My nanna passed away and left me a huge inheritance. I told my fiancé about it and he said he will “finally pay his credit card off.” I replied, “You won’t be paying anything off without my permission.” He looked shocked and said, “What do you mean? We’re getting married.
What’s yours is mine.”
I remember just standing there, the heat rising to my cheeks. We’d only been engaged for five months. And though I loved him—or thought I did—something about his response made my stomach turn.
It wasn’t the words themselves, but the tone, like he felt entitled to something he didn’t earn. I cleared my throat and said, “That’s not how this works. This money came from my grandmother.
She trusted me with it. It’s not just a windfall—it’s her life’s work.”
He laughed nervously and tried to backtrack. “I’m just saying… we have debt, and it’d be nice to go into marriage with a clean slate.
Don’t you think?”
Maybe if he had said it differently, asked instead of assumed, I wouldn’t have felt so guarded. But something inside me clicked. It was like a quiet bell went off in my head, warning me to pay closer attention.
For the next few weeks, I did. We had already been living together in a small apartment. I started noticing how often he ordered things online, despite claiming we were “tight on cash.” He always seemed to have a new pair of sneakers or the latest gadget, and yet, when rent came around, he barely scraped by.
Once, I asked him how much he owed in total. He shrugged. “I don’t know… maybe fifteen, twenty thousand?
But it’s not a big deal. Everyone has debt.”
That didn’t sit right with me. So one night, while he was watching a game, I went to the kitchen and pulled out my laptop.
I didn’t want to snoop, but I needed to understand what I was getting into. If we were going to be married, transparency had to go both ways. I checked our shared bank statements.
What I found made my heart sink. He wasn’t just in debt—he was reckless. Multiple payments to online casinos.
Two purchases from a luxury watch site. Payments to some “consultant” I’d never heard of. The next morning, I confronted him.
He didn’t deny it. Instead, he looked annoyed, like I was invading his privacy. “Why are you going through my stuff?”
“Because we’re supposed to be a team,” I said, trying to stay calm.
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