Something told me it was too good to be true the day my husband got the job offer he had been waiting for.
As he told me excitedly he’d been given a permanent position at one of Australia’s best-paying mines, I knew it was a dream come true for him. He’d been talking about this moment for years.
“Our money worries are over,” he said, excitedly.
“Yeh I guess so,” I replied, a sinking feeling forming in the pit of my stomach.
“It’s just that I was hoping you’d get a shorter roster. Two weeks away is a long time.”
Our first baby was just three months old.
“Just for a year,” he said. “Just to get my foot in the door. Then I can look around for something better.”
“Ok” I said. One year. It’s nothing.
Sure, in the beginning, it was exciting. When he was gone I would shop to fill the time. We moved to Perth from Cairns and rented a large, new home at a ridiculous price. We had a holiday in Bali. Bought a $3,000 fridge freezer. Ate out at expensive eateries. But it didn’t take long for cracks to show.
I had no family around for support and new in town, I knew no one.