When James’s salary doubled, he shocked me by demanding we split all expenses 50/50. I was working part-time at his insistence, but I agreed under one condition: we formalize it in writing. Little does he know, my agreement isn’t surrender — it’s stage one of a plan.
I never thought I’d be the kind of woman who’d give up her career for a man. Yet there I was, sitting across from James at our kitchen table as he explained why it made perfect sense for me to scale back my hours at work.
Our daughter Emily was only three months old, and he painted such a compelling picture of our future together.
“Think about it, Sarah,” he said, reaching across to squeeze my hand. “We’re parents now, and I know you want to spend as much time with Emily as possible. Working part-time will let you do that.”
“I know,” I replied, “but I love my job, James. I’m not sure I want to make such a drastic change at this point in my career.”
“But do you really want the stress of juggling a full-time job and being a mom?” James frowned. “You can still do what you love and have the flexibility to be there for Emily.”
His smile was warm and confident. I remember staring into my coffee cup, watching the cream create swirling patterns as I stirred.
Something in my gut told me this wasn’t right, but I pushed the feeling aside.
“What about my consulting projects? I’ve spent years building these relationships.”
“Those will always be there,” James assured me, his tone smooth as honey. “But these early years with Emily? We’ll never get those back.”
Looking back now, I should have recognized the manipulation hidden beneath his concern. But I trusted him. More than that, I believed in us as a team.
The next six years passed in a blur of school pickups, part-time consulting work, and maintaining our household.
And I was content, mostly. I still got to do a job I loved and watch my baby grow into a beautiful little girl with a kind heart and keen mind.
But I couldn’t stop feeling like something was missing. I kept in touch with many of the people I used to work with, and it hurt sometimes when my former colleagues informed me of their promotions.
I couldn’t help but wonder what rung of the corporate ladder I would’ve been on at that point.
James’s career flourished while I juggled everything else, telling myself this was what partnership looked like.
Then came the night that changed everything. James burst through the front door clutching a bottle of champagne, his face flushed with excitement.
“I got it!” he announced, already pulling glasses from the cabinet. “The promotion. And wait until you hear the salary bump.”
I felt genuine joy for him, pride even. “That’s amazing, honey! I knew you could do it.”
“I’ll be earning double my current salary,” he said, popping the cork. “Double! Which brings me to something we need to discuss.”
The shift in his tone made my stomach clench. He set down his glass and fixed me with what I’d come to think of as his “business face.”
“Now that I’m making this kind of money, we need to formalize our financial arrangement,” he said. “I think it’s only fair we split everything fifty-fifty from now on. Bills, groceries, the mortgage, everything.
I waited for the punchline, but it never came. “You can’t be serious, James. I only work part-time, remember? And it was your idea that I cut back my hours. I’m already stretched thin managing the house and taking care of our daughter. How do you expect me to contribute equally?”
He shrugged. “It’s not my fault you chose to settle for less.”
“I didn’t choose this,” I reminded him. “You pushed for it.”
“Yeah, but things are different now.” James smiled as he poured champagne for us. “I’m in a different league, financially speaking, and I think we should have a more balanced approach.”
His words hit like a slap. “So, let me get this straight: you want me to manage the house, raise our child, and still contribute half of everything?”
“It’s only fair,” he replied. “We’re a team, aren’t we? And teams contribute equally.”
I felt something shift inside me then, like tectonic plates grinding against each other before an earthquake. I stared at James, searching his face for some sign that he realized how deeply unfair his concept of teamwork was.
But I found nothing. His eyes glinted with excitement, and he grinned at me like a kid on Christmas. I realized something about my husband then, and knew exactly what I needed to do next.
“You want fair?” I muttered. “Fine. I’ll agree under one condition: we make it official. We’ll draw up an agreement and have it notarized. Everything split right down the middle.”
“That’s a brilliant idea, honey!” James’s smile was all teeth. “I’m going to have a busy day tomorrow, so why don’t you sort out the paperwork and let me know when it’s ready for me to sign?”
“Of course.” I clenched my teeth into a smile and sipped my champagne.
We signed the notarized document detailing our arrangement the next day. James’s arrangement was now official. He looked smug as we left the notary office. He clearly had no idea I was waiting for the right moment to reveal what he’d just signed up for
