Chapter 3

It took me a while to figure out how David handled money. He wasn't stingy in general. He tightened the purse strings when it came to me.

The computer in his study had three monitors, all of which were quite expensive. He used to get a new top-of-the-line phone every year. He had just gotten a new one last month.

He had a whole cabinet full of sneakers. I counted seventeen pairs. The cheapest ones were about 400 each.

He played badminton with his friends once a week. Court fees, racket strings, and sports drinks ran him roughly 300.

He sent his mom about 2500 every month.

David told me himself. "My mom lives alone, and she's getting older. It's my job to look after her."

I didn't mind at all. Honestly, taking care of his parents was what he should do.

*****

But one time, when we went back to his mom's place, I overheard David's mom, Grace Foster, chatting with David's aunt in the kitchen.

I was outside with the kids when I caught a bit of their conversation. "David sends me 2,500 every month, but I can't spend that much. I'm saving it up for him, in case he ever needs it."

She was saving all that money and her pension. She didn't need to spend it.

My mom, on the other hand, lived alone, but still managed to save 500 every month to buy formula for my son.

David's mom couldn't even spend it all. She kept saving it up.

Both were grandmothers, but one was being taken care of, while the other was the one doing the taking care.

David liked to think he was a model husband. He brought home the money, handed me enough for the bills, never hit me, never yelled. He enforced strict money management.

He'd tell his buddies, "My wife works hard with the kids at home. I hand over my entire salary every month."

Hand over his entire salary? I never knew the real total.

His phone had a passcode, his computer was password-protected, and his banking app needed his fingerprint. I never bothered asking. It wouldn't have mattered anyway.

He'd say, "Why don't you trust me? Trust is the most important thing between husband and wife."

Trust? I had to snap a photo and report every single expense. Talking about trust was easy, but living like this was something else.

But life goes on day by day. For example, last summer, Ryan developed heat rash. I wanted to buy a dehumidifier and asked David, "The baby has heat rash. Would it be okay to get a dehumidifier?"

He replied, "Why not turn on the AC?"

"The AC makes it too cold. Ryan could catch a cold," I said.

"Raise the temperature a little," he replied.

"If I turn it up, it won't dehumidify," I explained.

"Then wipe him down more often. Why buy a dehumidifier? It takes up space and uses a lot of electricity," he said.

He shot down the idea.

So I came up with my own solution. I bathed Ryan three times a day, dried him off, and dusted him with heat rash powder.

Heat rash powder was cheaper than the dehumidifier.

So, David was right. He always was.

It was winter, and Ryan needed a warm jacket. I found one online for 40 bucks, added it to my cart, and sent David a screenshot.

I asked him, [Is this okay?]

David replied with one word: [Expensive.]

I found another cheap one. David agreed.

But after two weeks, it started pilling, and the zipper jammed. So I ended up getting another one.

I didn't mention the second jacket to David. I took it out of our living expenses, which left me about 15 short for groceries that month.

My mom made up the difference.

One night, at 2:17 AM, Ryan started crying. I got up to fix him some formula. The living room was dark.

I went to the kitchen. The kettle was empty. I boiled the water, waited for it to cool, and made the bottle.

Ryan started crying again. So I picked him up and walked. Twenty minutes of walking, and finally, he fell asleep.

I put Ryan back in his crib and stood in the darkness. The study light was still on across the living room.

David was still awake. I could hear his keyboard tapping away. Maybe he was working late, maybe gaming. I couldn't really tell which.

I walked into the living room, poured myself a glass of water, drank it while standing, then went back to the bedroom, lay down, and stared at the ceiling.

My phone screen lit up. It was a message from my mom, sent at 1:30 in the morning. She always liked to check her phone when she couldn't sleep.

[Rachel, it's getting cold. Make sure Ryan wears something warm,] she texted.

My birthday was in early April. Ryan was ten months old. I never brought it up to David, and honestly, I didn't expect anything.

That night, I cooked four dishes. a little more than usual.

When David got home, he glanced at the table. "Why so many dishes tonight?"

"It's nothing. The meat in the fridge was about to go bad, so I cooked it all," I said.

David sat down, grabbed a chicken wing, and took a bite. "It's a bit salty," he commented.

I murmured in response.

After dinner, David headed to his study while I washed the dishes. My phone buzzed. It was Mom. She texted, [Happy birthday, Rachel.]

My mom sent me money to buy a cake. Instead of buying a cake, I used the money to buy half a can of formula for Ryan.