On my thirtieth birthday, my mother-in-law raised a toast with the words: «To our silly girl from a poor family who lives off our money», and my husband started laughing loudly at that. Then my father stood up from the table and did something that made my mother-in-law freeze in place…

My dress from a famous designer, chosen by my mother-in-law without asking my opinion, it costs as much as an apartment in downtown New York, she whispered to her friends, loud enough for me to hear, but what won’t you do for your son’s happiness. My parents were barely visible at this celebration of life, they were seated at a table somewhere in the far corner, next to distant Harrington relatives invited just for the crowd. My father sat with a stone face, occasionally throwing worried glances my way.

Mom tried to pretend everything was fine, but I saw how she nervously fidgeted with the edge of the tablecloth. The most painful moment came when it was time for the parental toasts, Victor spoke at length, addressing mainly the business partners at the VIP tables, about his successful son, about how important it is to create the right family, about continuing the Harrington dynasty, about me just a couple of obligatory phrases. When it was my father’s turn, Valerie tried to intervene, maybe let’s move straight to the dancing, the schedule is tight, she said loudly to the emcee.

But my father had already stood up, he wasn’t an orator, simple but sincere words about love, about how his daughter’s happiness is the most important thing in the world to him. Kyle, he said at the end, looking straight at my newlywed husband. Remember, you’ve received the most precious thing I have, take care of her.

At that moment, I saw Valerie lean toward her friend and whisper something, covering her mouth with her hand, the friend giggled quietly in response. The first years of marriage flew by in a haze, Kyle got a job at his father’s company, of course, right into a managerial position. We had an apartment as a wedding gift from his parents, spacious, in an upscale building, with furniture and appliances chosen, again, by Valerie.

My career in journalism stalled almost immediately. First, Kyle hinted that the wife of the Harrington heir shouldn’t be running around the city with a recorder, then he openly demanded that I quit. Why do you need this job? It doesn’t bring much money, and you’re wasting time that you could devote to the family.

By family, he meant primarily dinner parties, charity events, and other gatherings where Kyle Harrington’s wife had to appear appropriately. In eight years, I learned to smile on command, maintain small talk about nothing, and elegantly answer tactless questions about why we still didn’t have children. There really were no children, not because we didn’t want them, it just didn’t happen.

I underwent numerous exams, took hormonal medications, visited the best specialists. Kyle got tested only once, and only after long persuasions. The problem is clearly not with me, he declared when the results were within normal limits, keep getting treated.

Valerie used the topic of childlessness as another opportunity for jabs at me. Probably runs in the family, she said to her friends at yet another tea party, not particularly caring that I was sitting nearby. Her mother also only had one child, unlike me with three, all healthy.

Kyle didn’t care about such comments. Mom’s just worried that we don’t have kids, he brushed it off when I tried to talk to him about it. Over time, I learned to detach from my mother-in-law’s barbs, developed a defense mechanism, mentally distancing myself, imagining I was somewhere far away, at the beach, in the mountains, in the forest, anywhere but here, in the golden cage where they were systematically squeezing the personality out of me.

Perhaps it would have continued like that if not for one event that turned my life upside down. Six months before that fateful birthday, I accidentally got access to our family’s financial documents. Kyle left his laptop open, and on the screen was a spreadsheet with monthly income and expenses.

I wasn’t spying, just wanted to close the lid so the computer wouldn’t drain, but my gaze involuntarily caught the numbers, and I froze. It turned out that my husband, who supposedly held a managerial position in his father’s company, actually received a purely symbolic salary there. The main money was simply transferred to him monthly from Victor’s personal account.

Essentially, 32-year-old Kyle was living on pocket money from dad. This discovery shocked me to the core. All these years, he presented himself as a successful businessman working for the family empire, boasting about deals he supposedly closed, projects he implemented, but in reality, he was just a dependent playing the role of a business person.

I didn’t make a scene, decided to observe, gather more information, and the more I learned, the clearer it became that the entire Harrington life was built on lies and pretense. Their elite status, position in society, business connections, all held solely on Victor’s money and influence. Kyle hadn’t earned a single penny on his own.

Moreover, he had huge debts to his father, a separate spreadsheet was full of amounts he borrowed for his whims. And most importantly, I realized that our apartment, which they had buzzed in my ears about as a generous gift from Kyle’s parents, was actually not a gift but a kind of investment; the apartment was formally in my name, but Victor made us sign some documents, the essence of which boiled down to the fact that in case of divorce, I would have to pay the full cost of the housing. Kyle brushed it off then, it’s just a formality, dad is reinsuring, don’t worry about it.

These discoveries completely changed my attitude toward my husband’s family; I saw them for what they were: pompous, deceitful people living for show, for whom status and public opinion were the most important. I started looking at Kyle differently too; how could I not notice his infantilism before, how did I not see that behind the mask of a successful man hid a spoiled boy used to getting everything with a snap of his fingers. The answer was simple and painful at the same time: I didn’t want to see, preferred to believe in the fairy tale I had painted for myself, in the fairy tale of a handsome prince, sincere love, and a happy family.

During that period, I often called my parents, more than usual, didn’t tell them about my discoveries, didn’t want to worry them, especially my father, who had recently been diagnosed with heart problems, but with some sixth sense, he realized that not everything was smooth in my life. «Paula, you can always come home,» he said during one of our phone conversations, so simply and sincerely that I almost burst into tears. «I know, Dad,» I replied, trying to sound cheerful.

«Remember, true wealth isn’t money, but people who truly love you.» I often recalled these words in the following months as I observed the Harrington family as if from the outside, seeing all their flaws, all their fake smiles and feigned emotions. I didn’t know what to do next: divorce, try to fix the relationship, have an honest talk with Kyle; all options seemed both possible and impossible.

And then came my thirtieth birthday, the anniversary I would have preferred to celebrate quietly, with the closest people, but as already mentioned, Kyle insisted on a lavish celebration, or rather, not even him, but his mother. «Thirty years is an important date,» Valerie declared categorically, «it needs to be celebrated grandly.» Grandly, in her understanding, meant the same posh Bellagio restaurant, eighty guests, mostly Harrington friends and colleagues whom I barely knew, and a menu whose cost could feed a small African village for a year.

I decided not to argue; after all, it was just one evening. Besides, I invited my parents and a few old friends to the party; the presence of loved ones should make this evening more bearable. My parents arrived the day before the event; Dad looked tired, the heart problems and the long trip were taking their toll.

Mom fussed around him, offering pills, water, or rest. «Everything’s fine,» he brushed it off, «don’t make me out to be an invalid.» We sat in the kitchen of our luxurious apartment, drinking tea and talking about everything.

I caught myself thinking that for the first time in a long time, I felt calm and cozy, truly at home. «How’s your job, Dad?» I asked, knowing there had been layoffs at the factory lately. «Fine,» he replied, but somewhat uncertainly.

«We’re managing.» Mom gave him a quick glance that I couldn’t decipher. «Dad, what’s going on?» I asked directly.

He sighed. «The factory is closing. Next month is the last shift, and that’s it…