When Lisa’s husband, Tom, keeps urging her to find a second job,

she starts to feel uneasy about his motives. Eventually, tired of

his constant nagging, Lisa decides to take a job. At this new place, she uncovers a shocking truth about her husband.

In our household, I earn more than Tom. It was never an issue before, but lately, he’s been pushing me to get another job.

“You don’t even leave the house for work, so you can’t be as tired as I am at the end of the day,” Tom remarked one evening.

“But you’re a mechanic,” I shot back. “You run your own shop and even take days off whenever you want since you have staff.”

“Let’s just drop this topic,” he muttered dismissively.

For weeks, we avoided it. I hoped he’d drop it for good because I couldn’t understand why it mattered so much to him.

One night, while having dinner with my mom, I shared Tom’s suggestion.

“Are you guys having money troubles?” she asked, concerned.

“No, we’re doing fine,” I replied. “Our expenses are simple. Tom just keeps bringing it up, and I don’t get why.”

“Maybe his business isn’t doing well?” she wondered aloud.

“That can’t be it. He has plenty of customers, and he’s even hiring new staff. So, why push me?”

Weeks later, after he mentioned selling my car to save money, he brought

up the second job again over dinner. “You gotta get that second job,” he said, his knife scraping against his plate.

“Why me?” I asked, stunned. “I already work all day, and I handle the housework too!”

“Your work’s easy, Lisa. You work from home, not under cars all day,” he said dismissively.

Frustrated, I decided I would get a job—just not the kind he’d expect.

The next morning, I applied at the bowling alley where Tom and his friends

spent their evenings. I figured it was time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

On my first shift, I dressed in the alley’s revealing uniform. When Tom arrived that night, he did a double-take.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, furious.

“I’m working,” I said with a smirk. “You wanted me to get another job, remember?”

“This isn’t what I meant!”

“Well, I’m getting great tips!” I replied, walking off.

Later, the manager, Ursula, mentioned Tom’s history at the alley. “One waitress

even had a child with him,” she confided. My heart sank, realizing he hadn’t wanted me to work for financial reasons—he needed money to pay child support.

I marched up to Tom, livid. “You’re a disgusting man,” I said, slapping him. “You’re out tonight. I’ll be filing for divorce tomorrow.”

I walked out, heartbroken. The man I thought I knew had turned out to be a stranger.

What would you have done?