My Million-Dollar Donkey Read Free Page B

to do so, and being made to feel guilty for his lot in life now stung.
    What Mark had wanted all along was freedom from work and responsibilities. And who could blame him? After years of focusing on his happiness, my children’s needs, and the burden of keeping life all together to protect my parents’ investment in our business, I was more than ready to enjoy some freedom and self-indulgence myself.
    The problem was everything just seemed to be happening so fast and my practical side couldn’t resist mulling over “what if.”
    Mark and I had a history of taking risks that paid off. But we also had a history of poor financial management which unraveled our success more often than not. We were great at making excuses and justifications to explain our folly, and logic led me to believe we might be doing that again. We liked telling ourselves that our innovation and talent had manifested our financial stability, but we both knew deep down that talent was only half the equation.
    Considering all this, I felt honor bound to voice a few important considerations. “What if we lose it all? I’ve never done anything but teach dance, and I’m so tired, Mark. I just can’t start over and do all this again at my age. I’d love freedom and retirement as much as anyone. But if I’m ever going to be expected to work to support the family again, we have to keep this school.”
    Mark smiled in his endearing way. “Do you know how much money we will have when we sell the business and the buildings, too? Three million dollars. It’s impossible even for me to lose that much money. And even if I did, I would take care of you. For the last 15 years you’ve been the driving force of our finances and our life. You started working years before I ever got my first job. I promise I’ll take care of you and the kids whatever happens.”
    All my life I had wondered how those women married to men who took responsibility for their wife and kids felt. The promise that Mark would assume that role was exactly what I needed to feel safe, loved, and cared for in a legitimate way. But though he was voicing the words I longed to hear, I had some doubts.
    “I’m not the only one of us who has only taught dance for a living. How would you take care of us if we ever needed income?”
    “How hard could paying for the basics be? We’ll have a house paid off. No debt. Worst case scenario is I’ll have to earn enough for our food. I could do that as a window washer. Trust me. We’ll be fine.”
    He looked so earnest. So hopeful. So filled with conviction.
    “I’m deathly tired of your dad having a say in how we live.” He added. “He treats me as if I’m that same kid who drove us off the financial cliff years ago. I need and deserve to have control of my own life, my own decisions, my own family, and my own money. I’m not the young kid I was when we first got married. I’ve learned so much by working with your father all these years.”
    Mark was 39 years old. Didn’t every man deserve independence by that grown-up age? My handsome, charismatic husband was talented, unhappy, and begging me to let him off the leash. I prided myself on being a woman who loved and supported her husband in every way. For years I had devoted the lion’s share of our expendable resources to his ever-evolving interests. Now, we could invest in his dreams, however romanticized they might be, without the financial fallout being my problem to solve.
    “Okay. Let’s move to Georgia,” I said.
    Putting voice to the words felt empowering—a validation that all the work and frustration and sacrifice we’d made for years had been part of a grander scheme, bringing us to this opportunity, this moment, this chance to live a free, creative life.
    The next day the Smiths notified us that they wanted to waive the due diligence period. They didn’t want us to participate in any transitional period and would prefer if we would leave immediately. We signed the papers and,