The Professional Philanthropist Chapter 2

I gave everything I had. Now that I was completely exhausted and drowning, I simply wanted him—as a husband, a father, and a son—to step up and fulfill a fraction of his basic responsibilities.

And somehow, in his eyes, that meant I wasn't working hard enough? It was just an excuse for me to be "lazy"?

I was just opening my mouth to argue when the door to my in-laws' bedroom creaked open.

They had clearly been eavesdropping on our entire conversation. The moment she stepped out, my mother-in-law put on a patronizing, lecturing tone:

"Elena, you are definitely in the wrong here."

"Our son is a well-known, respected philanthropist! If you aren't going to be proud of him, the least you could do is stop trying to scheme for his money."

My chest tightened with frustration, but I still tried to explain reasonably:

"Mom, David is part of this family too. All I'm asking is that while he donates, he also takes our family's needs into consideration. How is that 'scheming' for his money?"

"And it's not like the money is for me to go shopping."

"Dad's heart medication is expensive, those imported pills are over $150 a bottle out-of-pocket. Your insulin is completely gone. If we don't have money, I literally cannot afford to buy your medications."

My mother-in-law waved her hand dismissively, clearly annoyed:

"Alright, alright, enough. We know perfectly well how our own bodies are doing."

"You're just using us as an excuse. You're just dramatic and afraid of a little hard work."

My father-in-law snorted derisively:

"Exactly. I have never met someone as selfish as you."

"The only reason David is a household name as a philanthropist is because he donates every single cent he earns. Telling him to keep money for household expenses is going to ruin his image and his reputation!"

"David worked incredibly hard to become a respected, charitable man. As his wife, instead of looking up to him as a role model, you're actually trying to drag him down over a few dollars?"

The whole family ganged up on me, seamlessly executing a coordinated attack, treating me like some kind of heinous villain.

Watching them sneer at me, it felt like someone had hit me over the head with a baseball bat. I was instantly, brutally sobered.

Over the years, David spent every single day focused entirely on his philanthropy. The second he got off work, he was off to charity galas, fundraising dinners, and community donation events.

Meanwhile, I was exhausted juggling my actual job, while desperately trying to squeeze in time to drive my in-laws to their doctor's appointments, handle their insurance paperwork, and pick up their prescriptions.

I often had to use my lunch breaks at work just to shuttle them back and forth from the clinic.

Whenever I did that, my mother-in-law would hold my hand and say:

"Oh, Elena. David’s heart is entirely devoted to his charity work. We are so lucky to have you holding this family together."

"If it weren't for you, I honestly don't know what us two old folks would do."

My father-in-law would look at me with overwhelming gratitude:

"You're such a good girl. You've sacrificed so much for this family. If David ever mistreats you, you just tell us, and we'll be the first ones to set him straight."

Even David would frequently sigh romantically:

"Honey, marrying a woman as thoughtful and understanding as you is the greatest blessing of my life."

"Don't worry, I promise I'll treat you like a queen and make up for all your hard work someday."

They sounded so incredibly sincere.

And I was stupid enough to believe them.

So for years, I gritted my teeth and carried the crushing weight of the family entirely by myself.

Because I thought they genuinely understood me, appreciated my sacrifices, and actually needed my help.

I thought that once David's charitable reputation was solidified, he would turn his attention back to our home. I thought he would share the burden with me, and, just like he promised, make sure I never suffered another grievance.

But today, I finally, completely realized that I was wrong.

Dead wrong.

All those words of gratitude, all those promises to take care of me—from the very beginning, they were nothing more than pretty lies designed to manipulate me.