Brianna Panella Guzman Facebook ad: “My Baby's Allowance Was $9.90, So I Left Him”

About this ad

Meta Ad Library ID

1918797105747746

Platforms

Facebook, Instagram, Audience Network and Threads

Relaunches

1

How we count

Ad text

On the third day after our daughter was born, I asked Javier for money to buy formula. He set a stack of sealed envelopes on the table in front of me. “Pick one.” We’d been married for three years, and this was how I received my allowance—by drawing a sealed envelope. The most I’d ever gotten was one hundred and eight dollars. It had all started three years ago, at our rehearsal dinner. The prenup we’d agreed on was perfectly clear: Javier would transfer me $100,000. But that night, my father had a glass box filled with sealed envelopes wheeled onto the stage. With a broad smile, he announced, “Forget those rigid legal documents. Pick one. Whatever startup shares are inside, they’re yours.” I froze. To make things more absurd, the small tech company whose shares I drew was acquired a few days later. Their value skyrocketed to two million dollars. Javier still paid it. He also gave me a wedding that all of Manhattan talked about. Everyone said he was madly in love with me. But on the second day of our marriage, he threw an entire box of envelopes in front of me. “Your family likes these games,” he said, his voice flat. “From now on, this is how your allowance will be decided, too.” Over the past three years, sometimes I drew $9.90. Other times, $108. When I got pregnant, I thought things might change once the baby was born. Now, all I wanted was to buy my daughter a can of formula. The envelope sat waiting. I opened it. $9.90. Just then, my sister, who had also recently given birth, posted an Instagram story. It was a screenshot of trust fund documents. Amount: $1,000,000. The caption was a single line: *Thanks to Javier for the baby gift.* I stared at the picture for a long time, then made an international call. “You once said you’d be willing to be the father of my child.” “Come get me in seven days.” … When I opened the envelope, a nurse glanced over. “Wow, is that a gift from your husband? So elegant.” She smiled at the beautifully crafted envelopes stacked on the table. Then she saw the number on the slip of paper, and her smile vanished. Nine dollars and ninety cents. For living expenses. Javier’s expression didn’t change. He gestured for his assistant to collect the remaining envelopes. “The rules don’t change just because she had a baby.” The nurse looked from me to him and said nothing. She probably couldn’t understand why a woman who had just given birth had to draw an envelope for formula money. I didn’t know how to explain it, either. How my father, desperate to scrape together a down payment on a Palm Beach apartment for my sister, Sophia, had secretly turned our agreed-upon prenup into a ridiculous lottery at our rehearsal dinner. How, when I’d confronted my parents, my mother had clutched her chest and whispered, “If you dare tell Javier the truth, I’ll jump off the balcony.” How, from that day forward, the Marino name was enough to make any company afraid to hire me. I couldn’t find work.......

Where the ad sends people

h5.reelshortnovel.com

My Baby's Allowance Was $9.90, So I Left Him