He Refused My Daughter’s Fee, I Divorced Him

Chapter 1

Ethan Davis and I had agreed, right after our wedding, to split everything—each of us covering our own child's expenses. For six years, I pinched every penny and never once took advantage of him.

When our daughter, Amy, developed an excruciating cavity, she writhed on the bed in pain, unable to even swallow warm water. My money barely covered our daily expenses.

"The doctor said the treatment is $2,000. Could... could you lend me the money first?"

He frowned and refused. "Rules are rules. You're responsible for Amy's expenses."

Lucy, his daughter from his previous marriage, held a new gaming console and teased, "If you guys get divorced, maybe you'll actually get some money out of it."

With tears in my eyes, I pleaded, but Ethan remained indifferent.

That night, while applying an ice pack to Amy's cheek, I accidentally saw Ethan's payment records on his phone. He had bought a tech set for Lucy's new school year—a phone, a tablet, and a laptop totaling $21,498. He had also bought a new designer bag for his ex-wife, Nina Jones, for $29,999.

In that instant, I snapped back to reality.

I borrowed money to complete my daughter's treatment, then walked straight to the County Court nearby.

Amy asked softly, "Mommy, why are we at the County Court?"

I patted her pigtails and smiled faintly. "To split the money."

*****

Back home, Amy fell into a deep sleep the moment her head hit the pillow. Her tightly furrowed brow broke my heart.

Ethan and his ex-wife had just returned from shopping. Sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone, he glanced up at the bedroom.

"Where did you get the money for the treatment?"

"I borrowed it from a friend."

"Repay what you borrowed on your own. Don't count it as household expenses. I won't split it with you."

I tucked the blanket around Amy. "When you spend money on Lucy and Nina, do you split that too?"

"That's different." His eyes never left the screen.

A dull, heavy ache lodged in my chest. I gently closed Amy's bedroom door. Before we left, the doctor specifically warned that if she developed a fever or persistent pain within 24 hours post-procedure, we had to seek medical care immediately. Amy had lain on the dental chair with her mouth open for two hours, her cheeks swollen and red, yet he hadn't asked once if she was in pain.

Suppressing the surging bitterness, I spoke up, "Ethan, isn't Amy your biological daughter too?"

He finally put down his phone, sat up, and wrapped a firm arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. "We made an agreement when we got married: I take care of Lucy, and you take care of Amy. Aside from shared household expenses, whoever brings something up pays for it. Besides, it's not like I don't care. Didn't I just show concern?"

Asking where the medical funds came from just to draw a line in the sand—he called that showing concern.

A wave of chill washed over me, leaving me too exhausted to argue. I turned, pulled the freshly printed divorce agreement from my bag, and said, "I have something to discuss with you."

Just as I handed the agreement to Ethan, Lucy's voice shouted from the next room, "Dad! Come play video games with me!"

Ethan casually set the agreement aside, got up, and headed straight for the study. "Whatever it is, we'll talk later."

I clenched my fingers, my thoughts drifting back to last week. Amy had begged him repeatedly to attend her school's parent-child event, but he made excuses about being too busy with work. Yet right after, I saw Lucy post a picture with him on i********:, captioned: Dad put aside his work to play games with me. He's the absolute best!

It wasn't that he lacked time; his time simply had clear priorities. To Lucy, he was a doting father. To Amy, he was just a split-expense contract.

My heart sank to the bottom. I called out to stop him. He happened to stop in his tracks as well and spoke before I could.

"Have you and Amy eaten yet?"

To catch our appointment, we had left at five in the morning and transferred buses, going the entire morning without a bite. Just as I was about to answer, his next words choked back my response, snuffing out the last ember of hope in my heart.

"If you haven't, I prepped groceries in the fridge. They came to $1,036.50. Don't forget to transfer me your half—$518.25."

He paused before adding, "Also, same as usual, you'll help me entertain Nina. Since I brought it up, I'll pay you a fee for your time."

With that, he turned and stepped into the study to patiently play video games with Lucy.

I clutched my pen and paper so tightly that my palm ached. Six years of marriage, and every single expense had been accounted for with precision. Water and electric bills, groceries and paper towels, toothpaste and toothbrushes—even the fee for me helping him entertain his ex-wife, or his lost wages for accompanying me to prenatal checkups—he remembered every single penny.

For six years he kept the books, yet he never recorded our daughter's grievances, nor my sacrifices.

I uncapped the Tiffany pen. Back then, we had used it to sign our marriage documents and Amy's birth record. Stroke by stroke, I signed my name on the divorce agreement.

Taking out my phone, I transferred the exact grocery amount down to the change, along with $50 for drafting the divorce papers.

From now on, we were square.