My brother drove his wife to despair—and then the unthinkable happened.
From childhood, I looked up to my older brother, Edward. He was my mentor, my protector, and the standard I measured myself against.
When I was about to get married, he said:
*”Listen, little brother. Never let a wife know how much money you have. Give a woman freedom, and she’ll bleed you dry. Keep her in check—don’t let her run wild.”*
At the time, I thought he was being extreme. But Edward was five years older, already married, so I assumed he knew what he was talking about.
Thankfully, my wife, Emily, wasn’t like that. She didn’t chase designer labels, demand expensive gifts, or dream of living in luxury.
Over time, my brother and I grew apart—our wives disliked each other, and Edward was always buried in his business. I played in an orchestra; he owned farms and fields.
Every time we met, I braced for his criticism. *”You’re reckless!”* he’d snap. *”Why live paycheck to paycheck? Why let your wife waste money on nonsense?”*
I never argued, but his words stung. I’d try to budget—then forget, living as I always had.
Edward had a daughter, Sophie. He treated her like a prisoner—no allowance, no stylish clothes, no makeup. She grew up under his thumb. Sometimes she’d visit, and Emily and I would slip her a few pounds in secret.
At sixteen, Sophie ran away—just to escape his control. Edward even called it *”a lesson”*—said it was her own fault for not obeying.
But the worst came later…
*A holiday that became hell.*
Two years ago, we took a family trip to the seaside. That’s when I saw the truth.
Edward hounded his wife over every penny spent. *”Another coffee? Couldn’t you wait till home?”* *”Pizza? Have you lost your mind—it’s daylight robbery!”* *”Ice cream for the kids? Let them drink water!”*
He tracked every receipt, every pound, every purchase. Strolling the promenade with him was unbearable. My children, like all kids, wanted candy floss, balloons, souvenirs—but Edward just scowled. *”You’ll bankrupt your parents!”*
Yet he had ten times more money than me. He just feared spending it.
Emily finally had enough. *”Let’s stay a few extra days—without them.”* I agreed.
Edward left with his wife that night—in a rush to attend a farm equipment auction.
By morning, the call came.
They’d crashed.
*That day changed me forever.*
They say he fell asleep at the wheel.
I lost my brother.
Now, I’m a different man.
I don’t hoard money for *”someday.”* I don’t tally the cost of a coffee. I buy my children gifts, my wife fine things, myself a proper suit.
Yes, money matters. But what’s the point if you never live?
It’s foolish to clutch wealth like you can take it to the grave.
What truly matters? Not losing the ones you love.
Because no amount of money can buy them back.
Not a single pound.
