For seven years, I thought my marriage to Daniel was steady and happy. We all wanted the same things: to pay off the house, go on vacation, and maybe start a family. We had a warm home and steady work. Things weren’t perfect, but they seemed like they belonged to us.
I appreciated that Daniel was organized, realistic, and paid attention to the details, which is what I look for in an accountant. What I didn’t know was that he had been secretly keeping track of things under his pristine exterior.
Everything changed during a regular exam last month. Because I was in so much pain, they did tests, and then my doctor said, “We need to operate right away.” I had a hysterectomy, and because of problems that came up during the surgery, I will never be able to have kids. Overnight, all we had planned for the future came apart.
I was upset and thought I was broken. Daniel said, “We’ll get through this together,” to emphasize that he was there for them. You are the most essential thing. I kept that promise while I tried to become better.
Three days after the surgery, I went into the kitchen and froze. There was a list of things on the fridge with the title:
“Please pay back the money you spent on taking care of Rachel as soon as you can.”
Daniel’s neat handwriting made a list:
$120 for driving to and from the hospital
$75 a day for three days of help with bathing and getting dressed
Cooking: $50 for each of the nine dinners
$60 for picking up drugs
Extra laundry costs $100.
$300 for not showing up at poker night
$500 for helping with feelings
The total amount owed is $2,105.
I couldn’t believe it. He had put a price on my care when I was having trouble walking and getting better. I was angry and embarrassed, and I knew I had to do something.
I kept very precise notes of everything I did for him for the next three weeks. This included cooking, cleaning, running errands, and being there for him when he needed me. I put a price on each job. I even included a retroactive section that covered seven years of “conjugal duties,” like birthdays, anniversaries, grocery buying, and all the work I had done over the years that no one knew about.
At the end of the month, I had $18,247. I printed it out, marked it with “FINAL NOTICE—PAYMENT DUE IMMEDIATELY,” and set it next to his cup of coffee.
At first, Daniel laughed. After that, he stopped smiling when he read the bill. He said, “What is this?” and looked sick.
I said in a calm voice, “It’s the price of being your wife.” “You took for granted every meal, every chore, and every amount of emotional support. You made me pay to take care of you after surgery, so I followed your logic in our marriage.
He said, “You can’t be serious.”
I stared him in the eye. “And what you did to me wasn’t a huge deal? You made me feel like I was simply a cost. Do you want our marriage to be a business deal?
He stopped for a long time, crumpled up the original invoice, and murmured, “I’m sorry.” I treated you like a burden instead than my wife.
“No,” I said firmly. “You acted like I was a cost.” If it happens again, the next bill might come from a lawyer.
He genuinely seemed ashamed for the first time. We agreed to go to counseling, and he promised that he would never again make me feel like I was simply a number.
A marriage isn’t a list. Love is not just one thing. And there are some teachings that are simply too vital to disregard, no matter how weird they seem.