When Maria* (45) fell in love with a man who earned less than her, she didn’t think twice about it. But as his unemployment turned to resentment and his resentment turned into violence, she learned that the man she’d married had never truly loved her.
This is Maria’s story as told to Sofiyah.
I’ve never known what it means not to have money. My dad founded an automobile company that raked in millions, and my mum had a corporate job stable enough that she could leave my dad if she ever wanted to. Between them, they had enough money to raise five children, but because my mother has always preferred exploring the world over staying in one place, they decided to have only one. That child was me.
I won’t pretend I wasn’t privileged. I was. From a young age, I had access to rooms that people thrice my age were praying to enter. I interned at companies owned by my parents’ friends, had a packed CV by the time I graduated from university, and landed a well-paying job at a big firm before I turned 25. Everything was handed to me on a silver platter, and I used it.
I was 25, successful, and, like my mum, ready to see the world when I met Daniel* at a friend’s wedding. He was introduced to me as one of the groom’s friends, and I fell for him almost immediately. He was this handsome, charismatic person who had a really good way with words, and I appreciated that very much. I was glad when I found out that he’d only asked to be introduced to me because he found me attractive.
What followed was blissful. Our love reminded me of all those fairytale romances I’d only read in books. He was calm, patient, and understanding. I’d never cared much about a partner’s bank account, and I didn’t really mind that he was in an entry-level position and I was earning 5 times as much as he was. I loved him, and I didn’t care about any of that.
Maybe I should have.
We’d been dating six months when he proposed. I was surprised at the pace, but I said yes without hesitation. My parents, however, were less certain. From the moment I’d introduced him to them, they’d not been very welcoming, and they even became colder when they heard how much he was earning.
I remember my mum pulling me aside and asking me if the love of my life was really a man earning chicken change. I told her she was being elitist, and she said she was just being cautious because, before my father, she had had boyfriends who hated her because of how much she was earning. I assured her that Daniel wouldn’t be like that, and although she was wary, she and my father eventually gave us their blessings.
Daniel and I got married on the first anniversary of our relationship, and for three months, I basked in the honeymoon phase. I think I would have continued to do that if Daniel hadn’t lost his job due to a company downsizing. That was when hell started to break loose.
For months, Daniel searched for jobs, and as he kept receiving rejections, he grew bitter. He went from an easy-going guy to a bitter complainer who made everyone’s life miserable because of how he turned every gathering into a complaint session. No one wanted to be around him because nothing good ever came out of his mouth. You couldn’t even talk about your achievements around him without him making it about himself. The day I got a promotion at work, a part of me told me not to tell him, but I ignored it and told him anyway.
When I told him about the promotion, he didn’t even try to pretend that he was happy for me. He went straight into a tirade of how I must have had it easy to get a promotion because the owner of the company was my dad’s best friend, and how I must be blind to the struggles of non-privileged people like him. It stung because he knew better than anyone how hard I worked, even when I didn’t have to. I’d used that same privilege to help him look for a job countless times. It wasn’t my fault that he wasn’t qualified for them. However, I swallowed the hurt and told myself it was the joblessness talking.
I think I shouldn’t have swallowed it.
You’ll Like: Getting Pregnant Didn’t Ruin My Life. The Marriage My Parents Forced Did
A year passed. Daniel had given up on finding a job and was content with doing nothing because, in his words, “you’re bringing in money, so why should I even bother?” At the beginning of our marriage, I’d suggested opening a joint account to save for any child we brought into the world, but as Daniel refused to get a job, I began to regret the joint account because not only was I the only one putting money in there, but he was spending it recklessly on whatever he wanted.
Our first major fight happened on the day I found out that he’d withdrawn 90% of the money to spend on something he never told me about. The next day, after the fight, I froze the account, and the fight escalated. It even got to the point where he almost hit me. Honestly, noticing that should have raised alarms in my head, but I ignored it and told myself that it wasn’t like he hit me or anything. I wanted to ask my mum for her opinion, but I knew she would tell me to leave right away, and I couldn’t let that happen. Despite everything he’d been doing, I’d loved him very much.
My silence came at a cost. Because I needed something to fall back on once the corporate life started to exhaust me, I decided to build a house to rent out. I told Daniel about my plans, and he ignored me to watch TV, so I assumed he didn’t care, as he no longer did about me or our marriage.
But then I bought my land, and when he found out I’d bought it in my name, he became enraged. He asked why I would put just my name there when he, my husband, existed. I reminded him that it was my money. His anger turned into something worse, and for the first time in our marriage, he slapped me and called me ridiculous.
As he was still yelling about the land matter, I was processing the slap, and when I remembered that my mother taught me never to accept abuse wrapped in love, I slapped him back, but unfortunately for me, he was bigger than me, so the next hour after that was hell.
No one had ever hit me before. Daniel was the first person who had ever laid his hands on me, and the pain of being knocked against walls, slapped and punched constantly was excruciating. It felt like my breath was constantly leaving me. At some point, I couldn’t even scream out loud and at that moment, I began to pray for death.
When he stopped and left the room, I thought it was over. I was still struggling through the pain, reaching for my phone to call my mother, when he barged back in with a knife. When I saw it, a scream that I didn’t realise was capable of leaving my mouth escaped me. As he approached, I begged him, but it was as if he was possessed because he didn’t listen to me. I’d heard stories in the news about men killing their wives. I never thought I would be one of those women. He placed the knife against my throat and asked if I was curious to see how it would slice through my skin.
I remember begging him not to do it. “Please” kept spilling out of my mouth. I even promised that if he didn’t kill me, I would transfer everything I owned, but he didn’t listen to a word I was saying. It was so obvious that he loved the fact that I was at his mercy, and I couldn’t escape him. I had never been more scared for my life.
I was so ready to accept my fate. I was this close to just telling him to get it over with instead of just telling me how he would gut my insides with a knife when the front door opened, and our gateman appeared. He looked worried, and his face went from worried to alarmed when he saw the position we were in. It felt like something divine had been looking out for me, and my body finally gave in to the pain.
I don’t know what happened while I was unconscious, but when I woke up after a few days, I was in my family’s hospital, and my parents were there. My mum didn’t even allow me to ask about Daniel before she let me know that he was in police custody, and I didn’t need to worry too much about him. My dad had connections to someone important in the police force, and he assured me that Daniel wouldn’t go scot-free for what he did to me. At that, I could finally rest, and a week after my discharge, I left the country to avoid the pressure from Daniel’s family to release him.
It has been over a decade since I last saw Daniel, and while many people have asked if I would like to see him to get closure, I don’t think there is any need for it. I have nothing but hate in my heart for him, and it is because of him that I have a hard time giving a chance to men who earn less than me. Now, I’m only giving a chance to men who are above my tax bracket, and even then, I’m still wary of the fact that the current man I’m with might wake up one day and do what Daniel did.
Next Read: What She Said: My Situationship Was Dating Me, My Coworker and His Long-Term Girlfriend
