I was 22 when I met Jeff, a guy so sweet I said yes to his proposal in a heartbeat. My aunt’s warning about quick weddings rang true later, but early on, we were happy in our snug apartment, counting every penny. I mastered bargain shopping, sure we’d climb out of the tight spot soon. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Jeff scored a promotion, and I pictured a little wiggle room—until I got pregnant with our son, Max. He said a baby meant stricter saving, and when Max came, I was over the moon, dreaming of fun days out. But Jeff kept me on a shoestring, quitting my job because babysitters cost too much. He’d fuss if I begged for a few bucks extra, tracking every nickel like a hawk.
He claimed his new boss might fire him, slashing my grocery cash even more. I stretched meals thin while he ate at work or his dad’s. Max wore thrift-shop finds, but Jeff rocked pricey jackets and a slick phone, saying it was for his image. When Max needed shoes fast, I fought for them—Jeff called me wasteful, but I started waitressing part-time to make it work.
I told Jeff about my job, and he groaned, “Lucky—the company’s docking pay or cutting folks.” I blinked—weren’t sales booming? He brushed it off as corporate nonsense, leaving me juggling more for less. At his office gala, I borrowed a dress to fit in, and his boss grinned, “Jeff’s going places!” Jeff muttered, “He’s tricky—might ditch me,” despite the warm vibes.
Then one day, I found a giant, high-end stereo blaring in our tiny place. “Jeff, how?” I gasped. “Bought it—check the sound!” he crowed, oblivious to my dismay. “We’re broke, and you splurge like this?” I cried. He snarled, “My money, my rules!” I shot back, “Ours—I’m starving here while you live it up!” He roared, “I deserve it—you’re nothing!” I grabbed suitcases, packed for me and Max, and left him with his tunes.
I hustled at the café, soon running it, then the whole chain. Max got nice clothes, we ate hearty, and life turned golden. Years later, Jeff knocked, ragged, whining, “I’m broke—can I crash here?” I smirked, “My cash now—not for your comfort.” I closed the door, hearing he swept floors at his old job—a sweet twist to our tale.
