I stood on the garden path, the latesummer sun burning the edges of my memory. Seven years ago I married a man who had nothing but a wornout degree and a heart full of hope. My relatives in Manchester had laughed at me, their chuckles ringing in my ears as I walked down the aisle. I knew the world expected a woman to weigh a husbands bank balance against a scale of glamour, to search for a prince who could stride out of a glossy magazine cover. I, however, set my own rules. I demanded sobriety, because I could see the wreckage that a bottle leaves behind, and I didnt want my children to watch their father stumble home drunk. I wanted hard work, honesty, and a spirit that didnt hide behind idle leisure. Possessions never mattered to meno slick car, no polished flat. I came from a modest home; my mother, Margaret, raised my brother James and me on a shoestring, never touching the world of millionaires, so I never pretended to chase it.
Thomasmy husbandhad grown up in his parents house with his brother and mother, surrounded by six siblings. He spent a year with me before we pledged forever, working as a lecturer at the university in Leeds. Our wedding was intimate: only the closest kin and a handful of friends gathered in a small church, then we moved in together. The first months were a clash of temperaments; it took six long weeks before we found a rhythm, before I finally saw the tears he hid behind his stoic face when we welcomed our first baby. That moment changed everything. Today he earns a solid salary in a different sector, enough to buy us a home in the suburbs after we started in a rented flat. Our children laugh in the yard while he tosses a football, his eyes soft with pride.
We still argue, as any couple does, but we sit down, face the storm, and learn to untangle the knots. We are not rolling in pounds, but we are healthy, we have each other, and that is the wealth I cling to. On this anniversaryseven and a half years since we said I dothe memory of that skeptical crowd still presses against my skin, yet love has only deepened. I smile when he asks if Im hungry, when he brushes a stray lock from my face, when he watches our kids chase fireflies. It feels like the most beautiful script ever written.
I think of Charlotte, a friend who married a wealthy solicitor. At first everything glittered, but his infidelities and his greed for her familys money broke her world. She now plans divorce, fearing for her childrens future. Seeing her story confirms my choice. I wish every woman could find a partner who loves her for who she is, not for the size of her purse. The truth is simple: love, not pounds, is what keeps a heart beating.
