Chapter 1

A bunch of leafy greens cost $1.50.

Standing in the kitchen, I, Rachel Shaw, snapped a picture on my phone and sent it to the family group chat.

[Today's groceries: Greens $1.50, broccoli $0.80, a half-dozen eggs $1.90, chicken thighs $11.00. Total: $15.20.]

Three seconds later, David replied with a voice message. "Why are the chicken thighs so expensive? Weren't they ten bucks last week?"

I didn't answer. I just put my phone on silent and slipped it into my pocket.

There was only half a can of baby formula left in the fridge. It would be gone by tomorrow.

I opened another chat, typed out a message, and then deleted it.

Mom had just sent me some money yesterday. I couldn't bear to ask her for more.

*****

By the time David got home, my son, Ryan Foster, was already asleep.

He walked in, kicked off his shoes, and took a quick look at the food on the table.

"Only three dishes? No soup?" David asked.

"I didn't have time. Ryan was cranky for two hours this afternoon, and I got him to sleep," I replied.

He didn't say anything else, sat down, and started eating. He took a few bites of the chicken thighs.

"These chicken thighs aren't tender enough," he said.

I sat across from him and didn't eat anything.

Ryan had a slight fever this afternoon. I held him in one arm while trying to cook with the other. Suddenly, he started crying even harder, so I dropped the knife and rushed to mix up his fever medicine.

Honestly, the chicken thighs didn't get enough time in the pot.

"Next time, start cooking earlier," David said, then lowered his head and kept eating.

I pulled out my phone, snapped a picture of the dishes on the table, and sent it to him. I also sent today's shopping list.

That was the rule. In our first year of marriage, David said, "Keep a record of what you spend at home. I'll check it at the end of the month. If it's all reasonable, I won't complain."

Back then, I thought it made sense. He made more money, so of course, he managed the finances.

I wasn't earning anything, so keeping a record of what I spent from his money didn't feel like too much to ask.

But later, I realized those three words, not too much, could actually eat a person alive. His version of reasonable meant everything had to fit into 1000 a month.

The budget for every grocery run, fruit, household supplies, baby's diapers, wipes, laundry soap, and my own sanitary pads was 1000. If I spent more, I had to give an explanation.

He didn't call it asking for permission. He said, "Let me know. If it's reasonable, I'll send you the money."

And he got to decide what counted as reasonable.

Last month, Ryan had diarrhea, so I took him to the community hospital. The registration fee, medicine, and cab fare all added up to 60.

I sent a message: [Ryan had diarrhea, so I took him to the hospital. It cost 60.]

He replied: [Next time, give him some probiotics at home for stuff like this. Don't run to the hospital every time.]

Last month, he bought himself a mechanical keyboard for 2500. I saw the delivery box in his study.

He didn't bother to let me know. Of course not, that was his money.

After dinner, he went into his study. I cleared the table, washed the dishes, wiped down the stove, and mopped the floor.

My phone buzzed. It was Mom. "Rachel, I sent you some money. Did you get it?"

I did receive the transfer notification. My mom said it was for Ryan.

Mom's pension was 3800. This was already the second time she'd sent me money this month.

The first time was at the beginning of the month. She said it was to buy Ryan a fall outfit." The second time was today.

I never told David that we didn't have enough money for formula.

He didn't care what brand we bought, how much a can cost, or how fast Ryan went through it.

All he cared about was that the formula money should fit inside the 1000 budget.

Ryan needed four cans a month now. The formula cost half of the 1000.

That left 500 for groceries, fruit, diapers, wipes, laundry soap, and my own sanitary pads. It was never enough, not once. The shortfall was always covered by Mom.

I stared at the payment notification for a long time.

I wanted to type a message: [Mom, you don't have to.] But I deleted it.

Because if I didn't take it, Ryan would run out of formula tomorrow.

I set my phone down by the sink. The faucet was still running, and the water felt cool against the back of my hand.

David came out of his study to get some water. As he passed by the kitchen, he glanced at me. "Did you send today's expenses?"

"Yeah, I sent them," I replied.

"Stop buying chicken thighs. They're too expensive," he said.

With that, he took his cup and headed back to his study.

The door closed, and the sound of his 2500 keyboard drifted out from the study. I had to admit, it sounded pretty good.

I turned off the faucet, dried my hands, and put the dishes away. When I switched off the kitchen light, the whole house went dark, except for a sliver of light leaking through the crack in the study door.

I stood in the hallway. Ryan's room was on the left, the study on the right. The left was everything I had. The right? I wasn't allowed in there.