I met James at one of those lively parties. He caught my eye right away. And not just because he was strikingly handsome and built like a Greek god. There was something about him that was impossible to ignore. This charming, life-of-the-party guy instantly became the center of attention. Girls swarmed around him, flirting with coy shoulder shrugs, sultry glances, and seductive smiles, but somehow, he noticed *me*! And why not? I’m no plain Jane or shrinking violet (thanks to Mom and Dad for the good genes).
We danced the entire evening. And as the night wound down, for dessert, I got an invitation to a date!
The only sour note was the jealous hissing from some women behind my back:
— Can you believe James fell for her? What a fool. She’ll bleed him dry without batting an eye.
I spun around, but all I saw were fake smiles.
Later, I understood the reason for their envy—James was fabulously wealthy! He owned a company that brought in *very* impressive profits, which we spent with abandon. We lived it up, denying ourselves nothing. James was ready to lay the world at my feet. A weekend in Paris? Done! A getaway to Vienna? Whatever you want! Dinner in Milan? No problem! Feel like skiing? Off to the Alps! I felt like Cinderella at her first ball, the ball of life… A few months later, he asked when I’d finally introduce him to my parents.
— How about tomorrow? — I blurted out, thrilled. Truth be told, Mom and Dad already liked him in theory, if only because he could provide their only daughter with a comfortable life. After meeting him, their opinion didn’t change.
— He’s a good guy, — Mom whispered to me later. — Charming, young, well-mannered, and with a great sense of humor. You can tell he’s head over heels for you.
— I’m crazy about him too. But I haven’t gotten a formal proposal yet.
— He’ll propose, — Mom said with absolute certainty. — I’m sure of it.
And she was right! Just a few weeks later, James and I were dining at a cozy little restaurant in the heart of Paris. The air was filled with the most beautiful, romantic language in the world.
— Emily, — he started, clearing his throat. — I didn’t bring you to France by chance.
— Not by chance? — I echoed, unsure how to respond.
— Paris is the city of love. — He paused for a moment. I couldn’t speak, my heart racing. — It’s here that I want to tell you I love you. Will you marry me?
— Yes… — I breathed.
The first six months of married life were pure bliss. I quit my job (why bother going when we spent more in a month than I’d earn in a year?). I missed my coworkers, though. But I kept myself busy—shopping, manicures, pedicures, massages, facials, the gym, you name it.
Then we bought a house. Not an apartment—a *house*. A huge, three-story mansion. New responsibilities came with it—design, renovations, furniture. Sure, we hired professionals, but someone had to oversee them and point them in the right direction! While James was at the office, I took charge. And honestly, I loved every second of it.
When my husband came home, I’d bombard him with updates about our home-in-progress.
— I was thinking: let’s not do the kitchen in dark tones. I saw a yellow one in a showroom recently, bright like a dandelion, but it’s pricey.
— If you like it, buy it, — James would always reply, carefree.
But one day, when I asked if we should put a canopy over the bed in the master bedroom, he reacted unusually sharply.
— How much does it cost? — he asked.
Caught off guard, I was momentarily speechless.
— I don’t remember… Does it matter?
James frowned, chewing his lip.
— Look, Emily, the company’s hitting some rough patches. Temporary, I hope. We need to cut back a bit.
— Okay, — I nodded, a little scared.
— It’s not okay, — he snapped.
From that day, something shifted. It was like a crack formed in our relationship. He answered my questions curtly, never elaborating. Once, he even snapped rudely:
— Leave me alone!
Hurt, I stopped talking to him. Why was he treating me like this? Was I to blame for his troubles? Why take it out on me? Things at the company seemed to get worse. Our international trips became a thing of the past. The house’s design and renovations stalled because we couldn’t pay the workers.
But that wasn’t what worried me most. It was that James and I had grown distant. We were practically strangers. He barely spoke to me anymore. He’d come home, eat, sleep, and leave again in the morning. Sometimes he’d stumble in past midnight, reeking of alcohol.
I felt betrayed. Was he only a good husband when money was flowing? The moment finances dried up, did he turn cold? Was it all an act? The final straw was a terrible fight, sparked by my innocent suggestion:
— Honey, maybe I should go back to work? I said it without any judgment! Honestly, I missed my colleagues and my job terribly. Doing nothing was exhausting. I wanted to be useful.
But James lost it.
— What’s with the accusations?! — he shouted.
— I wasn’t— — I stammered.
— Why do you keep blaming me?! Enough already! I’m stressed about the money too!
— And I’m stressed that you’ve become… like this… — Tears choked my words. I turned and bolted outside.
I wandered for hours, sobbing and wiping tears from my cheeks. Then I decided to drown my sorrows. My feet carried me to a bar where James and I used to hang out with friends.
I sat at a table alone and ordered a vodka. After downing the first shot, an old mutual friend of ours slid into the seat across from me.
— Emily, what’s going on? Drinking alone? Did you and James fight?
— We’re done, — I said flatly, stating the grim truth.
— Seriously? So he was right?
— Who?
— Your husband. Ex-husband, I mean.
— Right about what? Speak plainly. I’ve had a bit to drink, and I’m not following.
— Well, a couple of days ago, we were drinking together, — he said reluctantly. — We got pretty wasted… and James admitted he’s scared you’ll leave him now that he’s broke.
I stared blankly at our friend, processing his words. Then I jumped up, ran out of the bar, and raced home.
— Carter, you idiot! — I declared the moment I stepped through the door.
— Thanks for the kind words, — James muttered, managing a weak smirk.
— How could you think I love your money and not you? How could that even cross your mind?
— Isn’t it true? — he said, defeated, but I caught a faint glimmer of hope in his voice. And in his eyes. I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around him.
— You mean more to me than any stupid money, — I whispered.
— Well, money’s not *that* stupid, — James tried to protest, but I silenced him with a kiss…
Things got better. No, we didn’t magically strike it rich. We still argue, and there are fights—especially when James makes endless calls chasing job leads (his company went bankrupt for good), only to get rejected everywhere. But we’re rich in love! It’s passed the test.
We decided to sell the house to pay off debts, and I don’t regret it one bit. In exchange, we got a cozy one-bedroom apartment in a regular high-rise—a true family nest. I went back to work, which I’m thrilled about. My boss welcomed me with open arms, and my coworkers swarmed me, hugging and chattering about how much they missed me. It felt so good!
And recently, things took a turn for the better for James too—he aced an interview for a deputy director position at a major company in the city!
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