I married Tom Halloran at 22, swept away by his charm. At first, we lived modestly in a small apartment, and I carefully budgeted every cent. But even after Tom got promoted, things didn’t improve. I became a stay-at-home mom when our daughter, Angelina, was born, and Tom insisted we save even more.

He controlled every dollar, slashing our food budget while buying expensive clothes and eating out. Meanwhile, Angelina and I lived in worn hand-me-downs, barely scraping by. When I found a part-time job, Tom claimed his company was cutting salaries and we’d need to tighten our belts further. Then, just before Christmas, he came home with a huge luxury TV.

I was stunned—he said it was his money, and I was just a burden. That night, I packed our bags and left. I filed for divorce, got more hours at work, and within a year, I was promoted to manager. Our lives changed: good food, new clothes, and real joy returned.

A few years later, Tom came to my door—overweight, disheveled, and unemployed. He begged to stay with us or borrow money. I looked at the man who once told me I was “a nothing” and said, “It’s my money now—and I won’t waste it on your comfort.” I shut the door. I later heard he was working as a janitor at his old company.