I told my fiancé that we were living in a rented flat, but in truth the place was actually my own.
I grew up in a household that consisted only of my mother and my grandmother. I never had a male role model; my father walked out on my mother and never took an interest in me. Raised by the women in my life, I learned to be tough and selfreliant. They taught me that. After that I studied hard and worked hard. By the time I was 27 I had bought my own apartment in Manchester with my own savings. Thats when the next question surfaced how to manage a relationship.
I had dated a few blokes, and the moment they heard I owned a flat, they stopped seeing me as a woman and started seeing a cash cow, a way to solve their money problems. I wasnt happy with that. I wanted to be loved for who I am, not for what I own.
When I met David Turner and we started seeing each other, he came round to my place and I told him I was renting. I wanted to see how hed treat me, whether we could build something when neither of us had any assets. David told me my lack of a permanent home wasnt an issue; hed work hard, save, and buy a house for us to share. I liked his view. We lived together for two years, and David truly put away money.
Now the wedding is on the horizon. After were married, David plans to buy us a house straight away, and my conscience is nagging. All this time Ive been cheating him, taking the rent money out of my own pocket. Should I come clean now?
Grandma Eleanor and Mum Margaret say theres no need for confession. Keep your flat as a safety net, they say, and its the mans job to provide a home for his wife. But how can a marriage begin on a lie?
