'I supported my financially abusive husband for decades. Then one day, he left me with nothing.'

As we walk up the grey city streets, my husband hands me the car keys and I put them in my bag. He’s wearing the expensive, double-breasted suit he bought when he got his new job. It was his first real job since he dropped out of university, and we thought we were on our way. But today we are going to court, and he might not be coming home.

But first, watch these 3 women share their experiences with financial abuse. Story continues after video.

We go inside a coffee shop with an enormous, orange cup, and saucer painted on the window. The floors are lined with tiny, burnished tiles, like the ones from my childhood home and there are moulded plastic chairs at laminated tables. The air is fat with the steamy smell of fried food and boiling milk. But rather than tempt my appetite, the aromas make my nervous stomach lurch.

“Want anything?” My husband asks.

“Black coffee,” I say and turn to find a seat.

“Hey,” he halts my progress with a hand on my shoulder. “Got any money?” 

Irritated, I rummage in my purse and hand over some change. He takes it and walks to the counter. As I sit down on the hard plastic seat, I almost smile at the irony.

He embezzles thirty grand from his employer, but he can’t buy me a coffee.

With hindsight, he now admits what he did was stupid and wrong, but at the time it seemed so easy. A sales director, he had made up the name of a non-existent employee and had his bogus wages paid into a business account he had set up.

For a while, he got away with it. But then people started questions, and he eventually got caught.

He comes back to the table and puts the coffees down in front of us. There is a pool of dark liquid in my saucer, and I don’t know if it’s because his hands are shaking with fear, or because he’s just careless. He sits down and looks around the room with darting eyes. His leg is jiggling under the table, and I can feel the reverberations through the floor.

He looks at me, at last. “You okay?”

“No,” I say, “not really.” With two young children, no money and a husband who might be going to jail, I am not okay at all. I wait for an apology, or some words of reassurance, but get neither. I sip my coffee and stare into the whirls of faux wood grain on the plastic table in front of me when my husband bolts to his feet.

“I’m getting and egg and bacon sandwich,” he announces.

“Thought you didn’t have any money.” 

“I’ve only got a fifty,” he stares at the lonely note in his wallet. “Didn’t want to break it.”

When the kids came along, I stopped working for a while. This meant that I had to rely on my husband. Sometimes, he would come home with a brand-new car, wide-screen TV or set of golf clubs. If he didn’t have the cash, he would take out a loan or put it on his credit card. I tried to explain that this meant we had less money for the things we needed. But he used to get angry if I talked about money.

He returns to the table with egg and bacon between thick slices of white bread. Greasy fat and butter drip down the sides, and over his fingers when he takes a bite. He chews slowly as he stares out the window. It is starting to drizzle outside but we haven’t brought an umbrella. He finishes his mouthful and pushes the plate away.

“We should go now,” he says, getting up.

“But you haven’t finished your sandwich.”

“Don’t want it.”

I close my eyes to try to keep down my anger at his wastefulness. I think of the times we have gone out to dinner when he orders a slew of entrees and doesn’t finish his main course. But we have more important things to worry about and it’s not worth the fight.

As he scrolls through his phone, my husband looks like any other business executive; not like a man about to go to jail. My husband is kind, funny and affectionate. Intelligent and ambitious. He has worked hard to build his career and to provide us with a home and everything we need. He loves our children, and he loves me. 

But there have always been problems. He drinks too much. He’s bad with money. But I always thought these were problems we could fix. I lecture him about the health risks of his drinking. I join a support group. I work evenings and weekends to earn extra money. I make payment plans and spreadsheets. Budgets and projections.

I keep believing that every mess I clean up will be the last one.

I keep believing that love can overcome anything.

We head outside, and the chill winter morning hits my face. There are more people in the street now, heading off to work, and I envy them as they go about their ordinary day.

When my husband first told me about the fraud, I said it was over. I knew he didn’t exactly do things by the book, but I never imagined he would do something illegal.

He told me I had to come to court with him to show my support. If I didn’t, he could go to jail. And then what would happen to me and the kids? He told me he regretted his stupid mistake and that he would never do it again. He told me he loved me and the boys and that we could still have a good life together.

Side note: What does financial abuse look like? How do you know if it's happening to you? Listen to The Quicky to know how. Story continues after podcast.

And I had to believe him because with no home, no money, and a low-paying job, I couldn’t see any other option. And so, I went with him to court. I stood by and supported him as he repented his crime and promised to be a better person.

My husband was not charged that day. He got off with a good behaviour bond and community service. When I asked him later what happened to the thirty grand, he shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno,” he said, “it just went.”

“But don’t we have to pay it back?”

“Of course not!” He laughed at my naivety. “It will just get written off.”

My husband managed to get a job through a former colleague who underpaid him but didn’t ask any questions. We stayed together, but things were never easy. We could never seem to get ahead, and we were constantly moving house. But overall, our family was a happy one and there were many good times. There were birthdays and Christmases, the children’s sports, and holidays, and I always had the belief that things would get better.

But then 18 years later, he walked out and left me with nothing. It was abrupt and brutal and left me reeling. He found a woman who provided a roof over his head and paid his debts. And despite his six-figure income, he gives me and the boys nothing because legally; he doesn’t have to.

It’s been two years since my husband left, and I have had to start my life again from scratch. My children are living independently and are doing well. I see them regularly, although they don’t have much to do with their father. 

I have a job; I rent an apartment, and I am getting on top of my debts. And I am slowly overcoming the hurt and anger of his abuse, enabled by our patriarchal society that sees women as existing only to serve men.

Some may say I should have done things differently. Some may say I should have seen this coming. But I don’t regret any of my choices because they were the best I could make at the time.

I used to look to my husband for answers. I used to look to him for security and support. But now it seems like madness that I would put my trust in such a man. 

Now I am secure knowing that everything I need I can find within myself.

Feature Image: Supplied.