When I lost my job, I hoped my husband, Gregor, would be my support system. At first, he seemed understanding, but cracks quickly showed. He began making passive-aggressive comments about being the sole breadwinner. I took a cleaning job to help keep us afloat, but Gregor was more concerned with appearances than my effort.

Despite his complaints about finances, Gregor threw himself a lavish 45th birthday party at an upscale restaurant. I didn’t say anything, choosing instead to enjoy my first real break in months. I even contributed by decorating the venue with balloons and quietly covered part of the bill from my savings.

The evening was going well—until Gregor made a cruel joke during his birthday toast. In front of everyone, he called me his “dependent” and claimed he only kept me around because I was obedient. His attempt at humor was humiliating, and the room fell into awkward silence.

But I refused to let him embarrass me. I stood up and calmly revealed that the money used for the party came from my savings—not his. I explained I had kept quiet out of love, but I was done tolerating disrespect.

Gregor looked stunned as I ended with, “I was going to pay the bill as a gift, but I think I’ll keep the money—and my dignity.” I left the restaurant, head high, and drove to my mother’s house.

I packed up my things that night. I wasn’t staying in a marriage that treated me like a burden.