When my husband Ethan came home that Sunday, something felt off. His expression was rehearsed—and then he said the words I couldn’t believe: he and his mother had decided I should quit my job.
I laughed at first, thinking it was a joke. It wasn’t. They actually believed my career didn’t matter—that I should stay home and serve them. Diane, my mother-in-law, nodded approvingly. Ethan, ever the mama’s boy, backed her up, accusing me of spending too much time at work… and even implying I might be cheating.
I let them think they had won. I “quit,” cut off our financial comforts, and let them feel the consequences of my absence. No spa trips, no fancy groceries, no extras. For a month, they suffered—and I quietly enjoyed every moment.
Then I went back to work. And filed for divorce.
Ethan tried to apologize, but I was done. I wouldn’t let anyone—his mother or him—control my life.
