My Husband Was Supporting His Ex with Our Money – So I Gave Him an Ultimatum From the very start, I…

My husband was supporting his ex-wife with our moneyand I finally gave him an ultimatum.

From the very beginning, I knew about his ex-wife. He never hid the fact that hed been married, had a daughter, and was paying child maintenance. I even admired him for being so responsibleit felt noble, and I respected him for taking care of his obligations.

But over time, I started to realise something far more troubling: his responsibility was actually a consuming sense of guilt. Chronic, exhausting guilt that followed him like a shadow and someone was rather skilled at exploiting it.

The maintenance payments were regular and fair. But on top of that, there was a whole world of extra expenses.

She needed a new laptop for school. The old one was slow, and apparently all the other girls at her school had better ones. My husband would sighand buy it.

She had to attend a language camp, or else shed fall behind her classmates. Hed agree to it, even though the cost was as much as our entire summer holiday.

Christmas presents, birthday presents, just because giftseverything had to be the finest, the priciest, the flashiest. Because, as she liked to say, fathers should always be generous.

His ex-wife knew exactly how to play him. Shed phone and speak with that delicate, weary tone: Shell be heartbroken, do you understand? I cant do this alone. And he always understood. In fact, he understood so deeply that hed lose sight of the life we were building togetherthe plans, the hopes, the future slipping quietly away.

Our money for tomorrow trickled away, drop by drop, into the pasta past that stubbornly refused to fade away.

I tried talking to him.

Dont you think its too much now? She has everything, and here we are, still unable to buy a washing machine two months in a row. Wake up

Hed look at me remorsefully and mutter, Shes a child I cant deny her. They say its a difficult age. I have to support her.

And what about me? Our life? Id ask, sharper now.

He looked genuinely confused. Are youjealous? Of a child?

It wasnt jealousy.
It was justice.

We were living in a state of perpetual emergencyfunding someone elses never-ending urgent needs.

Our washing machine was on its last legsroaring, shuddering, stopping mid-cycle. I dreamed of having a normal, quiet one. Id been saving from my salary, found a good one on offer, set the date to buy it.

I could almost picture myself doing a load without worrying whether it would break down again.

That morning, my husband was strangely quiet, pacing the flat as if searching for something.

Just as I was reaching for my bag, he said:

I took the money for the washing machine.

My fingers felt icy.

Took? Where?

For my daughter. Its urgent dental treatment. My ex called late last night, panicking said the child was in agony, needed a private dentist immediatelywhich cost a fortune. I couldnt refuse

I steadied myself against the kitchen doorway.

And did they fix her tooth?

Yes, yes! He brightened, as if the worst was over. Shes fine now. Said it all went beautifully.

I looked at him for a few seconds, then said softly:

Ring her now.

What? Why?

Call her. Ask how your daughter is and which tooth it was.

He frowned but dialled. The call was brief. As he listened, I watched his expression shiftfrom relief to embarrassment.

He hung up.

Well alls well. The pains gone.

Which tooth? I repeated.

It doesnt matter

WHICH TOOTH? My voice came out rough, unfamiliar.

He sighed.

She said it wasnt about pain. It was planned. Tooth whitening. Apparently its allowed at that age. Shed been waiting a year

In that moment, I simply turned and sat down at the kitchen table.

The money for our normal life had gone to teeth whiteningbecause someone decided it was needed.

Worst of all?
He hadnt even questioned it. Hadnt checked. Just handed it over. Guilt is a terrible adviserbut a brilliant tool for manipulation.

After that, the house was filled with icy silence.

I barely spoke to him. He tried to smooth things over with little gestures, but it was like putting a plaster on a massive wound.

I finally understoodI wasnt fighting his ex-wife.
I was fighting the ghost he carried inside.

The ghost of a failed marriage. The uneasy suspicion that he hadnt done enough. That he needed to make up for it.

And that ghost was greedy.

Hungry for new sacrificesmoney, time, patience, dignity.

The breaking point came at the childs birthday.

I steeled myself and bought a lovely, well-chosen but modest bookthe very one his daughter had mentioned offhand once.

But the big gifts came from Mum and Dad: a phone only the richest children at school possessed.

His ex-wife was done up like a magazine cover, hosting guests like a queen. Smiling sweetly but dangerous.

When present time came round and his daughter picked up my book, she announced loudly, smiling for the whole grand room:

There you go, darling the people who truly love you give you what you dream of, pointing at the flashy present. And thisshe nodded dismissively towards the bookthis is just from some lady. Just for show.

The room froze.

All eyes shifted to me.
Then to my husband.
And he said nothing.

He didnt defend me. Didnt correct her. Did absolutely nothing.

He stared at the floor. At his plate. Somewhere inside himself. Tense and hunched, as if hoping to disappear.

His silence was louder than a slap.

It was agreement.

I endured the celebration with a frozen smile. I nodded, I smiled but inside, it was over.

Not a conclusion. Not a crisis.
Finality.

When we got home, I didnt make a scene. Scenes are for people still fighting.

I walked to the bedroom, pulled my old dusty suitcase from the cupboardthe one my husband arrived with years ago.

And started packing his clothes.
Slowly. Methodically. Calm.

Shirts. Trousers. Socks. Everything folded.

He heard the noise, came in, and when he saw the suitcase turned to stone.

What are you doing?

Im helping you pack, I replied evenly.

What? Where to? Is this because of today? Shes always like that

Its not about her, I interrupted. Its about you.

I placed the last shirt.

You live in the past. Every pound, every thought, every silence belongs there. I live in the present, in a now where theres no money for a washing machine because its gone on teeth whitening whims. In a now where Im publicly humiliated while my husband stares at the floor.

I zipped the suitcase and stood it upright.

I looked him in the eyes.

Go. Go to her. Help her with everythingwith teeth, tutors, endless drama and manipulation. Earn your redemption, if you must. But do it there, not here. Free this space.

What space?

The space for a man in my life. Its already occupied. By the ghost of another woman. And Im tired of sharing my bed, my money, my future with him.

I took the suitcase, placed it by the front door, and left it.

He picked it upand left.

I didnt look at the door.

For the first time in ages, I felt the air belonged to me.
That the home was mine.
That my soul finally had room for itself.

Two months later, our marriage was officially over.