I Was 36 When I Was Offered a Major Promotion at the Company I’d Worked for Nearly Eight Years – But My Husband Talked Me Out of It, and Soon After He Left Me for Another Woman

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 4 minViews 1

I was 36 years old when I was offered a promotion at the company where Id been working for nearly eight years.

This wasnt just a slight step up it was a real leap. I was moving from an operational role to the position of Regional Coordinator. The salary increase was substantial, my contract would become permanent, and the working conditions were much better. The only catch was that, twice a week, Id need to travel to a town about an hour away, stay over for one night, and come back the next day.

When I came home and shared the news, I was certain my husband would be pleased.
Thats not what happened.

That same evening, he sat across from me at the kitchen table and told me taking the promotion was a bad idea. He talked about the children, about the house, about how I couldnt just be wandering off here and there, saying it wasnt right for a married woman with a family to live out of a suitcase. Several times, he insisted money wasnt everything, and that the stability of the home was what truly mattered.

I explained that I wasnt moving away, it was just two days a week, and that the extra money would help us clear our debts. Still, he was adamant: no. He claimed it would destroy our family.

We argued over it for weeks. I carried the promotion paperwork in my handbag, unsigned. Work became impatientthey needed an answer. At home, the atmosphere grew tense. Every time I brought it up, he became angry, raised his voice, and accused me of being selfish.

In the end, I gave in.

I went to HR and turned down the promotion. I said that, for family reasons, I couldnt accept it. I returned to my old position: same hours, same salary.

Over the next few months, he started to act differently. He would come home late, spend more time on his phone, constantly changing his passwords. He said he was swamped at work. I suspected nothing. I thought Id done what he wanted; I believed everything would calm down.

Three months later, a coworker messaged me on social media, asking bluntly if I was still with my husband. I replied yes. Then she sent me photos.

In the pictures, he was with a woman from my officedining out, arms around one another, obviously a couple. There was no mistake.

That same evening, I confronted him. He didnt deny it. He told me hed been attracted to her for ages, that with her he felt understood, that our marriage just wasnt working anymore. He said he didnt want to stay married and would be leaving.

Within a week, he was gone. He packed his clothes, left his keys, and moved in with her. There was no attempt to work things out, no guilt, no discussion.

I was left in the same house, with the same job, the same low salaryand now alone.

The promotion had already been filled by someone else. When I asked if there was any chance later on, I got a polite nomy opportunity was gone.

Looking back now, the truth is plain: I turned down a genuine chance for a better career for the sake of a family that, in reality, was already falling apart. I lost the husband who claimed he cared about our home, and lost the position that could have given me stability.

He moved on with another woman.
I had to rebuild my life from scratchhaving made a choice I thought would save something, but which was already lost.

So, my advice is simple:
Never give up on your dreams for the sake of someone else. In England, we say: You must put on your own oxygen mask first. Live your life for youbecause if you dont, no one else will.

I’m 60 and soon to be 61 — it’s not a milestone birthday like 70 or 80, but it matters to me. I want to celebrate it—not with a last-minute cake or a rushed lunch, but with a real, well-organised party: dinner, beautifully set tables, decorated chairs, waiters, soft music. Something that makes me feel alive, appreciated, grateful for everything I’ve come through. The problem is, my children don’t agree. I have two grown sons, both living with me along with their partners and children. The house is always full: noise, TV, children running, conversations, arguments. I love them, of course… but I never have a quiet moment. I’m never alone. Never. I cover most of the expenses, with my pension, the money my husband left me, and a small business I still run. I pay the bills, grocery shop, deal with repairs, and ‘temporary’ help that’s become permanent. I never minded helping. What troubles me is that now, they decide everything for me. When I said I wanted to host a celebration, they told me it was a waste of money. At my age, there’s no point spending on parties, food, and waiters, they said. It would be better to give them the money—for investments, for needs, for ‘something useful.’ They spoke to me as if I was being irresponsible with my own money. I explained that I’m not borrowing, and I’ve thought about this for months. But they didn’t listen. And one of them said, ‘Mum, parties aren’t for you anymore.’ That hurt more than I expected. I started to think about things I never dared to say aloud. That sometimes I want to be alone in my own home. That I miss waking up to silence. That I long to come home to a quiet living room. That I want to make decisions without justifying myself. I’ve even considered telling them to find their own place—not out of spite, but because I feel I’ve done my part. But then guilt eats at me. I’m scared to sound selfish. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to throw anyone out for a night. I just want to know if I’m wrong to want to celebrate. To want silence sometimes. To want my money used for me, too. I’m writing because I don’t know what to do—stand my ground, or give in again. Should I have my party, even if they don’t approve? Am I wrong for wanting to celebrate my birthday my way, and for wanting my home and my money not to be a ‘family decision’?

Happy Women Always Look Their Best Lily struggled through her husband’s betrayal. At forty, she found herself alone; her daughter was studying at university in another city. Just two months earlier, Igor had come home and announced: “I’m leaving you, I’ve fallen in love.” Shocked, Lily asked, “With whom?” He replied flatly, “The way men always do… I’ve met someone else, I’m happier with her. Don’t try to persuade me—I’ve made up my mind.” He packed his things and left, all matter-of-fact, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. It was only later, after analysing things, that Lily realised he hadn’t made his decision overnight—he’d been quietly preparing to leave, only throwing his things in a suitcase at the last minute before slamming the door shut. Alone now, Lily cried and convinced herself that nothing good would ever happen to her again, that life had either ended or frozen. She withdrew from friends, ignored calls from her daughter and best friend, and even distanced herself from colleagues, some of whom pitied her while others looked on with schadenfreude. Lily even hoped: “Maybe Igor will tire of the woman who stole him from me, maybe he’ll come back and I’ll forgive him. After all, I still love him.” One morning, a phone call from an unknown number disrupted her despair: “Could it be Igor?” she wondered, hoping irrationally. But the call was from Ksenia, an old school friend, back in town after years away. Ksenia was radiant—well-groomed, stylish, and bursting with energy. She took charge, arriving with wine, cake, and oranges for a spontaneous celebration. After hearing Lily’s woes, Ksenia dismissed them: “Don’t make life so hard! You just need a change—a new look, some shopping, and maybe new love.” She whisked Lily to the mall and hairdresser, transforming her with a fresh haircut and stylish outfit. A week later at their school reunion, Lily’s transformation stunned everyone, especially Viktor, an old admirer who had also recently gone through a divorce. Viktor showered her with attention, and their easy happiness made Lily feel new and vibrant again. Two months later, strolling arm-in-arm with Viktor along the embankment after a theatre night, Lily spotted Igor—thinner now, and alone. He didn’t recognise her at first, but when he realised, he was shocked: “You look amazing!” Lily smiled and introduced him to Viktor as her “future husband.” As Igor gaped, Lily took Viktor’s hand and walked confidently away. For happy women always look their best.

I’m 60 and about to turn 61 in two months—not a milestone birthday like 70 or 80, but it means a lot to me. I want to celebrate it properly: not with a hurried cake or a casual lunch, but with a real, well-organised party—an elegant dinner, beautifully set tables, decorated chairs, waiters, soft music. Something that will make me feel alive, appreciated, and grateful for everything I’ve been through. The problem is, my children don’t agree. I have two grown-up sons. Both live with me—with their partners and children. The house is always full: noise, TV blaring, children running, conversations, arguments. Of course I love them… but I have no quiet moments anymore. I’m never alone. Never. They work, but in truth, I cover most of the expenses. I have a pension, money my husband left me, and a small business I still run. I pay the bills, buy the groceries, pay for repairs, and often provide ‘temporary help’ that turns permanent. Helping never bothered me. What bothers me now is that my sons make decisions for me. When I told them I wanted to have a party, they claimed it was a waste of money. That, at my age, I shouldn’t spend it on tables, food, and waiters. That the money would be better given to them—for investments, for their own needs, for ‘something useful’. They spoke to me as if I were irresponsible with my own savings. I explained that I wouldn’t need to borrow and that I’ve been thinking about this for months. But they wouldn’t listen, insisting it’s an unnecessary expense. One of them said to me: — Mum, things like this aren’t for you anymore. That stung more than I expected. I started thinking things I never dared say aloud. That sometimes I just want to be alone in my own house. That I miss waking up to peace and quiet. That I wish I could come home to an empty living room. That I want to make decisions without having to justify myself. I’ve even considered telling them to find their own place—not out of spite, but because I feel like I’ve done my part. But then I feel guilty. I’m afraid of sounding selfish. I don’t want to argue. I don’t want to ‘kick anyone out’ for the night. I just want to know if I’m wrong for wanting to celebrate. For craving a bit of quiet. For wanting my money to be spent on me, too. I’m writing because I genuinely don’t know what to do—whether to stand my ground or give in. Whether to have the party even though they disapprove. Tell me, am I wrong to want to celebrate my birthday my way—and to want my home and my money not to be a ‘family decision’?