David convinced Maria to quit her job. “It’s too stressful for you,” he said. “I make enough money.” Without work, she had no reason to leave the house. No coworkers to talk to. No schedule except his.
He controlled all the money. He gave her an allowance for groceries and demanded receipts. If she spent $3 extra, he reduced next week’s allowance “to teach her responsibility.”
Her family lived in another state. David would agree to visit them, then cancel at the last minute. “Work emergency,” or “We can’t afford it right now,” or “Your mother doesn’t understand our relationship.” When her parents called, David hovered nearby or interrupted with urgent needs.
Maria started walking on eggshells. She monitored everything—what she said, what she wore, what she cooked. A certain look from David could ruin her whole day. She learned to read his moods and adjust accordingly.
The criticism became constant. Her cooking was wrong. Her cleaning wasn’t good enough. She was too sensitive. She misremembered things. She was ungrateful.
David never yelled. He didn’t need to. His disappointed tone was enough. “I’m just trying to help you be better,” he’d say. “Why do you always overreact?”