I tell my fiancé, James, that were living in a rented flat, even though the flat is actually mine.
I grew up in a household with only my mother and my granny. I never had a fathers influencemy dad left Mum when I was young and never showed any interest in me. Being raised by women taught me to be strong and independent, and they are the ones who gave me that lesson. After that I studied hard and worked hard. By the age of twentyseven Ive already bought my own flat in Manchester with the money I earned myself. That brings up a new question: how do I handle relationships now?
Ive dated a few lads, but the moment they hear I own a flat they start seeing me not as a girl or a woman but as a financial windfall, a solution to their money problems. That isnt what Im looking for. I want to be loved for who I am, not for what I own.
When I meet James and we start seeing each other, he comes over for a visit and I tell him Im renting. I want to see how hell treat me, whether we can build something together when neither of us has anything to fall back on. James assures me that my lack of a permanent home isnt an issue. He says hell work hard, save, and eventually buy a house we can share. I like his outlook. Over the two years we live together, James really does save, putting away his earnings and cutting back on nights out.
Now were gearing up for the wedding. After were married, James plans to buy a house for us straight away, and Im wrestling with guilt. All this time Ive been taking the rent money out of my own pocket, effectively hiding the fact that the flat is mine. Should I come clean now?
Grandma and Mum say theres no need to confess. Just keep your flat as a safety net, they argue, and a man should provide a home for his wife. But how can a marriage start on a lie?
