When I met Tom, I was 22. He was the sweetest man I’d ever known. He treated me like I was the center of his world. So, when he proposed just three months later, I said yes. My grandmother used to warn me, “Marry in haste, repent at leisure,” and at the time, I didn’t fully understand what she meant. But I would learn.
In the beginning, everything seemed perfect. We got a tiny apartment, and money was tight, so we had to be careful. I clipped coupons, bought on sale, and stuck to a strict shopping list. I was sure everything would get better eventually, but I was wrong.
Two years into our marriage, Tom got a promotion at work. I was excited because I thought it meant more money for us, but instead, I was shocked to find out we were still struggling. Right around the time I found out I was pregnant with our daughter, Angelina, Tom sat me down and said, “We’ll have to be even more careful with a baby on the way.”
I remember being so happy when Angelina was born. I imagined taking her to the park, dressing her up in cute little outfits, and taking her for ice cream. But as time went on, things got harder.
Tom had insisted that I quit my job when Angelina was born, claiming that childcare would cost more than I could earn. Now, whenever I asked for anything outside of our strict budget—like money for ice cream—Tom would protest. I had to account for every penny.
One evening, Tom came home looking stressed. “My boss got promoted, and the new one doesn’t like me,” he admitted. “I’m worried I might lose my job, so we need to save more.” He immediately cut our already tight grocery budget, and I found myself scrambling to put food on the table.
As for Tom, he would often skip dinner with us, eating in the company cafeteria or going to his mom’s house for meals. He dressed in expensive clothes and wore a fancy watch because he wanted to look like the successful executive he imagined himself to be, even if our reality was far from that.
Angelina was growing fast, and as I watched her outgrow her clothes, I knew we had to buy her new ones. Tom insisted we go to a thrift store, and even though I hated it, I agreed. But when I started buying good-quality shoes for Angelina, something she desperately needed, Tom exploded.
“Why do you need these expensive shoes?” he would rant. “You’re spoiling her!”
I didn’t care. I knew good shoes were important for her development, so I stood my ground. But it wasn’t easy. I took a part-time job at a local restaurant to make up for the gap in our finances.
One day, I told Tom about the job, thinking it would relieve some of the pressure. He replied with a sigh, “Thank God, honey. The company gave us the option of either accepting a 20% salary cut or laying off staff. I couldn’t risk losing my job.”
“But Tom,” I said, shocked. “I thought your company was making huge profits. You said sales were up…”
“Executive decisions, babe,” he explained, his tone resigned. “The shareholders decided, and I can’t make a fuss or they’ll fire me.”
I nodded, even though it didn’t make sense. I realized that with the salary cut, things would only get worse.
At a company event later that year, I had to borrow a dress from a friend to attend. When I was introduced to Tom’s new boss, he said, “You have every reason to be proud of your husband! He’s got a bright future ahead of him.”
I turned to Tom and said, “He seems to really like you!”
Tom shook his head. “It’s all an act, babe. He’s sneaky. No one knows what he’ll do next. I’m on the black list.”
I thought Tom knew best, but deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling something was off.
Then, Christmas came, and I was stunned when I walked into the living room to find a brand-new, top-of-the-line QLED TV. “Tom? Where did this come from?” I asked, wide-eyed.
“I bought it!” he said excitedly. “Just look at the definition and colors! It’s amazing!”
I stared at him, confused and angry. “This TV must’ve cost thousands of dollars! And you’ve been telling me we’re cutting back on everything. I can’t even buy a gift for Angelina, and you go out and blow our savings on this?!”
Tom’s face hardened. “It’s my money, and I can spend it however I want.”
“I thought it was OUR money,” I snapped, furious. “I thought we were making sacrifices for our future—”
“OUR money?” Tom scoffed, “It’s MY money, and I earned it! I don’t care about your sacrifices.”
I looked around our tiny, cramped apartment, at the second-hand furniture and my worn-out clothes. “The lap of luxury?” I asked bitterly. “Angel and I are barely scraping by while you live like a king!”
“I deserve it!” Tom shouted, his face red with anger. “I earned this, and you’re nothing but a failure!”
In that moment, I knew I couldn’t take it anymore. I calmly turned and walked into the bedroom, gathering a suitcase for me and one for Angelina. We didn’t have much, but I didn’t need much.
When I walked out with the suitcases, Tom was sitting on the couch, flipping through channels on his new TV. He stared at me, confused. “Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving,” I said quietly. “I’m divorcing you.”
And I did. I went to my boss at the restaurant and asked for longer hours, determined to make a better life for myself and Angelina. A year later, I was promoted to manager, and life started to look up.
Things only improved from there. Angel had beautiful clothes, we could afford healthy food, and I was promoted again—this time to director of the restaurant chain. Life had gone from bad to good, and now it was great.
Then, one day, there was a knock at the door. It was Tom. He looked terrible—overweight, scruffy, and tired. “Babe,” he begged, “I’m so sorry. Can you help me? I’m unemployed, and I need a place to stay while I get back on my feet.”
I stared at him, astonished. “You want my help? After everything you put me through?”
He tried to smile, but it looked forced. “I know you’re doing well now. Could you lend me some money, or maybe let me stay with you and Angel for a while?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Yes, I am doing well,” I said coldly. “And no thanks to you. But guess what, Tom? It’s MY money now. And I’m not about to waste it keeping you in the lap of luxury.”
I slammed the door in his face and never saw him again. I later heard that he had ended up working as a cleaner at his old company.
What’s the lesson here?
It’s okay to be careful with money, but when saving becomes an obsession, it can lead to misery. A budget should be planned together, as a family, with room for both savings and a reasonable lifestyle. Tom was so obsessed with hoarding money for himself that he forgot the most important thing—his family.
