After years on maternity leave, raising our three children back-to-back, I was finally ready to do something for myself.
I adore being a mom — I really do — but there comes a point when you crave something beyond sticky fingers and school runs. I wanted to rediscover the version of me that had dreams, ambition, and a vision for the future.
Bit by bit, through part-time gigs and relentless budgeting, I built a college fund — not just for a degree, but for my independence. It was my way to reclaim a sense of purpose, and eventually help provide more for our family.
Or so I thought… until one afternoon, I overheard my husband, Mark, on the phone with his buddy, Derek.
“Man, your wife is impressive,” Derek said. “Nina told me Maya’s going back to school — that’s so inspiring!”
Mark let out a laugh. “Yeah, right. You think I’d let her waste that money on college? I already ordered a new TV and a PS5 with it. Should be here tomorrow.”
I stood frozen in the hallway.
He did what?
The fund I’d worked tirelessly to build — money saved from working late nights after putting our kids to bed — had been turned into a shopping spree I knew nothing about.
I felt sick. Furious. Betrayed.
That night, lying in bed beside him, I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. I plotted.
Mark was about to learn what happens when you treat your wife’s dreams like spare change.
—
The next morning, I made some phone calls.
First, I called the electronics store. I explained that the purchases had been unauthorized. After some paperwork and a brief wait, the entire order was canceled and the money refunded back to my account. Relief flooded through me.
But I wasn’t done.
I set up a meeting with a financial advisor and a lawyer. If Mark couldn’t respect boundaries, I would create them myself — legally and financially.
And then came the finale.
A few days later, Mark walked into the house and found all his gaming gear — his console, controllers, headset, even his precious gaming chair — neatly lined up by the front door.
He froze. “Maya, what the hell is all this?”
I walked in, calm and composed. “I sold it.”
“You what?!” he exploded.
“You heard me,” I said. “Figured if you could spend my money without asking, I could make a few decisions of my own.”
He looked like I’d slapped him. “That stuff was mine!”
“And my college fund was mine. You didn’t ask. You didn’t consult. You just spent it like it meant nothing.”
Mark’s anger faded quickly into guilt. He knew I was right. I didn’t have to scream — the silence between us said enough.
“I saved that money for years, Mark,” I continued. “It wasn’t just cash — it was hope. My future. And you treated it like it was just another toy you could order online.”
He dropped his gaze.
“I’m your partner, not your backup plan. If we’re going to move forward, it needs to be as equals.”
—
To his credit, Mark tried to make amends.
He apologized. He listened. And he even suggested we open separate savings accounts for personal goals. It wasn’t a magic fix, but it was a start.
I agreed to forgive — but only on the condition that we begin financial counseling. Trust had to be rebuilt, and I wouldn’t settle for empty promises.
As for my college fund? Still intact.
I enrolled in classes that fall.
And when I sat in that first lecture hall, surrounded by notebooks and nerves, I realized something: standing up for myself hadn’t just preserved my future — it had redefined how I valued myself.
And slowly, Mark started to value me that way too.
