The Price of a Stash: How Vic Nearly Lost His Wife
Rita stepped into the garden to hang out the washing. The day was bright, the sun warm and summery, the clothes drying in no time. She glanced over the fence into the neighbours’ yard out of habit. There, pacing back and forth, was Vic, their neighbour, frantically searching for something. He peered under the porch, rummaged in the shed, even checked beneath the garden bench.
“Vic, what have you lost? Yesterday’s sunshine?” Rita quipped with a grin.
But the man didn’t even turn, just waved a hand dismissively and disappeared inside. Rita shrugged and turned back, but before she could step indoors, the door burst open and in rushed a tearful Tessa—Vic’s wife.
“Tessa, love, what’s happened?” Rita gasped, rushing forward.
“How could he?” Tessa repeated between sobs. “How could he even think such a thing?”
Rita patted her friend’s shoulder, baffled. The couple had always seemed so happy—no arguments, no tension, just blooming flower beds and the scent of home-baked bread wafting from their window.
Vic and Tessa lived in a quaint cottage on the outskirts of Bath. Their home looked like a postcard—flowers in summer, neatly cleared paths in winter. Their daughter was married, their son Jack finishing college. Vic worked as an engineer, Tessa as a seamstress at a local factory. Their neighbours, Rita and Andy, had been close friends for years, celebrating holidays together and helping each other out.
Vic had one peculiar habit: he loved hiding money—little stashes tucked in odd places. A tin in the shed, an envelope beneath a flowerpot, even cash tucked under the floorboards of the garden gazebo. He wasn’t hiding it from anyone—it just made him feel secure. The only problem? He often forgot where he’d put it.
Tessa knew about it. Years ago, she’d scolded him, then given up—some habits never change. She never touched his money, even when she stumbled across it. Twenty-six years of marriage had taught her wisdom.
That morning, Rita spotted Vic again, darting around the garden like a man possessed. She chuckled. “Lost another stash, have you?”
But half an hour later, Tessa burst into Rita’s house, eyes red and brimming with tears. Rita sat her down, poured tea, and set out biscuits.
“Can you believe it?” Tessa managed between shaky breaths. “He accused me of stealing his money! Said I must’ve found it and kept quiet! This is Vic—the man who always called me his ‘saint’! And now I’m a thief? I’ve never once taken his hidden cash, even when I’ve found it!”
Rita gasped. She’d never imagined Vic capable of such a thing. Tessa was gentle, kind—hurting her was like defiling something sacred.
“Don’t take it to heart, love. He’ll remember, find his stash, and beg forgiveness on his knees.”
“I don’t want it! I’m on leave next week—I’ll go stay with Mum in the countryside. And I won’t come back! Let him live with his precious money!”
Meanwhile, Vic was tearing through the village, searching for both his cash and his wife. He ducked into the local shop—where Tessa’s friend Emma worked.
“Emma, seen Tessa?”
“Nope. Lost the missus, have you? She’ll turn up. She’s not the leaving type.”
Vic trudged home, but on the way, he bumped into their son, Jack, and his girlfriend, Lily. She clutched a lavish bouquet of red roses.
“Lily, birthday, is it?” Vic asked, vaguely recalling Jack mentioning needing cash for a gift.
“Yes! Nineteen today. We’re off to the café with friends later,” she beamed.
Vic forced a smile, but his gut twisted. He definitely hadn’t given Jack any money. Where’d the roses come from?
He called his son.
“Jack, how’d you pay for that bouquet?”
“Dad, I found it—under that old box on the veranda. Was looking for my backpack and spotted an envelope. Knew it was one of your stashes. Was going to tell you later—”
Vic went silent. Shame and relief warred in his chest.
“Right… Don’t let Lily down, son.”
Now, he had to find Tessa. And beg forgiveness.
He headed to the neighbours’. Andy was fixing the gate, grinning when he saw Vic.
“Bit of a mess you’ve made, mate. Tessa’s inside with Rita. Fancy calling your wife a thief! Lucky she hasn’t packed her bags already.”
“Yeah, I know…” Vic muttered. “Right, off to grovel. Turns out Jack found the stash—spent it on flowers for his girl.”
“Good lad!” Rita called from the porch. “Now you’d better think how to make it up to Tessa!”
Vic’s mind raced. He bolted home, gathered every hidden envelope, jumped in the car, and sped off. An hour later, he returned—clutching a small black bag.
He approached Tessa.
“Forgive me, love. I was an idiot. Come home, please.”
Tessa glanced up, eyes still wounded—but softening.
“I won’t…” she said stubbornly, though the tears had stopped.
“Got you this. Remember that necklace you fancied at the jeweller’s? I noticed.”
He handed her a velvet box. Tessa’s breath hitched as she opened it—a delicate gold chain with a pendant of her star sign.
“Oh, Vic…” she whispered, clasping it around her neck.
“That’s more like it!” Rita clapped. “A gift like that makes up for any lost stash!”
They laughed long into the evening, Rita setting the table in the garden. The tale of the missing stash would be retold at every neighbourly gathering for months.
And Vic? He never hid money again. Too afraid of losing Tessa. Without her, what was home? She was his everything.
