Chapter 1
After my husband, Leo Hayes, crawled back into our marriage, he announced we would be going Dutch on everything.
"Iris, you are a highly accomplished woman, so you do not need my money. From now on, we will keep our finances separate."
"Legally, I am still responsible for supporting my love child."
"Though Chloe miscarried, that baby was my heir in my heart."
"She has been through hell because of your judgment—the whispers and the shame."
"After paying my share of the bills, I will compensate her with the rest. I owe her that much."
I bit my tongue because my mother was clinging to life by a thread.
From then on, our life became a spreadsheet.
"Your fever last night: eggs cost two fifty, so your share is one twenty-five."
"Your birthday cake: I paid half. I did not touch the roses, so that will be three hundred sixty-eight."
"Your face cream? Not my problem."
"I bring my own toilet paper. I am not splitting that."
Staring at the bulk packs I had hauled home, I whispered, "How would we split costs for a baby?"
Leo blinked, then scurried to his study to calculate before declaring, "Prenatal care, delivery, and postnatal care are all yours. But my top-tier swimmers demand premium fuel, so gym fees and protein powder are my treat."
Exhaustion crashed over me. "Leo, is this what marriage means to you?"
There was a heavy pause, followed by a sigh. "Iris Shaw, I came back. She lost the baby. What more do you want?"
The way he looked at me, like he was doing me a favor, hit like a slap. Suddenly I knew that this farce was not worth keeping up.
He scowled and stormed to the balcony for a smoke.
Through the glass, his back looked small against the city's glow, as if he were the lonely one.
Tears splattered my screen. The hospital's text glared: "Brain dead."
My mother had adored Leo.
She called him a cultured man with integrity.
She trusted him with her daughter.
When we found out about Chloe Wells's pregnancy, my mother was already fading.
I could not break her heart.
And when Leo knelt, swearing it was just a "medical donation," I stayed silent.
Now my mother was gone.
No more chains.
Thirty minutes later, Leo slunk back in, offering a smile like he was biting back a complaint.
"Let us visit your mother tomorrow. I will grab some vitamins or whatever."
I wiped my tears and forced a grin.
All those times I had begged him to come, he had waved me off with "Too busy."
Now the question burned: "What, your calendar magically cleared?"
But I just said, "Mom is gone," and watched his smile c***k.
My soft voice was drowned out by the piercing chime of the doorbell.
A saccharine voice cooed from the doorway, "I brought the advance copies!"
Chloe had arrived at the worst possible moment, with raindrops speckling her clothes. Yet her immaculate makeup hid any trace of disarray, giving her an almost fragile, vulnerable air.
Leo grabbed the tissues I had purchased and mopped her face with frantic urgency, like a knight rescuing a princess. "Why did you not call me for a ride in this weather?"
She flashed him that practiced, understanding smile. "I thought you would be busy with your wife on the weekend. I did not want to be a bother."
"You should have taken a cab. I would have reimbursed you."
My chest constricted. For six miserable months of this going-Dutch arrangement, Leo had dug up every bill from our seven years together, from mortgage payments to grocery receipts, itemized with ruthless precision.
Even on our anniversary, he had circled untouched dishes on the restaurant bill, insisting on separate checks. I had fled that night under the staff's judgmental stares and never set foot in that place again.
This constant penny-pinching had become our daily reality.
Just remembering it made my head throb with anger.
Leo pressed his palm to Chloe's forehead, his voice dripping with concern as he checked her temperature.
