My Ex Just Sold His Company for 25 Million — Do I Have a Right to Any of It?

Money Dilemmas is where we talk about the tricky stuff - the conversations about money that live in the grey area between love, power, fairness, and everything in between.

Each story starts with a real member dilemma, the kind many of us have quietly wrestled with but rarely said out loud.

Because money isn’t simply transactional; it’s about what we value, what we tolerate, and what we’re taught to accept.

And at the end of every story, one of our co-founders weighs in — offering her two cents and best advice on how to navigate the dilemma.

The Dilemma:

I was married for 36 years.

We met young, built a life, raised four kids, and had what people would call a “solid” marriage.

We were your typical middle-class family — a house, family holidays, secondhand cars, nothing fancy but enough.

For most of that time, I ran the household. I worked part-time, managed the money, took care of the kids, and kept everything running while my husband focused on his career.

Fifteen years ago, he started a small company.

It was risky and mostly stressful. I covered the bills, and even used some of my own savings to help him in the early years.

I was proud of him, but also tired — tired of doing everything else while his business consumed him. Over time, the distance between us grew.

Three years ago, we divorced.

Officially, it ended because I had a short fling with an old friend. It wasn’t love, and it didn’t last. I think I just wanted to feel seen after decades of being invisible. I felt ashamed, so when it came to dividing assets, I didn’t fight.

His company was worth very little then, and I told myself it was fair that he kept it. I just wanted to move on.

Now, he’s sold that same company for 25 million pounds. He’s bought a villa in Spain, a new car, and seems to be thriving.

I found out from one of our kids. I felt a mix of pride, bitterness, and disbelief. I know he worked hard, but I also know it never would have happened without the foundation I built for him — the years of unpaid work, emotional support, and stability that made his risks possible.

Meanwhile, I’m 62, working part-time, and living with my new partner.

We’re fine, but it’s tight. Some months we’re counting down to the next paycheck.

I can’t stop wondering: am I being greedy or bitter for thinking I deserve some of that success?

Or am I finally admitting that I gave away too much of myself for too long — and it’s haunting me now?

Camilla’s Take

I don’t think this is about greed.

I think it’s about recognition — and about how women’s contributions are still written out of the story the moment money enters the picture.

You spent 36 years creating the conditions for his success: raising the children, paying the bills, holding the emotional and logistical weight of your entire family.

You didn’t just make his life easier; you made it possible.

You even helped fund the company in the beginning. That’s partnership.

When you divorced, you were emotionally depleted and burdened with guilt. Of course you didn’t fight for more.

Women are taught to leave quietly, to take less, to “not make it ugly.” You chose peace over conflict, and that choice came from exhaustion, not fairness.

And yes, it’s his hard work that made him successful now.

But behind every man who gets to build freely is someone who absorbed the daily realities he didn’t have to think about.
You were that person.

That’s why this hurts — because the reward system of life rarely pays out to the ones who made the ground fertile.

Here’s what I would do:

1. Get legal advice, even just for peace of mind.‍

In some cases, if a business was significantly undervalued or misrepresented at the time of divorce, there’s a legal path to reopen the case. Don’t get your hopes up too high, but get clarity. It’s not about revenge — it’s about information.‍

2. Revisit the story in your own mind.‍

You’ve carried guilt for years, but guilt doesn’t equal wrongdoing. You didn’t ruin the marriage; the marriage was already eroding. The affair wasn’t a betrayal so much as a symptom of long-term emotional neglect. You deserve to see that clearly.‍

3. Redefine what “justice” means to you now.

Maybe it’s not about money. Maybe it’s about refusing to diminish your contribution any longer. Maybe it’s about telling the truth of what actually built his success. You don’t need his permission or a court ruling for that.

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You’re not wrong for feeling angry, or for wanting fairness, or for finally naming the truth: that success was never a solo act.

Whether you pursue legal action or not, the most powerful thing you can do now is stop feeling guilty for wanting more. Fairness isn’t greed — it’s recognition. And you’ve earned that, ten times over.

What do you think?

Should she make a claim, or let it go and move forward?

Can fairness exist when a lifetime of unpaid labour is erased in one transaction?

Share your thoughts below — because this one cuts right to the heart of love, guilt, and money.