No matter what anyone says, happiness doesn’t come without money.
When illusions crash into reality From a young age, I was taught that money wasn’t everything.
“The main thing is to have good people around you,” my parents said. “Love, not wealth, is what matters.”
I believed them.
Then I grew up.
And I realized how wrong they were.
I married for love, but it wasn’t enough I met Gemma when I was still a university student.
We were so in love that we couldn’t breathe without each other.
When we got married, we had no home, no savings, and no certainty about the future.
But we didn’t care.
We were happy.
We had children. Our house was filled with their laughter, toys, and joy.
Everything seemed so bright, so right.
Friends surrounded us, and on holidays, we gathered in noisy groups, and I thought it would always be that way.
But life doesn’t favor those who dream.
When there’s no money at home, happiness fades The first blow came suddenly.
I was laid off.
I found myself without a job, without stability, without certainty.
Gemma kept working, but her salary barely covered anything.
At first, we just started budgeting.
Then we began avoiding guests—because we couldn’t offer them anything.
Gradually, the smiles disappeared from our faces.
I could no longer afford even simple things My wife always loved nice things, quality cosmetics, expensive perfumes.
But now she had to rummage through thrift shops, hunt for sales, buy the cheapest items.
She learned not to look at the quality—only the price.
And I watched her, seeing the spark in her eyes dim.
She hated the cheap soap in the bathroom, the inexpensive laundry detergent, everything that reminded her of our poverty.
I was losing her—bit by bit, every day She became irritable.
She grew angry with me.
She looked at me with disappointment—and I knew she no longer saw in me a man who could change anything.
I attempted to find work.
But all I was offered was security at a building site for minimum wage.
I took it because I had no choice.
But it wasn’t enough.
Gemma grew more silent, turning away more often.
And I didn’t know what to say.
I just shrugged:
“What can I do?”
“We’re not the only ones,” I said.
“Many are like us,” I tried to console her.
But deep down, I knew—it was weakness.
She knew—it was weakness.
And the love that once seemed unbreakable melted away like snow.
My parents were wrong. Money is everything. I’m angry.
At myself.
At Gemma.
At my parents, who didn’t teach me to fight for money, didn’t instill in me the drive to earn.
They said money wasn’t the main thing.
But it was the lack of it that destroyed my family.
Not love.
Not betrayal.
Just poverty.
And now I know: happiness doesn’t exist without money.
