When our bathroom toilet started acting up, I didn’t think much of it. At first, it just filled slowly after each flush, and when I mentioned it to my husband Duncan, he brushed it off. Days turned into weeks, and he still hadn’t called a plumber. I grew suspicious when I noticed he started avoiding that bathroom entirely. One afternoon, while he was at work, I decided to lift the toilet tank lid myself — and what I found left me frozen in place.
Inside the tank, tucked where the fill valve should’ve been, was a black, vacuum-sealed package. It took effort to pull it out, and my hands were shaking as I laid it on a towel and opened it. Staring back at me were stacks of tightly packed hundred-dollar bills — $60,000 in total. I was shocked. We’re not wealthy, and just last week we’d argued over grocery money. My heart pounded with confusion and dread. I knew this wasn’t just some random stash — it meant something bigger.
When Duncan came home and saw the package on the table, he admitted it belonged to his brother, Trey, who had recently been released from prison. Trey had asked Duncan to hide the money for a few months in exchange for $5,000. He claimed it was lottery winnings he didn’t want his ex-wife to know about. But even if the money was legal, hiding it to avoid child support didn’t sit right with me. Our home — and our children — were now tangled in something secretive and potentially risky.
That night, I made a choice. I called Trey and asked him to come collect the money. I told him I didn’t want it in my house, and I didn’t care what excuse he had. Loyalty to family matters, but protecting my own kids matters more. Duncan was upset, but I made it clear: I won’t be a part of anything that involves lies, even if it comes wrapped in stacks of cash. Some things just aren’t worth the cost — especially trust.