When I met Tom Halloran, I was 22, and he was the sweetest man I knew. We got married three months later, but my grandmother’s warning—“marry in haste, repent at leisure”—proved true.
At first, we struggled but made do with our tight budget. Then, I got pregnant, and Tom insisted we be even more frugal. As Angelina grew, so did our financial struggles. Tom had me quit my job, claiming childcare costs were too high. Soon, I had to account for every penny, and Tom became obsessed with cutting expenses.
When his job got more unstable, Tom slashed our grocery budget, leaving me scrambling to feed our daughter. He ate out at work or at his mom’s house, while I tried to make the best of things. He still dressed well and spent lavishly on himself.
Things got worse after Angelina started school. I got a part-time job to make ends meet, but Tom’s salary was reduced, and I was working harder for less. At a company function, Tom’s boss praised him, but Tom was certain his job was in danger.
Christmas came, and I was stunned to find a high-end TV Tom had bought, despite our financial strain. When I confronted him, he snapped, saying it was his money, not ours. That was the last straw. I packed up me and Angelina and left.
I worked hard, got promoted, and our life improved. A year later, Tom showed up, unemployed and asking for help. I turned him away, saying, “It’s MY money, and I’m not wasting it on you.” I never saw him again.