When our daughter Ava was born,

my husband Greg and I promised to secure her future. Our families contributed $23,000.

I worked overtime and added another $22,000.

Greg had one job: deposit the $45,000 into a college savings account.

Instead, he bought a 1972 Ford Bronco.

I found out after a 12-hour hospital shift. He grinned like a kid as

I stared at the rusty truck parked in our driveway.

“It’s an investment,” he said. “It’ll be worth double in 20 years.”

I kicked him out the next morning.

His parents were furious. Mine were heartbroken. Greg called nonstop.

Three days later, he returned without the truck.

“I sold it. Got $38,000. It’s in Ava’s account now,”

he said, handing me a bank slip. “And the rest?” “

I’ll earn it back. Extra shifts, whatever it takes.”

He apologized to everyone our parents, even wrote a letter to Ava.

I let him crash on the couch, but the message was clear

: “You won’t get another chance. Choose her, or lose us both.”

Now he works double shifts, rebuilding trust dollar by dollar.

I don’t know if I’ll ever fully forgive him. But I do know this: my daughter deserves better. And so do I.