Chapter 2 - The Working-Class Illusion
I was thirty-five years old when I finally admitted that the marriage I kept trying to save had already been disappearing for years.
Michael and I met when I was twenty-three in Charlotte, North Carolina.
My father owned a successful commercial flooring company. Michael came from a working-class family that ran a small restaurant.
When we met, Michael was finishing an architectural apprenticeship.
He was funny, hardworking, ambitious, and completely different from the wealthy men my parents expected me to date.
I loved that about him.
What I didn’t understand was how badly Michael needed his mother and sister’s approval.
Carol was polite when we first met.
Rebecca wasn’t.
“So you’re the rich girl,” she said.
“I’m Laura.”
“I know.”
I spent years trying to prove that I didn’t think I was better than them.
When their restaurant needed renovations, I redesigned the dining room for free.
When their freezer failed during their busiest month, I paid for a replacement.
When Carol fell behind on the commercial mortgage, I covered the payments without telling Michael.
Rebecca later wanted to expand the restaurant into catering.
I helped finance that too.
My mother warned me before the wedding.
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“Helping people is one thing,” she said. “Be careful when they stop appreciating what you give and start believing they deserve it.”
I ignored her.
