My name is Margaret. I’m 60 years old, and I’ve been married to my husband, Robert, for 38 years.
For the last twenty years, I’ve heard the same cruel words almost every morning.
“I’m the one who earns the money, Margaret! You just sit at home doing nothing!”
At first, I tried explaining myself.
I cooked, cleaned, washed his clothes, cared for our children, looked after his sick mother for six years, and made sure he never had to worry about anything at home.
But Robert never considered any of that work.
Whenever I asked for money to buy something for myself, he’d laugh.
“Money doesn’t grow on trees. Maybe you should try earning some.”
Even when our children visited, he humiliated me in front of them.
“Your mother has had a twenty-year vacation at my expense!”
Everyone laughed awkwardly.
I smiled, but inside, something broke a little more each time.