At 22, I met Nick, a charmer who swept me off my feet. We wed fast, despite my mom’s quip about hasty marriages bringing long woes—she nailed it. Our early days sparkled in a small flat, scraping by together. I hunted sales, confident we’d rise above the pinch, but that hope faded quick.
Nick’s first big raise came, and I expected relief—then I learned our twins, Ella and Ben, were on the way. He tightened the reins, saying kids demanded caution. When they arrived, I was smitten, picturing park trips and cute coats. But Nick forced me to ditch my job, claiming it didn’t cover daycare, and doled out a measly allowance, griping if I asked for more.
He fretted his boss might cut him loose, slashing my food funds further. I pinched every cent while he dined out or at his sister’s. The twins wore hand-me-downs, but Nick flaunted sleek shoes and a gold chain, insisting it was for his career. When the kids outgrew boots, I demanded proper ones—he raged about my extravagance, so I nabbed a bakery shift to pay up.
I shared my job news, and he sighed, “Perfect—pay’s dropping or jobs are going.” I frowned—hadn’t profits soared? He mumbled about board games, leaving me stretched thinner. At his work bash, I wore a friend’s gown, and his boss cheered, “Nick’s a star!” Nick hissed, “He’s two-faced—might sack me,” though the room felt friendly.
One evening, I spotted a flashy new grill in our cramped kitchen. “Nick, seriously?” I asked, stunned. “Treated myself—best steaks ever!” he bragged. “We’re barely eating, and you buy this?” I exploded. He snapped, “My earnings, my choice!” I retorted, “Ours—I’m famished while you strut!” He yelled, “I’m worth it—you’re a leech!” I packed for me and the twins, leaving him with his toy.
I begged for bakery hours, rising to head baker, then regional boss. The kids got warm jackets, we ate full meals, and life soared. One night, Nick appeared, worn out, begging, “I’m jobless—help me, let me stay.” I grinned, “My money now—not for your luxury.” I shut him out, later hearing he mopped at his old firm—justice served.
