My Husband Spent Thousands on His Muse

In the live stream chat, fans were spamming the screen, begging him to talk about "the one that got away." He leaned back in his gaming chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah, there was someone.

Back then, I just wasn't good enough for her." The chat immediately went wild, everyone screaming about "heartbreak" and "tragic love." He just smiled, his eyes drifting.

No denial, no explanation. I stood just outside the camera's view, handing him a bottle of water.

A comment flashed across the screen: If she came back to you today, would you take her?

He read the question out loud, paused for a second, shot a quick glance in my direction, and chuckled. "Some questions are better left unanswered." Another wave of expensive virtual gifts flooded his screen.

I looked down at my wrist. Today was my birthday. The bracelet he gave me was a fivedollar bargain from Wish, and the plastic packaging wasn't even fully torn off.

We had been married for three years. I paid the mortgage. I was the one who stayed up all night with him to build his livestreaming career.

But in his heart, I didn't even deserve a mention. The stream didn't wrap up until two in the morning.

He shut down the equipment, stretched in his gaming chair, and glanced over at me. "Why are you still up?" I jingled the cheap chain on my wrist. "It's my birthday." "Oh, right." He slapped his forehead, acting like he just remembered. "Happy birthday.

Do you like it? I picked it out myself." "The fivedollar bargain from Wish?" The smile wiped clean off his face, replaced by an annoyed scowl. "Here you go again.

I'm just starting out, Chloe. Once I make the big bucks, I'll buy you whatever you want." I had heard that promise for three years.

It was always "in the future." Once we had money, once things stabilized, once he had time. But that future never seemed to arrive.

Three years ago, he quit his job to become a fulltime streamer, claiming he wanted to prove himself. I believed him. I took on the mortgage and all our living expenses by myself.

I worked two jobs during the day and helped him polish his stream scripts at night. He went from making fifty bucks a month to over five thousand. I thought I could finally breathe.

Then, I accidentally saw his Instagram. The only account he followed was a girl’s profile. Her picture was the silhouette of a woman in a white dress, standing by the ocean.

I tapped in. I scrolled up their chat history.

It was filled with messages from him: "I thought of you during my stream today." "I sang that song you used to love." "Serena, how have you been lately?" "The moon tonight looks just like you." Serena.

Serena Shen. He saved her contact name as "My Moon." Mine was just "Chloe." First name. No emojis. Not even a heart. Scrolling further down, I saw the money transfers he sent her.

On her birthday last year, he sent her $5,200. The note read: A little gift for you. Five thousand two hundred dollars. And he gave his wife a fivedollar piece of junk.

I kept scrolling, my fingers turning cold. On my birthday last year, he had texted me: Super busy today. Just grab a cupcake or something for yourself.

At that exact same hour, he had texted Serena: Serena, I walked past a boutique today and saw a necklace that would look gorgeous on you. I'll bring it to you next time we meet.

His gift to someone else was "I'll bring it next time we meet." His gift to his wife was "go buy yourself a cupcake." I didn’t throw a fit right then.

It wasn't because I didn't want to, but because I was too exhausted. So exhausted I didn’t even have the energy to scream. "Ethan." When I used his actual name, his eyelid twitched.

That was his tell. He did that whenever he felt guilty or nervous. "In your stream tonight, who were you talking about?

The girl that got away?" He was scrolling through his phone and didn't even look up. "Just some random talk. It’s for the online persona.

You wouldn’t understand." "I wouldn’t understand?" I repeated. "Does your 'persona' require you to save your top female donor as 'Babe'?

Does your 'persona' require you to keep a folder full of another woman's photos?

Does your 'persona' require you to text 'Midnight Muse' in the middle of the night saying the moon looks just like her?" His thumb froze on his screen. "You went through my phone?" "You use my birthday as your passcode.

It’s hard not to see it." He slammed his phone onto the desk, stood up, and kicked his chair back. It hit the wall with a loud crash. "Chloe!

What gives you the right to go through my phone?!"

"And what gave you the right to transfer my money to another woman?" I stood up, my voice just as loud as his. "Five thousand two hundred dollars, Ethan.

I have to work two weeks straight to make that much.

The day you sent her that money, I bought a bulk box of instant ramen.” “You said the stream background looked bad and needed new lighting, so I starved myself to buy those lights for you!" "That was your choice!

I never asked you to starve!" Those words felt like a knife plunging straight into my chest.

I froze. "What did you just say?" "I said, I never asked you to do that." His face was cold, his voice completely devoid of warmth. "You chose to be cheap.

You chose to work two jobs. You chose to spend your money on me. Did I force you? Did I put a gun to your head?" My mouth hung open, but no words came out. Because he was right.

He didn't force me. I did it willingly. I was the idiot. I was the fool who tore my own heart out and handed it to him.

When he complained it was too hot, I even blew on it to cool it down before giving it back. "Chloe, stop acting like the whole world owes you something," he said, sitting back down and crossing his legs. "Did I ask you to do any of that?

You insisted on playing the martyr, the 'perfect supportive wife.' And now you’re turning around and blaming me?" "I’m not blaming—" "You aren't? Then why go through my phone?

Why check my logs? You just wanted to find something to use against me, didn't you? You just wanted to prove that I'm the bad guy!" His logic made my head spin.

He was the one flirting with another woman. He was the one spending my hardearned money to pamper someone else.

Yet somehow, I was the one in the wrong? "Ethan, what exactly is your relationship with Serena?" "We're just friends." "Friends you send five thousand dollars to?" "She was going through a rough patch and needed cash.

I helped a friend out. What's wrong with that?" "Her family drama is none of your business!" "Chloe!" He slammed his hand on the desk. "Can you stop being so petty?

I helped a friend.

Do you have zero trust in me?" "And saving one hundred and thirtyseven photos of her is also just being 'friends'?" His face went stiff for a split second. "One hundred and thirtyseven photos, Ethan.

The oldest one was saved three years ago, a month before our wedding. While you were saving her pictures, our wedding invitations were sitting right next to your computer.

You wrote them by hand. I watched you write them." He stayed silent for a few seconds, then let out a cold laugh. "Chloe, are you insane? It’s just a few pictures.

It's not like I slept with her." He stood up, towering over me. "I swear, Chloe, I hate this about you.

Always snooping, checking logs, calculating every single penny you spent on me.” “If you hated spending the money, you should've said so.

Don't pay for things and then keep a tally, acting like this marriage is some kind of business transaction." "I didn't keep a tally—" "You didn't?

Then how do you know exactly how many photos I saved? How do you know how many times I sent her money?” “ You are keeping a tally!

You've been calculating against me since day one of our marriage!" The air in my chest felt tight, suffocating. Calculating against him? Me?

I worked two jobs every single day, so exhausted that I would fall asleep standing up on the subway. Was I calculating?

I wiped out my entire threeyear savings to pay off his credit card debt. Was I calculating?

When his parents got sick, I was the one running around the hospital and paying their medical bills. Was I calculating?

"Ethan, doesn't your conscience hurt at all when you say things like that?" "Conscience?" He laughed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Chloe, you want to talk about conscience with me?

If you had one, you wouldn't be starting a fight right when my career is finally taking off.” “Do you have any idea how crucial this moment is for me?

Do you know how much the channel is growing? You’re doing this on purpose, aren't you?" I stared at him, suddenly feeling like I was looking at a complete stranger.

Was this really the man I married? "Do you know that when the mortgage autodrafted last month, I only had thirty dollars left in my bank account?" "That’s your problem." "What?" "I said, that's your problem." He looked at me with a completely blank face. "You were the one who insisted on buying a house.

It's in your name. Why should I pay for it? Did you consult me when you chose such an expensive place?" "I did consult you.

You said yes." "I said yes because I didn't want to fight with you. You always do this. You make a decision, then come ask me. If I say no, you throw a tantrum.

What choice did I have but to say yes?" I leaned against the wall, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my chest. Three years. For three years, I thought we were building a home together.

But to him, I was just a stranger who "insisted on buying a house," "insisted on being a martyr," and "insisted on playing the perfect wife." "What about your streaming gear then?

The computer, the sound card, the ring lights—did I 'insist' on buying those too?" "I never asked you to.

I said I could wait, but you insisted on buying them right away." "You said you'd wait, but you only had two hundred dollars left in your account back then.

How were you going to wait?" "That was my business." Those words slipped from his mouth so casually, like he was talking about something completely unrelated to him.

I took a deep breath. "Ethan, let me ask you one last time. Who is Serena?" "My college ex." "Did you love her?" He remained silent for two seconds.

Those two seconds of silence were more brutal than any verbal answer could ever be. "That's in the past." "So you did love her." "Chloe, can you stop obsessing over the past?" "You're still sending her money.

You're still texting her. You're still keeping her photos in your vault.

How is that the past?" He went quiet. "Tonight during your stream, your fans asked about the girl that got away. You answered them.

You said you weren't good enough for her." "Did you ever think about how I would feel, standing right outside the camera, hearing those words?" "It was just for the stream's engagement—" "Engagement?" I cut him off. "You didn't even hesitate.

You said it with such a natural smile.

If you didn't care about her, could you have said it so easily?" "Chloe—" "You told tens of thousands of people that your heart belongs to someone else. What about me?

What am I to you? What do I count as?" His expression shifted from cold indifference to sheer annoyance. "Chloe, what do you want from me? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg?

Do you want me to rip my heart out and show it to you?" "I don't want you to kneel.

I just want you to answer one question." "What?" "If Serena came back to you today and said she wanted to be with you, who would you choose?"

His pupils contracted. That tiny physical reaction was louder than any confession.

Then, he said the words that completely shattered the last piece of my heart. "Chloe, hypotheticals like that are pointless." "Why are they pointless?" "Because she’s not coming back." It wasn't "I choose you." It wasn't "I wouldn't want her." It wasn't "I'm married to you." It was "She's not coming back." Which meant, if she did come back, if she wanted him, his answer would be different.

I laughed.

I laughed so hard that tears started rolling down my face. "Ethan, you won't even lie to me." "Chloe—" "You can't even bring yourself to say 'I choose you'." "This has nothing to do with choosing anyone.

It’s just a reality—" "The reality is, she's the one in your heart, but I'm the one you married.

The reality is, you spend my money to take care of her, while telling thousands of people she's your forever muse.

The reality is, I've been by your side for three years, and I don't even deserve a decent contact name on your phone.

She is 'My Moon,' and I am 'Chloe.' Ethan, you couldn't even be bothered to add a single emoji to my name." "It's just a contact name!

Why do you always have to obsess over these tiny details?" "Tiny details?" I wiped my tears. "Then what's a big deal? Sleeping with her? Throwing me out on the street?

Or does it only become a big deal when you finally drive me to jump off a bridge?" "Chloe, stop being dramatic!" "Dramatic?" I stared at him. "Ethan, let me ask you.

When was the last time you asked me 'How was your day?'" He froze. "You don't remember, do you? Let me help you. It was March of last year. A year and a half ago.

I had a 103degree fever.” “You asked how my day was, I told you I was sick, and you said 'Go to bed early then,' before continuing your stream until two in the morning." "The next day, my fever hit 104.

I drove myself to the ER to get an IV. You didn't even send a single text." "Do you know what I was thinking while lying in that hospital bed?

I thought, if I died right there, you wouldn't even notice until the cat ran out of food." His lips parted, but no sound came out. "And when was the last time we had dinner together?" Silence. "Chloe—" "Don't worry about answering.

I'll tell you. It was three months ago. Your mom was visiting, so you had no choice but to sit at the table.

The minute she left, you went straight back to your computer." "I told you, during streams, I have to monitor the chat—" "You don't need to monitor the chat at two in the morning when you're offair, do you?

What were you doing then? You were texting Serena, browsing her Instagram, and staring at her new pictures." "Chloe, can you just—" "Just what? Stop talking?

You hate hearing it?" I took a step closer. "Ethan, do you have any idea how I lived these past three years?" "You slept in until eleven every morning while I got up at six.

I made you breakfast, and you never once said thank you. You pushed your empty plate away, I washed it, and then I went to work.

Meanwhile, you played video games until your afternoon stream." "I came home from work, bought groceries, and cooked.

You ate while talking to your viewers, and I sat next to you tracking your stream data and replying to messages. You streamed until 2 AM, and I stayed up with you until 2 AM.

When you went to sleep, I stayed up to do the laundry, mop the floor, feed the cat, and clean up the takeout boxes you threw all over the place." "I was busy until nearly three every morning, only to get up at six again." "Three years.

One thousand and ninetyfive days. I have not slept more than five hours a single night." "And you, Ethan? You didn't even know what time I went to bed.

One night you finished streaming at 3 AM and saw me folding clothes in the living room.” “You asked, 'Why are you still up?' I said I was waiting for you. You said, 'Why wait?

Just go to sleep.'" "I was waiting for you.

Waiting for you to finish, waiting for you to eat, waiting for you to have time, waiting for you to look at me." "I waited for three years. You never once looked back."