**My Brother Drove His Wife to Despair—Then the Unthinkable Happened**
My brother was my role model. Growing up, I looked up to my older brother, Oliver, in everything. He was my mentor, my protector, and the standard I measured myself against.
When I was about to get married, he gave me one piece of advice: “Listen carefully, little brother. Never let your wife know how much money you have. Give a woman an inch, and she’ll take a mile. Keep her in check—don’t let her run wild.”
At the time, I thought he was exaggerating. But Oliver was five years older, already married, and I trusted his judgment. Thankfully, my wife, Emily, wasn’t like that. She didn’t chase brands, demand expensive gifts, or dream of luxury.
But as the years passed, Oliver and I drifted apart—our wives never got along, and he was too busy with his own ventures. While I played in an orchestra, he owned farms and land. Every time we met, I braced myself for criticism. Oliver always found something to lecture me about.
Money mattered more than family to him. He’d scold me: “You’re irresponsible! Why live paycheck to paycheck? Why let your wife waste money on nonsense?” I never argued, but his words stung. I’d try to cut back after those talks, but soon fell back into old habits.
Oliver had a daughter, Sophie. He kept her locked in a cage—no pocket money, no trendy clothes, no makeup. She grew up under strict control. When she visited us, Emily and I secretly slipped her a few pounds. At sixteen, Sophie ran away—just to escape her father’s grip. Oliver shrugged it off: “Her fault for not listening.”
But the worst came later.
Two years ago, we took a family trip to the seaside. And I saw everything. Oliver hounded his wife over every penny.
“Another coffee? Couldn’t you drink it at home?”
“Pizza? Are you mad? That’s an utter waste!”
“Ice cream? They can drink water!”
He tracked every pound, every receipt. Walking the promenade with him was unbearable. My kids, like any others, wanted candyfloss, balloons, souvenirs—but Oliver just scowled. “You’ll bankrupt your parents, you know?”
He had far more money than I did. He just couldn’t bear to spend it.
Emily finally snapped. “Let’s stay a few extra days. Without them.” I agreed. Oliver left with his wife that night—in a rush for a tractor auction.
But the next morning, the phone rang.
They’d crashed.
They said he fell asleep at the wheel.
I lost my brother that day.
Since then, I’ve changed. I no longer hoard money “for later.” I don’t count the cost of a coffee. I buy my children gifts, my wife pretty things, myself a nice suit now and then.
Yes, money is necessary. But what’s the point if you cling to it without ever living?
Foolish, to hold onto wealth like you can take it with you.
What matters is not losing the people you love.
Because no amount of money can buy them back.