My Split-The-Bill Husband

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.

Over the weekend, Isaac's college friends were coming over for a dinner party.

In the past, I would take care of all the arrangements myself.

I would buy groceries, prepare ingredients, cook meals for everyone, and finally clean up the mess.

Isaac, on the other hand, would play the perfect host, basking in everyone's praise.

On Friday night, he handed me an Excel spreadsheet.

"Here is the menu and budget, take a look. We will split it fifty-fifty."

I glanced at it quickly.

The sheet was packed with over ten dishes, ranging from cold appetizers to hot entrées and soups, with the budget precisely controlled under one hundred dollars.

"No problem," I nodded, "But this weekend I need to accompany Aileen, so I will not have time to cook."

Isaac frowned, "Then how will I entertain my friends?"

"You can hire a private chef or simply order from outside and have it delivered." I returned the spreadsheet to him, "It is quite convenient."

"Hiring someone is not free, is it? Food ordered from outside is not as sincere as home-cooked meals?" He retorted immediately.

"We can split the cost of the private chef. As for sincerity," I looked at him, "your sincerity means leaving me to put on a show alone?"

He was speechless.

Ultimately, he relented.

"Ordering is fine, but the budget cannot be exceeded."

"Of course."

On the day of the party, I went to the hospital early in the morning.

Isaac called around noon, his tone barely concealing his anger. "Sabrina! What did you order? This little bit costs two thousand dollars?"

"Yes, it is a gourmet set from a premium hotel for eight people, plus a complimentary bottle of wine," I said lightly, "The ingredients are fresh, the presentation is beautiful, does it not make us look good?"

"Look good? You have completely embarrassed me!" He was almost shouting, "We agreed on a budget of five hundred dollars, but you spent two thousand! How am I supposed to explain this to my friends?"

"We will split it." I said leisurely, "You pay a thousand, I pay a thousand dollars, it is fair."

"I do not have that much money!"

"You can write an IOU." I replied in his previous tone, "According to our prenuptial agreement, interest-free loans are capped at two hundred dollars, any excess incurs a daily interest rate of five percent, and requires collateral."

Silence fell on the other end.

I could imagine his face turning ashen.

"Sabrina, are you out of your mind?"

"I am perfectly sane." I hung up and set my phone to silent mode.

Aileen had just finished her medication, her complexion still pale. "Sabrina, did you have a fight with Isaac?"

"No," I handed her a peeled apple, "I am just teaching him some math."

Aileen nodded, half-understanding.

In the afternoon, I received a call from Doris Saunders, my mother-in-law.

Her voice was sharp, full of accusations. "Sabrina! What is wrong with you? You embarrassed Isaac so much at the dinner party! Are you trying to ruin your marriage?"

"I am just following the rules Isaac set."

"What rules? He is my son. What is wrong with spending a bit more of your money? Why are you, a woman, being so calculative?"

"Even brothers keep clear accounts. Isaac and I are just husband and wife."

Doris gasped angrily on the other end. "You! What kind of talk is that! Let me tell you, Sabrina, our family will not accept a daughter-in-law who is so calculative!"

"Great, I will go with Isaac to file for divorce tomorrow."

"You would not dare!"

"Watch me." I hung up the phone directly.

The world was quiet again.

That night, I didn't go home.

I booked a room at a hotel near the hospital.

Isaac sent over a dozen messages, starting with accusations, then threats, and finally ending in barely audible pleas.

"Where are you? Let's talk."

"I was wrong. I shouldn't have argued with you over that money."

"Please come back. We won't split the bills anymore."

I looked at the messages, curled my lips, and turned off my phone.

No more splitting bills?

He probably thought that if he just took back those ridiculous rules, I would obediently return to being the unpaid, ever-dutiful housekeeper like before.

What wishful thinking.

The next day, I went straight to my parents' house.

My dad Dylan Howe was in the yard watering his orchids and wasn't surprised at all to see me.

"Finally came to your senses?"

"Yeah."

"That's good."

He put down the watering can, "Do whatever you want to do. If the sky falls, I'll hold it up for you."

My nose stung, and tears almost fell.

For the past five years, I had almost cut off contact with my dad.

It was my own stubbornness, I had to prove to him that I hadn't chosen the wrong person.

I recalled Doris boasting in front of me, "My Isaac is so capable, how can Dylan's meager salary compare!"

I naively believed that my love could fill the gap of his pathetic self-esteem inflated by his family and turn him into a real man.

So, I repeatedly refused my dad's help and played along in this self-deceiving farce with him.

Thinking about it now, it was truly ridiculous.

I stayed at my parents' house for three days.

On the second day, Doris came to make a scene.

She plopped down in our yard, slapping her thighs and wailing, "What sin have I committed! To have such a home-wrecking daughter-in-law! Disrespectful to her in-laws, and even trying to talk my son into divorce!"

My dad had the housekeeper bring a chair and pour a cup of tea, placing them in front of her. "Doris, let's talk calmly. Don't ruin your health with anger. The matters between Sabrina and Isaac are for them, as a couple, to handle. It's not good for us elders to interfere."

"My son is being driven to despair by her! How can I not interfere? Sabrina, you come out here!"

I stood by the second-floor window, watching coldly.

My dad sighed and said to her, "Whatever trouble Isaac has gotten into outside, let him come and talk to me himself. Making a scene here won't solve the problem and only makes everyone lose face."

Seeing that my dad wouldn't yield to either temptation or threats, and feeling bored after making a scene all morning, Doris left grumbling.

No sooner had she left than Isaac showed up at my dad's company.

My dad had his assistant stop him at the door.

"Mr. Saunders, Mr. Howe is very busy. Please resolve your personal matters with Miss Howe privately."

Isaac was denied entry and finally quieted down.

On Thursday, I returned to the "home" I shared with Isaac.

I was there to get my things.

The house was a mess, with takeout boxes piled in the corner emitting a sour smell.

Isaac was sitting on the sofa, unshaven and red-eyed.

When he saw me, he jumped up. "You still remember to come back?"

"I'm here to get my things." Without looking at him, I walked straight to the bedroom.

He followed me, his voice hoarse. "Sabrina, let's talk. I know I was wrong. I shouldn't have insisted on splitting bills with you, shouldn't have calculated that three hundred dollars. Please forgive me this once, let's live well together."

I opened the wardrobe and started packing my clothes. "It's too late, Isaac."

"Too late for what?" He grabbed my wrist, "What do you mean?"

His grip was strong, hurting me.

"Let's get a divorce." I looked at him calmly.

He looked as if he had heard the biggest joke. "Divorce? Sabrina, what right do you have to ask me for a divorce?"

He threw off my hand and pointed around the room. "This house, I worked hard to earn the money to buy it! Everything you eat and wear, isn't it all paid for by me? Now you think you're tough enough to kick me aside?"

Looking at his distorted face, I felt only strangeness. So this was the man I had loved for five years, an overgrown baby living in his own fantasy.

"Isaac, have you ever wondered how your monthly post-tax salary of fifteen thousand dollars could support this three million dollars apartment in the city center?"

He was stunned.