Someone once asked me if I had married my husband—who was ten years my senior—for his money.
Let me be very clear: absolutely not.
In fact, he was the tightest man I had ever met. His house told the story before I ever had to. What most people don’t know—and what he conveniently forgets—is that I paid off his huge mortgage, the one that enabled him to continue living in the house he called his own. I still have the old bank statements that prove it. That wasn’t a loan. That was love. Support. Commitment.
I paid for my own holidays. I contributed towards the food bills that often felt extortionate. There was a time—years, in fact—when I wasn’t even taken out for a simple meal. I looked through my notes recently and saw that at one point, five years had passed without a single dinner out.
His gift-giving was governed by rules, not romance: Christmas and birthdays only, and never to exceed £50. That was his self-imposed limit. Meanwhile, I gave him the world—extravagant holidays to Iceland, France, Antigua, the Maldives. I bought him high-end audio systems, hosted big celebrations, hired halls and DJs for his birthdays, booked cottages in Cornwall for his entire family. I gave to him, year after year, often beyond what I could reasonably afford.
So, no, it was never for the money.
It was for love. For loyalty. For hope.
And let’s be honest—if there is any hidden wealth, it has been stashed away for the last 32 years, because it certainly wasn’t shared with me. That, in itself, speaks volumes. Not about my motives, but about his values. About how he saw his role as a husband. About what he thought a wife was worth.
His own family, if they are honest, would confirm the truth I am telling now.
So while he may still be parading around like the “big cheese,” painting a picture of generosity and success, the reality is this: I was the one investing—in him, in us, in the life we were supposed to be building together.
And I refuse to let that truth be erased.
đź’¬ For Others Reading:
If you’ve been accused of staying in a relationship for “convenience” or financial gain—when the truth is you were the one holding it all together emotionally, financially, and practically—know this:
You’re not alone.
And your truth matters.
