When my grandmother passed, I was grieving when I got a call: she’d left me $670,000. Life-changing news. But before I even knew, my husband had already found out his cousin worked at the law firm and without saying a word to me, he quit his job. He said since I’d had my “vacation” during maternity leave, it was my turn to provide now.

I didn’t argue. I just smiled and said he deserved to relax—then taped a schedule to the fridge: a full breakdown of toddler chaos, diaper disasters, and peanut butter incidents. He thought I was joking. I wasn’t. While he drowned in toddler mayhem, I took my first gym break in months and returned to find the house wrecked and him on the brink. I escalated it at a backyard BBQ, handing him a glittery apron that read: “RETIREMENT KING: Living Off My Wife’s Inheritance.”

The neighbors and especially the old ladies from my grandma’s bridge club roasted him with stories of freeloading men who ended up very, very alone. Then came the final move: I set up a trust. All $670K secured for our daughter’s future, my retirement, and real emergencies—none of it accessible to him. “Better update your résumé,” I told him. “Because freeloading isn’t a job I’m funding.”

One week later, I found him behind the counter at our local coffee shop definitely not back in his old manager role. He looked up, red-faced, as I ordered. I smiled. “You’ve always been good at taking orders.” I left with my coffee, proud, focused, and never more clear on who I was and what I’d never put up with again.