My husband and his family spent months telling me to quit my “embarrassing gardening hobby” and get a real job. Funny how their tune changed once the money started rolling in. Now they all want a piece. What I did next shook them.
Some people think success changes everything. Well, I’m here to tell you that sometimes success just reveals who people really are underneath. My name is April, and my husband is trying to claim half of the business he once called “embarrassing.” The same business his whole family laughed at is now suddenly a “family venture” after they saw the kind of money I make. Funny how that works, isn’t it?
I work from home doing data entry for an insurance company. It pays the bills but slowly kills my soul, one spreadsheet at a time. I’m an outdoors person stuck behind a computer screen eight hours a day, watching the seasons change through my window while I enter endless rows of policy numbers. Meanwhile, my husband John works at a local bank as a loan officer. Steady job, steady paycheck, and a steady predictable life that never changes.
Two years ago, I was staring at our huge backyard through my office window during another mind-numbing afternoon. All that empty space was just begging for something beautiful, something alive and colorful. I’d studied horticulture in college before switching to business when my parents convinced me I needed something “more practical.” But flowers had always been my thing, my passion that never really died.
So that evening, I brought it up over dinner while we ate our usual silent meal.
“John, I’ve been thinking about something,” I said, setting down my fork. “What if I started growing flowers in the backyard? Maybe sell bouquets online? There’s so much space back there just going to waste.”
He didn’t even look up from his plate, just kept cutting his chicken like I hadn’t spoken. “Don’t even think about it. Just stick to your desk job. Growing flowers won’t pay the bills. It’s a ridiculous and useless hobby that’ll just drain our savings.”
“But I have the background for it, John. And people are buying flowers online now – the market is actually growing,” I said, trying to keep the pleading out of my voice.
“April, be realistic here. You’re not some farm girl who grew up with dirt under her fingernails. This isn’t Little House on the Prairie. You work in insurance data entry.”
I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment and frustration. “I’m just saying it could work. I studied this stuff in college before you convinced me business was more practical.”
“Could work and will work are two different things entirely,” he said, finally looking up with that condescending expression I was starting to hate. “Don’t quit your day job for some fantasy about becoming a flower farmer.”
“I’m not quitting my job, John. I just… I just want to try something that makes me happy for once. Something that doesn’t make me feel dead inside every single day.”
He went back to his dinner like the conversation was over. “We’ll see how happy you are when the credit card bills start rolling in.”
The next weekend, we had dinner at his parents’ house in their formal dining room that always made me feel like I was being judged. I made the mistake of mentioning my idea to his mom, Carol, thinking maybe another woman would understand.
She nearly choked on her wine, setting the glass down with a sharp clink. “Gardening? As a business? Oh honey, don’t embarrass yourself like that. Nobody makes real money from that hippie nonsense. That’s just something wealthy women do to feel productive.”
John’s dad Simon nodded along sagely, like he was dispensing ancient wisdom. “Stick to what you know, April. Leave the business ideas to the men who actually understand how money works.”
His sister Nancy piped up from across the table, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Why waste time in the dirt when you could just get another job like a normal person? Maybe retail or something respectable? At least then you’d have benefits and a steady paycheck.”
Her husband Sam smirked, cutting into his steak with unnecessary force. “Yeah, save the flower picking for retirement hobbies when you have nothing better to do. Right now you should focus on being practical.”
John just sat there through the entire character assassination, nodding along with his family like I wasn’t even in the room. Not one word of defense. Not even a suggestion that maybe they should hear me out.
John just sat there through the entire verbal assault. He didn’t defend me even once and just cut his steak methodically while his family tore apart my dream like vultures picking at roadkill. His silence spoke louder than any words could have.
“Well,” I said, forcing a smile so tight my face hurt. “Thanks for all the overwhelming support. Really feeling the family love here.”
Carol patted my hand like I was a confused child who didn’t understand how the grown-up world worked. “We’re just being realistic, dear. Dreams are nice for little girls, but bills are real and they don’t pay themselves. You need to think about your future.”
I didn’t listen to any of them. The next Monday, I ordered my first batch of seeds online with my own money from my own bank account. Sunflowers, zinnias, cosmos, and marigolds. Nothing fancy or expensive, but flowers that would bloom reliably even for a beginner.
Every evening after work, I was outside preparing the soil, planting seeds, watering, and weeding until my knees ached and my hands were caked with dirt. My back ached from bending over flower beds. My fingernails were permanently stained with soil. John would watch from the kitchen window and shake his head like he was watching a slow-motion car accident he couldn’t prevent.
“Still playing in the dirt, I see,” he mocked when I came inside, brushing soil off my jeans. “How’s your little garden fantasy going today?”
“Still building something beautiful,” I replied, washing my hands at the kitchen sink while he stood there judging me.
“Building debt is more like it. Do you know how much you’ve spent on this already?” He crossed his arms, clearly having kept a running tally in his head. “Seeds, tools, soil amendments… it’s adding up fast.”
I did know. Every penny came from my own paycheck, money I’d earned sitting at that soul-crushing computer all day. “It’s an investment, John. You invest in things you believe have potential.”
“It’s a money pit. You’re just wasting your time and our money on something that’ll never amount to anything real.”
“We’ll see, John. We’ll see who’s right in the end,” I said, drying my hands with more force than necessary. “Maybe you’ll be surprised by what I can accomplish when someone actually believes in me.”
He just shook his head and walked away, muttering something about stubborn women and their impossible dreams.
By winter, I had my first small harvest dried and arranged in mason jars on my kitchen counter. I set up an online shop called “April’s Garden” and spent hours learning how to photograph flowers properly. I posted photos on social media and made my first sale to a neighbor for $25.
John rolled his eyes when I showed him the notification on my phone. “Twenty-five dollars? We’ll be millionaires by Christmas at this rate!” He laughed like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Better start shopping for that mansion now.”
But his laughter didn’t shake my faith in what I was building. If anything, it made me more determined to prove him wrong.
The first year was rough and full of expensive mistakes. I barely made any profit after buying supplies and replacing plants that didn’t survive my learning curve. But I learned something new every day. I researched which flowers sold best in my area, improved my arrangements through countless YouTube tutorials, and built relationships with my customers by actually listening to what they wanted.
By the second year, orders started coming in regularly for wedding centerpieces, anniversary bouquets, and sympathy arrangements that people trusted me to get right. I was working until 2 a.m. some nights, my dining room table covered in stems and ribbon,
