I met Jason at a house party, and he caught my eye immediately. It wasn't just because he was handsome and built like a Greek god; he was simply impossible to ignore. A natural storyteller and the life of the party, he had everyone laughing within minutes. Girls were swarming him, tossing their hair and giving him their most charming smiles, but he chose me. And why not? I'm no wallflower—I have my parents' good genes to thank for that.
We danced the entire night. And for the grand finale, the icing on the cake, he asked me out on a date.
The only bitter note in the whole evening was the envious whispering I caught behind my back as I left.
"Has Jason actually been caught? How naive—she's going to bleed him dry and won't even blink."
I spun around quickly, but I was met only with fake, sugary smiles.
Later, I realized the reason for all that jealousy: the guy was incredibly wealthy. He owned a firm that brought in a very impressive income, which we thoroughly enjoyed spending. We lived life to the fullest, denying ourselves nothing. Jason was ready to lay the world at my feet. A weekend in Paris? You got it. A getaway to Aspen? Just name the place. Dinner in London? No problem. I felt like Cinderella arriving at the ball for the very first time. After a few months, he asked when he could finally meet my parents.
"Tomorrow!" I blurred out happily. Truthfully, my mom and dad already liked him sight unseen, if only because he could provide their only daughter with a comfortable life. After the meeting, their opinion didn't change.
"He's a great guy," my mom whispered in my ear later. "Charming, young, polite, and he has a great sense of humor. It's obvious he's crazy about you."
"I'm crazy about him, too. But nobody's officially popped the question yet."
"He will," my mom said without a shadow of a doubt. "I'm certain of it."
***
She was right. Just a few weeks later, Jason and I were having lunch at a cozy little bistro in the heart of Paris. All around us, the most romantic language in the world hummed like beautiful music.
"Vanessa," he began, clearing his throat. "There's a reason I brought you to France."
"A reason?" I repeated, my heart racing.
"Paris is the city of love." He paused for a moment. I was so nervous I couldn't make a sound. "This is where I want to tell you that I love you. Will you marry me?"
"Yes..." I exhaled.
The first six months of married life were like living in paradise. I quit my job—after all, why go to the office when we spent more in a month than I used to make in a year? To be honest, I did miss my coworkers. But I found ways to keep myself busy: shopping, spas, Pilates, and skincare routines.
Then we bought a house. Not just any house—a massive, three-story estate. That brought a whole new set of responsibilities: interior design, renovations, furniture. Of course, we hired professionals for the actual work, but someone had to manage them! While Jason was buried in work at the office, I took charge. And truthfully, I loved it.
Whenever my husband came home, I would hit him with an avalanche of updates about our "nest."
"I was thinking, let's not do the kitchen in dark tones. I saw a yellow one at a showroom recently—bright as a dandelion. It's expensive, though."
"If you like it, buy it," Jason would always reply easily.
But one day, when I asked if we should have a canopy over the bed in the master suite, his reaction was uncharacteristically sharp.
"How much does that cost?" he asked.
I was so caught off guard that I actually lost my voice for a second.
"I don't remember... does it matter?"
Jason frowned, tensing up.
"Look, Vanessa, the firm is hitting some rough patches. Temporary ones, I hope. We need to cut back on spending for a while."
"Okay," I nodded, feeling a chill of fear.
"It's not 'okay,'" he snapped.
***
Something changed that day. It was as if a crack had formed in our relationship. Jason became clipped and cold, never going into details about what was happening. Once, he even barked at me quite rudely:
"Just leave me alone!"
I was hurt and stopped talking to him. Why was he treating me this way? It wasn't my fault he was having trouble. Why take it out on me? Apparently, things were getting worse and worse. The international trips vanished. The design work and renovations ground to a halt because there was no money to pay the contractors.
But it wasn't the money that worried me. It was the fact that Jason and I were drifting apart. We had become strangers. He hardly spoke to me anymore. He would come home, eat, go to sleep, and leave again first thing in the morning. Sometimes he wouldn't show up until well past midnight, often smelling of scotch.
I felt betrayed. It seemed that as long as he had money, he was a good husband, but as soon as the finances hit rock bottom, he turned into someone else. Was it all an act? The breaking point was a terrible argument that started after I made a suggestion.
"Honey, maybe I should go back to work?" I said it without any judgment! In fact, I genuinely missed my job and my friends. Doing nothing all day was exhausting. I wanted to feel useful again.
But my husband lost his temper completely.
"Is that a dig at me?!" he yelled.
"I didn't mean anything by—" I stammered.
"Why are you constantly blaming me? Enough already! I'm the one dealing with the fact that we're broke!"
"And I'm dealing with the fact that you've become... so... so..." Tears cut me off. I turned around and ran out of the house.
I walked for a long time, sobbing and wiping tears from my cheeks. Finally, I decided to drown my sorrows. My feet led me to the bar where we used to hang out with our friends.
I sat at a corner table and ordered a drink. After I downed the first one, a mutual friend of ours sat down next to me.
"Vanessa? What are you doing here drinking alone? Did you and Jason have a fight?"
"We're over," I stated flatly.
"Seriously? So, was he right after all?"
"Who?"
"Your husband. Well, ex-husband."
"Right about what? Speak clearly. I've only had one drink, but I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Well, he and I were drinking together a few days ago," he said reluctantly. "We got pretty wasted... and Jason admitted he was terrified you were going to leave him now that the money's gone."
I stared at his face for a long time, processing what I'd just heard. Then I jumped up, ran out of the club, and raced home.
***
"Jason, you're an idiot!" I shouted the moment I stepped through the door.
"Thanks for the kind words," he muttered gloomily.
"How could you ever think I loved your money more than you? How could that even cross your mind?"
"Isn't it true?" he asked, sounding defeated. But I caught a tiny spark of hope in his voice—and in his eyes. I walked over and threw my arms around him.
"You matter more to me than some stupid money," I whispered.
"Well, it wasn't that stupid," Jason tried to argue, but I silenced him with a kiss.
Things have turned around for us. No, we didn't get rich again overnight. We still have our arguments, especially when Jason is making cold calls looking for work (the firm ended up going under), and he keeps getting doors slammed in his face. But we are rich in love. It passed the test.
We decided to sell the house to pay off the debts, and I don't regret it for a second. In exchange, we got a small one-bedroom apartment in a regular building—warm, cozy, and a real home. I went back to my old job, and I couldn't be happier. My boss welcomed me back with open arms, and the girls in the office swarmed me, hugging me and talking over each other about how much they missed me. It felt so good to be back.
And just recently, Jason had a huge win—he aced an interview for a VP position at a major company downtown!
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