When Ethan came home that Sunday, something felt off. He had clearly rehearsed what he was about to say: his mother and he had decided I should quit my job. At first, I thought it was a joke, but his serious expression told me otherwise.
Ethan and his mother, Diane, believed my career didn’t matter. Instead, they thought I should be a full-time housekeeper. I had been happily working as a financial consultant, loving my job, but Diane’s constant meddling made things complicated. Ethan, a mama’s boy, always sided with her, even when her opinions didn’t make sense. Like when she suggested I should fire our house cleaner because “a wife should take care of the home.”
But this time, they’d crossed a line. Ethan and Diane insisted I quit my job to help around the house. Ethan even suggested I wasn’t doing my “family duties” properly, while Diane claimed a woman’s value was tied to her ability to run a home. To my shock, Ethan accused me of cheating because of my work hours.
I played along and agreed to quit. The next day, I informed my boss and cut off my financial support. The luxuries they took for granted—spa trips, shopping sprees, and fancy groceries—disappeared. Ethan quickly realized that, as the breadwinner, I had been paying for their comfort. But it was too late.
After a month of watching their lifestyle crumble, I told Ethan I was going back to work—and filing for divorce. He begged for forgiveness, but I was done. Diane’s control and the accusation of cheating were the final straws. I left, and soon, the divorce was finalized.
What would you have done in my shoes?