How It Started: “Just a Bad Week”
My name is Brooke. I’m 38.
I met my husband Mike when I was 24, fresh out of nursing school, juggling night shifts and student debt.
Mike was 27 — charming when he wanted to be, restless all the time. He said he was building a consulting business, trying to escape the kind of financial collapse his father had endured.
I believed him.
We started with nothing.
Cheap studio. One beat-up car. Ramen on the floor. Big promises.
When we got married, I had a stable nursing salary and he had a “big client.” It felt like our turn had finally come.
Then, about four years in, the money problems started.
Not all at once.
Quietly.
