At first, I admired his passion. His hobby—collecting rare model trains—seemed harmless, even charming. But over time, admiration turned into quiet resentment. Each paycheck saw hundreds vanish into auctions, accessories, and upgrades. Our savings shrank. Our plans—vacations, home repairs, even a baby—were postponed. He called it “his escape.” I called it financial sabotage.
I tried talking. Calmly. Firmly. Desperately. He’d nod, promise to cut back, then sneak in another purchase. It wasn’t just the money—it was the secrecy, the disregard. I felt invisible, like our shared life was secondary to his obsession.
One night, I found a receipt for a $1,200 locomotive hidden in his sock drawer. That was my breaking point. I confronted him—not with rage, but with resolve. “This hobby is hurting us,” I said. “It’s not about trains. It’s about trust.”
He accused me of controlling him. I reminded him that marriage is mutual. I wasn’t asking him to give up joy—I was asking him to choose us over impulse. We set boundaries: a monthly hobby budget, full transparency, and shared financial goals. It wasn’t easy. He resisted. I stood firm.
Now, we’re rebuilding—not just our finances, but our respect. His hobby still exists, but it no longer dominates. And I’ve learned that love isn’t just about support—it’s also about accountability.
