Simple.

That first Friday, I sent the money from my savings. He checked his phone, smiled, and patted my arm.

“Thanks,” he said. “Now, what do you need?”

What I received for that money was the bare minimum.

He rushed through showers, sighing, saying, “Can you hurry up? I’ve got stuff to do.”

He dropped meals in front of me without asking if I needed help.

He left me alone for hours. When I used the call button, he ignored it and later said, “I was busy,” or “You have to stop acting like I’m your servant.”

I started feeling guilty for needing water.

He was constantly on his phone. Always texting. Always turning the screen away.

“Who are you talking to?” I asked once.

“Guys from work,” he replied. “I’m allowed to have a life.”

He started leaving more often. I’d hear the door slam while I sat stuck in my chair.

One night, I woke up thirsty. He wasn’t in bed. I heard his voice in the living room. I pressed the call button. Nothing. I called his phone—it rang nearby.

He let it ring.

The next morning, his phone buzzed while he showered. I didn’t go searching. The screen lit up on its own.

Jenna: “The other night was amazing. Can’t wait to see you again. ”

Jenna was my friend.

I opened the messages. There it all was.

Him: “Babysitting a cripple is exhausting. You better make it worth it later.”
Her: “Poor you  At least she’s paying for our dates.”
Him: “True. She finally paid for something fun ”

Photos. Restaurants. Her car. Her kissing his cheek.

I was paying him to care for me while he used that money to cheat on me with my friend.

I put the phone back.

When he came out, smiling, asking, “You sleep okay?” I replied, “Yeah. Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Of course. I’m doing my best.”

That was when something inside me hardened.

That afternoon, I called my sister.

She came over. “What’s going on?” she asked.

I told her everything.

“I’m going to bury him in the backyard,” she said.
“Tempting,” I replied. “But I had something more legal in mind.”

I told her I wanted out.

She agreed instantly.

Then she froze.
“Wait,” she said. “Oh my God. I think I accidentally have proof he’s cheating.”

She showed me photos from a street festival—him and Jenna, clearly together. We printed everything. Saved the messages. Found a lawyer.

Meanwhile, I kept playing my role.

I paid him every Friday.

I acted grateful.