Sandra thought the hardest part of married life would be learning to share space. She was wrong. A week after the wedding, her husband, Matt, revealed a secret: her salary goes to his mum. Shocked, Sandra wouldn’t budge, and she had an ingenious plan up her sleeve.
You’d think the worst part of the first week of marriage is deciding who takes out the rubbish, or arguing about how to load the dishwasher. But for me, it wasn’t even close.
Let me take you back to last week – just a few days after my ‘dream wedding’ to Matt – when he dropped the bombshell that turned my whole world upside down.
Matt and I had been together for three years before tying the bonds of marriage. He was fun, reliable, and someone I trusted completely. I’m a graphic designer, and I’ve always been independent when it came to paying bills and saving money for my goals.
I felt like Matt respected me for that. He told me he liked how goal-orientated I was.
So imagine my shock when, a few days into our marriage, we were curled up on the couch watching some reruns and Matt casually said: ‘By the way, we need to talk about our finances.’
I muted the TV, expecting something like talking about the budget or opening a joint savings account. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘What do you have in mind?’
He smiled…not his usual warm smile, but a strained, almost rehearsed one. ‘We’ll be giving your salary to my mum. She’ll teach you how to spend it properly!’
‘Like hell she will,’ I hissed, my voice shaking with disbelief and rage. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘My mother has managed all of the family’s financial decisions for decades,’ Matt replied, a note of steel in his tone. ‘Her system is proven.’
I blinked. ‘Wait. What?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, sitting up straighter, like he was about to give a presentation. ‘Mum has a system that’s worked for years. She splits everything up: 50 per cent goes to her husband for personal needs, 25 per cent for household expenses and 25 per cent for gifts to family and friends.’
I laughed, deciding this was some kind of weird joke. ‘Okay, good joke. You almost got me.’
But his face didn’t change. ‘I’m serious, Sandra. This is exactly how my parents managed their finances. Mum’s a pro at it. You’ll see, it works.’
My stomach twisted. ‘Are you saying I should give my entire salary to your mum to decide how to spend it? And give half to you for ‘personal use’?’
‘Exactly!’
I felt the heat rising in my chest. ‘Matt, I don’t know what kind of man you’re marrying, but it can’t be. I’ve worked hard for my independence and I’m not going to give it up so your mum can run my life.’
His expression hardened and his voice took on a condescending tone I’d never heard before. ‘Sandra, that’s how a ‘real family’ works. You agreed to be part of this family when you married me. Mum always says, ‘A supportive husband makes life more precious’.’
I stared at him, stunned. The man I thought I knew had just turned into someone I didn’t recognise.
‘I need some air,’ I said, grabbed my jacket and sprinted out the door before I said something I couldn’t take back.
I spent the night rolling around in bed and going over the entire conversation in my head. How could I have missed that side of Matt? And Linda, my mother-in-law?
She had been polite enough before we were married, but there was always a tinge of superiority in her advice, ‘A wife should focus on supporting her husband’ or ‘Our family has always had a clear system to keep things in order.’
I ignored these warning signs, writing them off as generational differences. Now I realised that these weren’t just harmless quirks. They were RULES, and I was expected to obey them.
The next morning I made a decision: if Matt and Linda thought I would blindly go along with their little plan, they had no idea who they were dealing with.
When I walked into the kitchen, Matt was already there, sipping coffee and leafing through his phone.
‘Good morning,’ I said, my voice sweet-sweet.
He looked at me incredulously. ‘Something seems to have changed.’
‘Oh,’ I replied, letting out a soft, calculating laugh, ’I was thinking about what you said last night. I overreacted. If your mum’s system works so well, maybe we should try it.’
His eyes narrowed for a moment before he caught himself thinking. ‘Really!’ – he exclaimed. ‘I knew you’d understand eventually.’
‘Of course,’ I said, keeping my eyes on his smile. ‘It’s all about teamwork, right?’
I could see the wheels turning in his head. He was buying it.
By lunchtime I had transferred my salary into our joint account, making sure Matt could see the notification on his phone. I even texted Linda, ‘Hi Linda! I agree with your system. Let me know how I can help.’
Her reply came a few minutes later, ‘So glad you’re ready to learn, dear. We’ll make a real wife out of you yet.’
I stared at the screen, a cold, calculating smile spreading across my face. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing the answer that would start what was about to happen.
‘Great, Linda,’ I whispered to myself. ‘If you want to play games, let’s play games. The real game is just beginning!’
But as I began to plan my next move, something wasn’t coming together. Linda prided herself on her frugality, always going on about her perfect budget. But every time I saw her, she had something new – a designer handbag, a new piece of jewellery or the latest kitchen gadget.
The maths didn’t add up. If she was really sticking to her rules – 50 per cent of the money to Matt, 25 per cent for groceries and 25 per cent for gifts – how could she afford all these luxuries?
Curiosity got the best of me, so I decided to dig deeper. One evening, while Matt was taking a shower, I glanced at his desk in his office. That’s when I noticed it… a small black notepad sticking out from under a stack of papers. I remembered Linda writing something down in a notebook like that during one of her budgeting ‘lessons’.
For a moment I hesitated. But then I remembered Linda’s smug face as she lectured me on financial priorities, and I decided I had every right to know the truth.
I grabbed my notebook, and when I opened it, my suspicions were confirmed. Linda had kept a detailed record of her personal expenses – designer purchases, credit card payments and, most shockingly, money borrowed from relatives to cover her excessive spending.
My stomach twisted as I went through page after page of reckless spending. The self-proclaimed ‘budget expert’ was nothing more than a fraud.
IDEAL. It was exactly what I needed to put my plan into action.
When I wasn’t peeking, I kept going. ‘Matt, can you believe how lucky we are to have your mum’s guidance?’ I said over dinner. He grinned, ignoring the storm brewing beneath my smile.
By the end of the week, I was ready for the next step.
Friday night Matt came home with Linda in tow. She walked into our living room holding a folder as if she was about to present the quarterly profit and loss report.
‘Honey,’ she said with a patronising smile, ’I hope you’re ready for a comprehensive financial review.
Matt nodded, as if all this nonsense made sense.
‘Sit down. Sit down.’ interrupted Linda, her tone intolerant of objection.
She opened her folder and began listing numbers, explaining how she distributed my salary. ‘Of course, fifty per cent goes to Matt for personal expenses,’ she said, casting me a reproachful glance.
‘Because obviously,’ I muttered to myself, ’I’m just an ATM with legs.
‘Twenty-five per cent goes to…,’ she continued.
‘Oh, Linda! Before we go any further,’ I said, interrupting her, ’I think we need to talk about something.
Linda’s perfectly groomed eyebrow arched. ‘What is it exactly?’
I reached under the coffee table and pulled out my folder. ‘THIS.’
I held it out to Matt, who started flipping through the pages. He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked through the documents: credit card statements, delinquency notices, and screenshots of Linda’s extravagant online purchases.
‘Mum,’ he said, his voice shaking with disbelief, ’what does all this mean?’
Linda’s face changed…first with shock, then with rage. ‘How dare you poke around in my private affairs!’ – she hissed, her composure crumbling like cheap glass.
‘Oh, I dare,’ I replied coldly. ‘You wanted to control my finances. I thought it would be fair to look after yours.’
The silence that followed was electric, charged with the potential for an imminent explosion. Linda jumped up from the couch, her hands trembling. ‘You’re trying to turn my son against me!’
‘No, Linda,’ I said, standing my ground, ’you did this to yourself.
Matt looked between us, confusion and guilt written all over his face. ‘Mum… how could you…?’
‘How dare you question your mother?’ Linda’s voice rose hysterically. ‘After all I’ve done for this family! I sacrificed…’
‘Sacrificed?’ I interrupted, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. ‘You sacrificed nothing except your son’s ability to think for himself.’
Linda’s face contorted with rage and humiliation. ‘You think you know everything? You know nothing about my family!’
‘You’re right!’ I replied. ‘I knew nothing about your family, but now that I realise exactly what I’m dealing with, you’re in for a little surprise!’
Linda’s face turned as red as a beetroot when the notification arrived on her phone. I opened a new bank account in my name and discreetly transferred my salary back from the joint account. A message from the bank popped up on the screen.
‘You can’t…’ – she began to protest, her voice rising in panic.
‘Oh, but I absolutely can,’ I interrupted, my voice calm and razor sharp. ‘It’s my money!’ The finality of my tone left no room for argument.
Linda grabbed her folder and ran out of the flat, muttering to herself, clicking her heels furiously on the floor.
Matt sat down, resting his head on his hands. ‘Sandra, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…’
‘Of course you didn’t know,’ I said, crossing my arms, frustration and despair in my voice. ‘Because you never asked her questions. But now you have a choice to make, Matt. Are we partners or is this marriage just a game with your mum pulling the strings?’
He looked at me, his eyes full of regret, vulnerability seeping through his usually confident demeanour. ‘You’re right. I was an idiot. I’ll make it up to you. I swear.’
‘Good,’ I said and picked up my coffee, my tone leaving no room for argument. ‘Because I won’t play second fiddle to your mum. Ever.’
It had been a week since that showdown, and things were getting…better. Matt had tried. He’d apologised more times than I can count, and he was finally starting to see his mum for who she really was.
‘I never realised how controlling she’d been my whole life,’ he confessed one night, notes of shame and newfound clarity in his voice.
‘Better late than never,’ I replied, squeezing his hand.
I haven’t spoken to Linda since that night, and frankly, I like it that way. I prefer it that way. Random passive-aggressive messages from her I delete immediately. No drama, no involvement.
As for my salary? It stays where it belongs – in my account. My hard-earned money, my rules.
Matt was different, too. More considerate. More respectful. Like he’d finally realised what partnership really meant.
‘So,’ he asked me yesterday, ’are we okay?’
I looked him straight in the eye. ‘We’re working on it.’
What do you think? Was I being too harsh, or were they trying hard for a reason?
