only daughter would bring all the money to our new home, that their savings would be ours in the future.

She’d looked me in the eye, hand over her heart, promising the world. I wanted to believe her. I really did.

I’d had a few drinks that night and agreed without thinking.

Looking back, I wish I’d been more careful. Hindsight’s always twenty-twenty, right?

I sighed in regret. My friend patted my shoulder. “You need to start planning, and your wife…”

He gave me a look, the kind that says, “Don’t be stupid.” I bristled, ready to defend Emily.

“She wouldn’t,” I cut him off.

My voice was firm, maybe a little too loud. I needed him to know I still trusted her, even if everything else was falling apart.

He wanted me to be wary of my wife being part of the scheme, but I trusted her.

I remembered all the little moments—late-night talks, shared secrets, dreams whispered in the dark. She wasn’t a con artist. She was just caught in the middle, like me.

We were college sweethearts—each other’s first love. Nobody’s perfect their first time around. Every time I upset her, a little coaxing and she’d forgive me.

I smiled at the memory of our first date, how nervous we’d both been. We’d grown up together, made mistakes, learned as we went. That had to count for something.

Other people give flowers, gifts, Starbucks cards, fancy dinners on Valentine’s Day. I took her to food trucks and gave her cheap trinkets, and she was always happy.

We’d laughed about it, called ourselves “the bargain couple.” She never cared about the price tag—just the thought behind it.

I was terrible with money—sometimes I’d run out before the end of the month and use her meal plan, and she never complained.

She’d tease me about my empty wallet, but she never made me feel less than. That kind of loyalty is rare.

Who would spend seven years pretending, just to scam an average guy like me?

I shook my head, refusing to believe she was anything but genuine. My friend didn’t push it.

We drank until late. I staggered home, half out of it.

The city was quiet, the streets washed in yellow light. I fumbled with my keys, grateful for the familiar creak of our front door.

The lights were still on. Emily was waiting for me.

She sat on the couch, blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes were red, but she smiled when she saw me.

She didn’t say a word about the drinking—just brought me some honey water and a towel.

She moved quietly, making sure I had everything I needed. I felt a wave of guilt, wishing I could make things easier for her.

Seeing how careful and eager to please she was, my heart softened.

I reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. Whatever happened, we’d face it together.