My father took my mother’s entire salary for 43 years. When she finally demanded her money back, he placed a folder on the table and said, “When you open it, you will never look at me the same way again.”

He would open it, count the money, and take it into the bedroom. My mother was left with almost nothing.

I first noticed it when I was twelve years old.

One day, my mother saw a beautiful blue  coat in a store window. She stood there for a long time, looking at it with a smile. The winters in our town were very cold, and her old coat was already completely worn out.

“Buy it, Mom,” I said. “You worked all week for that money.”

My mother was silent. When we got home, she cautiously asked my father:

“Robert, can I keep a small part of my salary this month? I need a new coat.”

My father didn’t even look up.

“Not this month.”

“But my old coat is torn.”

“I said no.”

My mother didn’t say another word.

That night, I cried into my pillow. I felt that my father treated my mother like a servant. She worked from morning until night, yet she had no right to spend her own money.