Chapter 1

My husband made thirty thousand dollars a month.

He gave me three thousand for household expenses.

When my mom suddenly fell ill and I couldn't cover her emergency hospital deposit, I asked him for help.

He scoffed. "Evelyn, your mom being sick has nothing to do with me. Why should that become my burden?"

"We had a deal," he added cold-bloodedly. "I give you three grand a month, and the rest is on you. Where did your own paycheck go?"

I stared at the stranger lying in my bed and let out a bitter laugh. "Right. I'll use my own money. I won't bother you anymore."

I immediately unlinked all my payment accounts, moved out, and went to take care of my mother.

And suddenly, my self-righteous husband lost his mind, begging me to come back.

Vincent and I had been married for two years. Every single month, he transferred three thousand dollars into our joint account for household expenses, washing his hands of everything else.

What he never bothered to realize was that three grand wasn't nearly enough to run a household.

Our mortgage alone was twenty-eight hundred.

That left two hundred dollars for water, electricity, gas, internet, HOA fees, and groceries.

No matter how hard I pinched pennies, I had to spend an extra four thousand from my own pocket every month just to keep the lights on.

My monthly salary was only eight thousand. After social obligations and basic clothing, I had virtually no savings left.

Meanwhile, he pulled in thirty grand a month, tossed me crumbs, and expected five-star domestic service.

I was essentially a maid who paid for the privilege of working for him. I had endured it, foolishly thinking my sacrifices would keep our little family secure.

Now, my mom was in the hospital. Her life savings were locked in long-term certificates of deposit, and I didn't have enough liquid cash on hand. I reached out to Vincent for an emergency loan, and that callous text was what I got in return.

Standing at the billing counter with the clerk waiting, I hung up the phone without another word.

I took out a quick personal loan of ten thousand dollars to cover the admission fees before heading up to her room.

Once my mother stabilized, I ran back to our place to pack some clothes so I could stay overnight at the hospital.

Vincent came home from work just as I finished. Seeing the empty dining table, he instantly scowled.

"Are you seriously doing this, Evelyn? Just because I didn't send you extra cash, you didn't even make dinner?"

My hand paused over my suitcase. I stood up, looking him dead in the eye. "My mother is sick. You really expect me to nurse her and still rush home to cook for you?"

Maybe it was the sheer ice in my tone, but he blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before waving a dismissive hand.

"Fine, fine. I forgot. Just order me some takeout."

With that, he flopped onto the sofa and pulled out his phone.

"Give me your card," I said, holding out my hand.

His brows furrowed in disgust. "Evelyn, are you obsessed with money? You're charging me for a damn dinner order?"

"Yes. Out of your three grand, the mortgage takes twenty-eight hundred. What do you expect me to buy with the remaining two hundred? I just drained my accounts on my mom's hospital deposit. I'm broke."

Vincent sneered. "And how is that my problem? We agreed on this on day one: I cover the mortgage, you handle daily life. Now you feel ripped off? If you can't afford it, go earn more money. Don't take your frustration out on me!"

Listening to him, a wave of profound exhaustion washed over me. In two short years of marriage, I could already see what the next twenty would look like. Even if I were dying in a hospital bed, he would still stand over me, demanding to know where his dinner was.

"You're right," I said quietly. "You don't ever have to worry about it again."

I unlocked my phone, unlinked all shared payment profiles, and blocked him on PayPal and Venmo. Then, I zipped up my suitcase.

Seeing my bags, a flicker of panic crossed his face. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To the hospital. Like I told you, my mother is sick."

He grunted and walked out onto the balcony.

I grabbed my legal documents, opened the front door, and walked out without looking back.

He was too self-absorbed to notice that nobody needed two huge suitcases just to spend a few nights at a hospital.

And I was never coming back.

When I arrived at the ward, my mom frowned at my heavy luggage. "Sweetie, I'm only staying here for a few days. Why did you bring so much stuff?"

"I'm moving back in with you, Mom."

She looked startled. "Did you and Vincent fight? Young couples have tempers. You need to learn to compromise."

"I've done all the compromising, Mom. He never gave an inch. I'm done."

My mother looked at me for a long time, then sighed softly. "Make your own choices, darling. I'm getting old, and all I want is a peaceful life. I have my pension. I can still take care of my daughter."

I couldn't help but smile through my tears. "Mom, you won't need to support me. I have a job."