He smirked and said, “You’ll never touch my money again.” Two minutes later, the courtroom was laughing — except him.

The way he said «little salary» made my cheeks burn. I made decent money, enough to pay for groceries and utilities. But when I looked around our expensive dining room with its crystal chandelier and imported furniture, I felt small. Maybe he was right. Maybe my contribution didn’t really matter.

«I suppose I could take some time off,» I said quietly.

Benjamin’s smile was brilliant. «That’s my smart girl. You’ll be so much happier at home.»

Within a month, I had quit my job. Benjamin took over all our finances, saying it would be easier if everything came from one account. He gave me a credit card for household expenses and told me to let him know if I needed anything else. At first, it felt nice to be taken care of. I spent my days decorating our home, cooking elaborate meals, and organizing Benjamin’s business dinners.

But slowly, things began to change. The credit card had a low limit, and Benjamin questioned every purchase. When I bought new curtains for the living room, he asked why I hadn’t consulted him first. When I spent $50 on groceries, he wanted to see every receipt.

«Carmen, we need to be more careful with money,» he said one evening, going through the credit card statement with a red pen. «This coffee shop charge, what was that for?»

«I met my friend Lisa for coffee,» I said, feeling like a child being scolded. «It was only $8.»

«$8 here, $12 there, it adds up. Maybe you should invite your friends here instead. It’s more economical.»

I stopped meeting friends for coffee. Then I stopped buying new clothes without asking first. Then I stopped buying anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary. Benjamin praised me for being so responsible, so understanding about our budget. But I noticed he still bought expensive suits and went out for business lunches that cost more than my entire weekly allowance.

Dorothy made everything worse. Benjamin’s mother visited every Sunday for dinner, and she always had something to say about how I was managing the house. The flowers in the garden weren’t arranged properly. The dinner wasn’t seasoned correctly. My dress was too casual for a Foster family meal.

«Benjamin, dear,» she said one Sunday, cutting her roast beef into tiny pieces. «I saw the most lovely girl at the country club yesterday, Veronica Hayes, the interior designer. She’s from such a good family, and her work is absolutely exquisite.»

Benjamin nodded politely, but I caught something in his expression. Interest, maybe. «I’ve heard of her work. Very talented.»

«You should hire her to redo the guest rooms,» Dorothy continued, not looking at me. «They could use a professional touch.»

I had spent weeks decorating those guest rooms, choosing colors and fabrics that I thought were beautiful. But sitting there listening to Dorothy, I felt like everything I did was wrong, amateur, not good enough for their family standards.

«That’s a wonderful idea, mother,» Benjamin said. «Carmen, what do you think?»

What could I say? That I wanted to keep the rooms I had worked so hard on, that hiring someone else felt like admitting I was a failure? «Of course,» I said with a smile that felt like plastic. «Whatever you think is best.»

That’s when the phone calls started. Benjamin would step outside to take calls, saying they were work-related. He started working late more often, coming home after I had already eaten dinner alone. When I asked about his day, his answers became shorter, less detailed.

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