In the wake of my son's inquiry about the hidden wealth of his father, I find myself reflecting on what it truly means to prioritize. His words resonate as he questions, “Why do you care?” and reminds me that I am the one who instilled values about what truly matters in life.

I acknowledge his point. I have always emphasized the importance of family and faith over material wealth. Yet, as I navigate the aftermath of my divorce, anger simmers beneath the surface. My children, now in their twenties, are grappling with the consequences of their father's actions, which were aimed at harming me and leaving us with nothing.

Over the years, their health insurance was repeatedly canceled, and now they face the daunting task of rebuilding their credit, often without access to typical financial resources. They are burdened unnecessarily because of the decisions made by their father.

Despite these challenges, my son is right when he asserts that I raised them with the understanding of what is truly valuable. I taught them that God and family should come first.

Yet the betrayal cuts deep. “He hid millions,” I explain, “money that wasn’t solely his, but rather the culmination of our shared efforts and dreams. It feels like salt in an open wound to see him spend lavishly after robbing me of financial stability.”

My son adds, “What frustrates me even more is how some people refuse to acknowledge what he did to our family.” I assure him that those who matter, including his father's former friends, are fully aware of the truth.

Although I strive to remain positive, there are days when the weight of financial instability becomes overwhelming. Five years post-divorce, I still wrestle with the repercussions of an abusive relationship. I want to mend the damage done to my children, but I find myself barely able to manage my own recovery.

The unfairness of divorce is glaring. Abusive behavior often goes unpunished, while a spouse who steals from their partner faces little consequence. If a stranger had stolen my financial security, the public would be outraged, yet my ex-husband receives little more than a shrug for his actions.

Divorce has empowered a bully, allowing him to retaliate simply because I chose to leave. It’s absurd; the process often favors those who manipulate and deceive. The emotional toll it takes is immense, as I now live under constant stress.

“It’s not about the money,” I clarify. “It’s about the relentless anxiety I endure.” My son reassures me, “We’ll take care of you one day.” His words tug at my heartstrings, as I think of the incredible men I’ve raised.

But I refuse to be a burden. “No, I will take care of myself,” I assert. “I refuse to be your responsibility.” His question highlights the growing stress of my financial situation. I know I can find a way through, yet the enormity of what I need feels increasingly daunting.

My ex-husband’s actions didn’t just hide our savings; they obliterated my credit, complicating even the simplest of emergency expenses. He continues to haunt me with unpaid debts, including student loans taken out in my name without my knowledge.

I carry the burden of unpaid bills, from veterinary costs to landscaping debts, all left unresolved during our divorce. I want to rectify these issues, no matter how long it takes. I owe considerable amounts for legal fees and loans related to our separation, leaving me in a precarious financial position.

This is precisely why I speak out about financial abuse in divorce, the vulnerabilities of stay-at-home parents, and the unjust tactics used to conceal assets. My ex-husband once told me, “You didn’t contribute enough, so I’ll leave you with debt,” after forging my signature.

His delusions reflect the mindset of someone with severe narcissistic tendencies. I was instrumental in building our business and managing our household. My greatest misstep was relinquishing control of our finances once I voiced my dissatisfaction.

I take comfort in knowing my children understand the importance of recognizing and rejecting abuse. They express love for their father but are determined not to emulate him.

Ultimately, it’s not just the money I mourn; it’s the stress he has inflicted upon my life through his financial destruction.