My Split-The-Bill Husband

Name: My Split-The-Bill Husband
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In the five years of our marriage, my husband Isaac Saunders's favorite mantra was, "Even close brothers keep clear accounts, and even intimate couples should maintain equality." We strictly split everything down the middle, calculating utility bills to the last cent and even taking turns paying for groceries. But that day, when my younger sister Aileen Howe was urgently hospitalized, I asked to borrow three hundred dollars from him. He immediately pulled out a calculator and said, "According to our prenuptial agreement, interest-free loans are capped at two hundred dollars. Any amount exceeding that accrues interest at a daily rate of five percent and requires collateral." Watching him state this so earnestly, I felt the situation was utterly absurd. I signed the agreement silently and took the money. He didn't know that the house he was using as collateral for his interest calculation was legally in my name. Nor did he know that the investments he was so proud of were profitable thanks to insider information my father had provided me. Isaac, you love calculating so much, let's see who's really good at playing the numbers game. I'll show you what it truly means to lose everything.

Betrayal Revenge Divorce Drama Personal growth

Chapter 11

09-25 23:32

Chapter 1

In the five years of our marriage, my husband Isaac Saunders's favorite mantra was, "Even close brothers keep clear accounts, and even intimate couples should maintain equality."

We strictly split everything down the middle, calculating utility bills to the last cent and even taking turns paying for groceries.

But that day, when my younger sister Aileen Howe was urgently hospitalized, I asked to borrow three hundred dollars from him. He immediately pulled out a calculator and said, "According to our prenuptial agreement, interest-free loans are capped at two hundred dollars. Any amount exceeding that accrues interest at a daily rate of five percent and requires collateral."

Watching him state this so earnestly, I felt the situation was utterly absurd.

I signed the agreement silently and took the money.

He didn't know that the house he was using as collateral for his interest calculation was legally in my name. Nor did he know that the investments he was so proud of were profitable thanks to insider information my father had provided me.

...

Leaving the hospital, a cold wind whipped against my face.

I folded the loan agreement bearing my signature and tucked it into my coat pocket.

The icy wind seemed to freeze the very core of my heart.

Five years-what had I actually loved during all that time?

A sharp, knife-like pain pierced my chest, but it also severed, completely and finally, all my lingering reluctance and illusions.

Three hundred dollars in exchange for the truth about my five-year marriage-it wasn't a bad deal.

When I arrived home, the entryway light was off.

In the pitch darkness, Isaac sat on the sofa, his face illuminated only by the glow from his phone screen.

"You're back?" he said. He didn't look up.

"Yeah," I replied.

"How's Aileen?"

"Acute appendicitis. The surgery is done." I changed my shoes and didn't pour him a glass of water as I usually did.

The motion of his thumb scrolling paused for a moment before he finally lifted his head to look at me.

"How much was the surgery fee? We'll split it."

"No need. I've already covered it." I walked straight into the bedroom and closed the door behind me.

Silence hung in the air behind me from Isaac.

The next morning, I woke up very early and didn't prepare breakfast.

I put on makeup and chose a cashmere coat that Isaac had previously called too expensive and impractical.

Before leaving, I left a note on the dining table.

"Today's breakfast, milk and bread. Cost twelve dollars. You owe me six dollars."

I even thoughtfully included my payment details.

Just as I arrived at the office, my phone vibrated.

A transfer from Isaac, six dollars. The note read, "Sabrina, what do you mean by this?"

I didn't reply.

That evening when I returned home, Isaac was sitting at the head of the dining table with two place settings arranged in front of him.

The table was empty.

"It's your turn to cook today," he said. He tapped the tabletop, his tone unfriendly.

"I worked overtime today, I'm exhausted," I placed my bag on the sofa. "Let's order takeout."

"Fine. We'll go Dutch," He said immediately, reaching for his phone to place an order.

"I don't feel like anything greasy." I walked to the refrigerator, took out a container of salad, and said, "I bought this yesterday for twenty-eight dollars. Order whatever you want for yourself."

His face darkened. "Sabrina, what exactly are you trying to pull?"

"I'm not pulling anything," I opened the salad container, forked a piece of vegetable, and continued, "I just think we should implement our cost-splitting policy more thoroughly."

"Such as?"

"Such as household chores." I looked directly at him. "Thirty dollars for cleaning the living room, fifty for the kitchen, forty for the bathroom. Ten dollars per load of dishes washed, eighty dollars per meal cooked. Do you think those rates are fair?"

Isaac's eyebrows furrowed deeply. "What nonsense are you spouting? Aren't these things you're supposed to do?"

"'Supposed to'?" I repeated the phrase and gave a short laugh. "Isaac, our prenuptial agreement doesn't stipulate that household chores are my sole responsibility."

He was rendered speechless, his chest rising and falling with agitation.

"Fine. Very well, then," he gritted out through clenched teeth. "We'll do it your way!"

He thought I was just throwing a tantrum, that I wouldn't be able to keep it up for more than a few days.

He didn't realize that I had long grown tired of this game.

Now, I just wanted to change the rules.