When I married Tom, he was kind and charming. But after our daughter was born, everything changed.

Tom insisted I quit my job and live on a tight budget, while he continued buying expensive clothes and luxury items for himself.

I struggled to feed our daughter and often shopped second-hand, while he dined well and dressed the part of a successful executive.

Despite his claims of financial hardship, Tom made purchases like a high-end TV while refusing to let me buy basic things for our child.

When I took a part-time job to help out, he used it as an excuse to cut his own contributions even further.

His attitude shifted from partnership to control, and eventually, I reached my breaking point.

One day, after yet another argument, I quietly packed our things and left. I found full-time work, built a better life for my daughter,

and eventually became the manager of the restaurant where I started. We had food, comfort, and peace—things Tom’s money management never gave us.

Years later, Tom came to my door asking for help after losing his job. I reminded him of his words: “It’s my money.”

So I chose to keep mine. Sometimes walking away is the only path to finding real strength—and a better future.