I wasn’t snooping — I just wanted a recipe on Eli’s tablet. Then a message popped up: “You need more money?” It was from my dad. Confused, I called him.

“Why are you sending Eli money?” I asked.

He chuckled, “Because he asked. He wanted you to live like you’re used to.” Then he added, “You wanted that ring. He couldn’t have gotten it without me.”

My stomach dropped. I’d been wearing a cracked, silver-plated ring since I was 23. No real ring.

Later, I found a credit card charge: $800 at Grayson & Finch Jewelers. We’d been scraping by paycheck to paycheck.

When Eli got home, I confronted him. He didn’t deny it. “Sit down,” he said.

He confessed: he borrowed money from my dad—not to spend, but to start his own construction business. “I thought I could pay him back before it got out of hand,” he said, ashamed.

Then he pulled out a velvet box — inside was a gold band with a ruby. “I bought it this morning. With my first real profit.”

The next day, he paid my dad back in full. No more secrets, no more guilt.

That night, we picked paint for our bedroom — sage green. A fresh start.

I told him, “I didn’t marry you for what you could become. Watching you become it? That’s the real gift.”

He smiled, “You’ve always been real. I just needed to catch up.”

We didn’t need to be rescued. We just needed to rebuild—together.