My Wife Has £750 in Maternity Savings She Never Touches — I Told Her to Give It to My Sister When She Gives Birth, But She Refused. Then She Threw Something on the Floor That Made Me Go Cold…

I have a younger sister, Rose, who got married just over a year ago and is now about to give birth to her first child. Her husband’s family isn’t well-off, and they’re still paying off their wedding debts. So when I heard Rose was due any day now, my first thought was to help her.

But I’m just an office clerk in Manchester, barely making ends meet. In my mind, there was only one obvious source: my wife’s £750 savings. That money came from her late mother, placed under her name, and she’s been keeping it as her “maternity fund.”

Every time I’d mentioned it before, she’d brush it off:

“That money is for when we have our own baby. Don’t touch it!”

But this time, I told myself, it’s different. This is my own sister — my blood.

I spoke to my wife, Lisa, at first gently, then more firmly, and finally, with a hint of frustration:

“Can you not be so selfish? She’s my sister! She’s about to give birth, and she doesn’t even have a proper pram. Don’t you feel sorry for her?”

Lisa looked at me coldly.

“You talk as if I’m a stranger. But think back — since we got married, have you ever once asked me what I need?”

I snapped back:

“Is this really the time to talk about petty things? Giving £750 doesn’t mean we lose everything. Your sister-in-law is also my sister!”

She went quiet, stood up, and walked into our bedroom. I stayed in the lounge, muttering under my breath, thinking I was finally seeing her “true colours.”

A few minutes later, Lisa came out — saying nothing, just holding a small box. She stopped in front of me and dropped it onto the floor.

“You want £750, right? Here — take it yourself.”

I froze, startled. But when I looked down, it wasn’t money inside.

It was medical records.

I bent down, picked them up, and started reading. My hands shook.
— Fertility test results.
— Hormone test results.
— Abnormal uterine scan reports.

Dates scribbled on the pages — all from times when she had quietly gone to the GP and private clinics alone, undergoing tests and treatments without telling me.

And then, the last page: An IVF (In Vitro Fertilisation) cost estimate.

Total: nearly £1,200.

She stood there, eyes red, voice trembling but steady:

“That money… is my only hope to become a mum. I haven’t spent a single pound on myself. I’ve been preparing to start IVF next month. And you call me selfish?”

I couldn’t answer. My throat tightened.

But she wasn’t done. Lisa walked to the wardrobe and pulled out another set of documents:
— A resignation letter from her previous job.
— A letter from her parents, apologising that they couldn’t help financially.
— And a bank book showing only £800 left.

“I have no one else but you. I’ve put all my hopes into this. But if I have to give everything away to your family… then just consider me unworthy to be your wife.”

She turned, walked back into the bedroom, and slammed the door.

The house fell utterly silent.

I stared at the medical records scattered on the carpet, hearing only the pounding of my own heart.

I — a husband — had called her selfish without ever asking about the silent battles she’d been fighting. Without realising her deepest dream wasn’t gold or comfort… it was simply to be a mother.

For the first time in my life, I found myself on my knees. Not to beg for money — but to beg for her forgiveness.