When I first met Ethan, everything appeared a bed of roses. He was sweet and attentive, everything a new boyfriend should be. He was also a lot wealthier than any of the other guys I’d been out with. I was only 19, so I guess it wasn’t surprising that I mistook his generous gifts of expensive perfumes, handbags and clothes as true love.
When he asked me to move in with him after only three months, it felt exhilarating. I had the rest of our lives planned out, with elegant parties in beautiful houses and the best things money could buy. And he let me indulge in my fantasies all the way through the planning of our wedding just a few months after that. When we drove away from the reception in immaculate vintage cars, me in my designer dress, I believe we were leaving the most expensive wedding my home town had ever seen!
But everything changed the moment we were married. Even on our honeymoon, when I wanted to go and buy souvenirs for our friends at home, he wouldn’t pay for them. I can understand that this might be reasonable if I had my own money to spend, but Ethan had asked me to stop working months before. He wanted a wife who could drop everything at a moment’s notice to fly up to Queensland for a conference or spend a week planning lavish parties. I had imagined a lifestyle of fun and luxury, but I soon found this wasn’t going to be the case.
It wasn’t long before Ethan wasn’t providing me with a cent. If we had an event to go to or a work-related trip, he would pay for everything, but when my own sister got married, he wouldn’t even let me buy the bridesmaid’s dress. I had to borrow money from my parents. It was so humiliating. I lied and told everyone that Ethan was having trouble at work and needed to tighten the belt, but I knew they didn’t believe me. I rarely went out with my friends any more as I couldn’t even afford lunch half the time. Ethan was keeping me a virtual prisoner.
The final straw came at the end of our first year of marriage. Ethan gave me a large amount of money to buy him a bottle of Grange for his wine collection — something he took great pride in and spent a lot of money on. Several days later, I got the news that my grandmother was gravely ill in another state. For two days, I had to beg for the money to go and see her. Arriving in Queensland in a flood of tears, I knew I had to end things. But ending them wasn’t enough; I also wanted to ruin his precious possessions.
During my week away from him, I hatched my plan. I’d heard of jealous women cutting up their husband’s clothes or smashing expensive cars, but this wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to take something he wouldn’t be able to get back so easily. And I soon saw how I could do it. Ethan had some of the rarest bottles of red wine in the country in his collection, not to mention the most expensive. Some of it was worth tens of thousands of dollars, maybe more. It would be a shame if they were consumed without proper appreciation or even tipped down the sink!
I got my chance a few days after my return. Ethan had to go overseas on a business trip and didn’t want me to come, as I’d just come back from a “holiday”! Ignoring his new level of meanness, I watched with relief as he left. The moment he was out the door, I rang all my friends to organise the biggest drinking fest we were ever going to see!
That night, 12 women drank copious amounts of wine that’s only meant to be served on the most special occasions. But I thought this occasion was special enough; I was leaving my mean husband. What we couldn’t drink, I smashed on the expensive tiles of the kitchen floor, then I walked out, never to re-enter.
When Ethan arrived home, he assumed we must have been burgled. His fury was so great that I chickened out and let him believe it. The divorce was nasty enough as it was. But I sure didn’t marry the sharpest knife in the block, because Ethan never did figure out that I destroyed his entire collection of wine!
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