Chapter 2

I carried the glass back to the bedroom, shut the door, and lay down again.

At that moment, I suddenly felt cold.

Not the kind of cold that comes with a fever. The kind that seeps out from your heart.

After that, things like this happened more and more.

Whenever we went back to his hometown for the holidays, I bought my own ticket and he bought his. Once we got there, Claire would grab my hand and act sweet as pie.

Claire said sweetly, "Em, since you're here, why don't you give the kids some holiday money? It'll bring them good luck."

I looked at James.

He stood to the side, eyes elsewhere, acting like he hadn't heard a thing.

I smiled, pulled out the cash gifts I'd prepared, and gave each of the four kids 67 dollars. That was 267 dollars total.

Claire took them with a huge smile. "Em is so generous!"

On the way back, I asked James, "Why didn't you give anything?"

"My mom didn't ask me to," he said like it was the most natural thing in the world. "She said it was enough if you did."

"Then can you at least cover half?"

He turned to look at me, disbelief written all over his face. "That's social stuff. You wanted to give it. What does that have to do with me?"

"I wanted to? Your mom asked me in front of the whole family. What was I supposed to say, no?"

"Then you could've given less. 33 dollars each would've been enough. Who told you to give 67?"

I opened my mouth, but I didn't even know what to say.

James said, "Alright, alright, stop fighting over something this small." He put on his earbuds and started scrolling through his phone. "It's the holidays. Don't kill the mood."

I sat in the passenger seat, watching the scenery race by outside the window, unable to say a single word.

Then came the renovation, and that was even worse.

The total cost was about 77 thousand dollars. He said we'd split it in half, 38 thousand each.

I said fine.

But when it was time to pay, he said he was short on cash and asked me to cover it first. He said he'd pay me back in two months.

So I covered it.

The first payment was 27 thousand dollars. I paid it.

The second payment was 33 thousand dollars. He said his paycheck hadn't come in yet, so I covered that too.

The third payment was 17 thousand dollars, and once again, he said he was tight on money.

I asked, "So when exactly are you ever going to have money?"

He said, "Soon, soon. My project bonus comes next month. I'll pay you back then."

The next month, he really did get a bonus.

It was 7,700 dollars.

He transferred me 6,700 dollars and said he'd pay back the rest little by little.

And that was the last I ever heard of it.

A year later, when I asked about it, he said, "Why are you in such a rush? It's not like I said I wouldn't pay you back."

Two years later, when I asked again, he said, "Why do you always drag up old stuff? We're married. Why do you have to split everything so clearly?"

Three years later, five years later, eight years later, he never brought that money up again.

Eventually, I stopped asking.

Asking only led to fights, and somehow the fight always ended with me being the one at fault.

He had a perfect little logic system. If I asked him for money, I was petty, stingy, and didn't trust him.

But when he was the one insisting on splitting everything back then, how come that wasn't petty?

Whenever coworkers got married or friends had babies, he never chipped in for gifts. I paid every single time.

His excuse was always the same. "Those are your friends, not mine."

But half of them were mutual friends we'd met after getting married.

Whenever his department went out to eat, I was the one paying too.

Because that month he'd supposedly bought a new game, or a new phone, or sent some living expenses to his mom. Bottom line, he was always broke.

And once I paid, he acted like that was exactly how it should be.

"I'll get the next one," he said every single time.

The next one never came.

It's not like I never brought it up.

Every time I did, he'd put on that hurt expression and say, "Didn't we agree to split things? So now you're backing out?"

"I'm not backing out. I just think..." I said.

"Think what? That I'm taking advantage of you?" His voice shot up right away. "Emily Lane, why are you so damn petty? I don't call you stingy, so how do you get off saying that about me?"

It was always the same.

By the end of every argument, I was the bad guy.

I got tired of fighting. I couldn't even be bothered anymore.

So life just went on like that, and I thought it'd stay that way forever.

Until last week, when he was diagnosed with mid-stage liver cancer.

The doctor said he needed surgery as soon as possible, and it would cost around 270 thousand dollars. Insurance would cover part of it, but he'd still have to pay about 170 to 200 thousand out of pocket.

He didn't have that kind of money.

I'd seen his payroll account before. The balance had never once gone over 6,700 dollars.

So his mother's solution was for me to sell my apartment.

When I got back from the hospital, I sat alone in the living room.

The place was quiet. James wasn't there, and somehow the apartment finally felt like itself again.

I got up and walked into the storage room.

In the corner sat a dusty metal box covered in a thin layer of grime.

I crouched down, dragged it out, and opened it.

Inside were stacks of notebooks.

One for each of the past eight years, with the year written on the cover in black marker.

Occupational habit, I guess. I work in finance, so I keep records. Every household expense, big or small, I wrote it down.

I had never imagined I'd actually one day go back and read them.

I stood up holding the box, and a thought suddenly hit me.

If they wanted to settle accounts, then fine.

We'd count every bill, every cent.

Let's see who really took advantage of whom.