My wife’s dad paid for our fancy wedding since her family is very wealthy and I am not. On the flight for our honeymoon, she sat in first class while I had an economy ticket. At first, I assumed it was a simple mistake or a last-minute booking issue. But when I asked her about it, she shrugged and said, “This sucks, baby, but Dad says he’s not your money machine.” The words stung more than I expected. Until that moment, I had never felt the difference between our backgrounds so sharply. I tried to convince myself that the tension of the wedding had simply made her careless with her words. Still, as she disappeared behind the curtain into first class while I headed down the aisle alone, something inside me shifted.
During the flight, I had too many hours to replay everything in my head. I thought about the small compromises I’d made during our relationship—things I brushed aside because I loved her. Her father paying for the wedding was generous, but it also came with an invisible thread. Whenever decisions were made, it felt like his voice carried more weight than mine. I didn’t resent their wealth; what hurt was the idea that she felt entitled to comfort while expecting me to be grateful for scraps. By the time we landed, I knew I couldn’t pretend everything was fine. I stepped off that plane and walked away for some space, needing time to understand what this moment said about the future we were building.
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