For six years, I put $40 from every Friday paycheck into savings, slowly building $11,012 to replace our broken stove and worn kitchen cabinets. Then one afternoon, I came home and found a fishing boat sitting in our driveway. My husband Rick had bought it—with every dollar I’d saved. When I confronted him, he glanced toward our kitchen and said, “It still works fine, Karen.” After thirty years as an electrical lineman, Rick apparently believed he deserved something for himself. But he hadn’t asked before taking something that belonged to both of us.

I didn’t scream. That evening, I carried my mother’s red-and-white tablecloth outside, climbed into Rick’s new boat, and set out two plates and a candle. Then I served supper there. I did the same thing the next evening—and the next. Soon neighbors were watching, and even our son Tyler and his wife came over. By the ninth night, Rick finally understood exactly what those dinners meant.

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