I didn’t say anything to him that night. Or the next day. I needed to see it first. I needed to actually go there.

The following Saturday I told him I was going to visit my sister.

I got in the car and I drove 90 miles to a grocery store in Danville. I don’t even fully know what I was expecting to find. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’d walk in, talk to someone, and feel like an idiot who drove an hour and a half based on a loyalty rewards email. That would have been fine. I would have taken that outcome.

I went to the customer service desk and I showed the cashier a photo from our joint account, just his regular account picture, nothing dramatic. I asked her if she’d ever seen this man come in. She looked at it for maybe half a second. “He comes every Saturday,” she said. She didn’t even hesitate. “With a woman and a baby.” Then she leaned in a little, the way people do when they’re about to tell you something they probably shouldn’t, and she said, “He always pays with the loyalty card. Clips coupons from the circular.”

My husband clips coupons. I have made fun of him for it for 22 years. It’s one of his things. He keeps them folded up in the center console of his car. I used to think it was endearing.

I asked to speak to the manager and I asked if I could get a printout of the purchase history on that account. They were a little reluctant at first but when I explained the account was linked to a joint checking account with my name on it, they pulled the records.

The total came out to just under $23,000 in family groceries over three years. Diapers, formula, baby food, then later toddler snacks, pull-ups, kids’ cereal. The whole progression. Like watching a child grow up on a receipt.

I sat in that parking lot for close to an hour. I had the printout folded up on the passenger seat. It was 156 pages. I kept thinking about how many Saturday mornings I’d been home doing laundry or taking Callie to her soccer games while he was 90 miles away buying Children’s Tylenol and clipping coupons. Three years of Saturdays. I did the math in my head. That’s over 150 Saturdays. His excuse was always something that made sense at the time. A work thing. A golf thing. A buddy he was helping move. I never questioned any of it because why would I.