My husband works, but I pay for absolutely everything.
You ask how I ended up in this peculiar chapter of my life, and how I ever agreed to such an arrangement, but honestly, women in love are blind as bats. I was no exception. My whole life, I slogged and studied, determined to make something of myself. My mum always said if I wanted a good life, I had to graft for it. She also insisted a woman should be strong and independent, just in case she ever needed to stand on her own two feet.
Evidently, her final bit of advice came back to bite me. When I started dating, I was a bit too independent, and it put most blokes right off. Back then, men wanted a dainty damsel to sweep off her feet and show off their manliness. But me? I looked after myself, thank you very much.
Eventually, I focused solely on work. I was single until the ripe old age of thirty-five, when I met David. Same age as me. What knocked me for six was that he actually liked my independence. I mean, he never insisted on helping with anything if I said I’d handle it, and he never bothered with flowers or whispered any of that soppy nonsense I simply cannot bear. With him, I felt like an equal. But I should have twigged how much this so-called equality would cost menewsflash, it wasnt even remotely equal.
We tied the knot, and soon David moved in with me. He didnt have a place of his ownhe lived with his mum. No way was I moving in with a mother-in-law; I’ve heard enough horror stories, thanks. In the first month, David didnt give me a penny from his pay packet. He said he had to pay off a small loan hed taken out for his mums operation.
I said nothing, tried to be the understanding wife. Were family now, I thought. Let him pay it off, and then well tackle everything as a team. But seven months down the line, that loan still wasnt paid off. There was always some excuse: not enough wages, hours cut, or yet another reason. Meanwhile, I forked out for all the food, bills, and evenings out. Then he started going on about saving to buy us a house in the countryside. Someday. Like maybe for the holidays.
But you know, in five years hes never shown me a single bank statement. Were family, remember? After a big, blazing row, I finally askedhow is it that Ive supported him for five years? Surely that’s bonkers. So, he packed his bag and went back to his mums. Just like that. Three days later, I cracked and brought him back home because I couldnt bear it. And you guessed itthe whole thing just started up again. He still refuses to give me so much as a pound for anything. I’m absolutely knackered. Id love to splash my cash on some girly treats for once, but all my money disappears into the bottomless pit that is our family.
So, what on earth do I do? File for divorce? Or is there any hope at all hell ever change?
