Chapter 1
I got divorced four months after getting married. No cheating, no abuse, just because of an Excel spreadsheet.
That night, I came home late from work. Fernando Werner was sitting at the computer and called me over, saying he had something to show me.
I thought it was a travel guide, but when I leaned in, I saw a shared document on the screen titled "Family Financial Allocation Plan (Final Version)."
He didn't give me a chance to have a say. All he did was inform me of the "Final Version."
The spreadsheet was all neat and color-coded. Blue was for his expenses: mortgage, car loan, and monthly transfers to his parents.
Pink was for mine: utilities, property fees, groceries, daily necessities, give-and-take in social relationships, and money set aside for our future kid.
I stared at the pink section for a long time before saying, "So, your salary only pays for your own assets, and mine is supposed to cover everything else for the family?"
Fernando pushed up his glasses and replied, "It's called splitting responsibilities. That's how young people handle things nowadays."
"Really? Show me one couple who actually does this."
Fernando didn't answer. Instead, he scrolled down the spreadsheet and pointed to the notes at the bottom, where it read: [In case of special circumstances, both parties will negotiate adjustments.]
"What do you mean by 'special circumstances'?" I asked.
"Like when you're pregnant and can't work, you can take money from the joint account," he replied.
"Who's putting money into this joint account?"
"We each put in 300 dollars per month."
Fernando made 8,300 dollars a month, and I made 3,000 dollars. We each put in 300 dollars. That was what he called fair.
That night, I wasn't tossing and turning. I was clear-headed. Lying next to him, I started crunching the numbers.
His parents paid the down payment for his house, and it was only in his name. He paid 2,700 dollars a month for the mortgage, and when it was paid off, the house would still be his.
The car loan was 1,000 dollars a month, and the car was in his name, too. He sent his parents 600 dollars every month, and the remaining 4,000 dollars was his fun money.
Me? I paid 500 dollars for utilities and property fees, 1,000 dollars for groceries and daily stuff, and about 300 dollars a month for gifts and visits.
And another 300 dollars for phone bills, commuting, and other random things. That left me with 900 dollars a month.
That was the kind of number that made me think twice before buying a coat.
Meanwhile, he had 4,000 dollars a month to blow on whatever he wanted.
Gadgets? He'd buy them without a second thought. Eating out with friends? Never blinked an eye. And those 500-dollar sneakers? He'd grab two pairs every season, no big deal.
Every calculation made things clearer in my head.
The next morning, I was heating some milk in the kitchen. Fernando came out to get some water, wrapped his arms around me from behind, and asked, "So, what did you think of that spreadsheet last night?"
"I don't like it," I said.
He let go and leaned against the fridge. "What's wrong with it?"
"Everything is wrong."
I told him what I thought. I said we should put all our money together, pay off the mortgage and car loan first, and then split what was left.
Or, if I was helping pay off the mortgage, then my name should be on the deed.
He paused for three seconds.
I counted. Three seconds, exactly.
He said it wasn't a good idea. The house was his before we got married, and putting my name on it would be too much trouble. Plus, since he earned more, it wouldn't be fair to him if we pooled our money.
I set the milk cup down on the counter, and it made a louder noise than I expected. "Fernando, you make more, and your money turns into your house and your car.
"I make less, but mine disappears into groceries and bills. Ten years from now, you'll have a house, a car, and a fat savings account. And me? What do I get? A pile of receipts for utilities?"
He didn't respond.
"What am I to you? A maid who has to pay for my work?" I added.
He said, "Don't blow it out of proportion. It's just a division of responsibilities."
"Alright, then show me which part of your plan actually considers me."
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
I waited for him for ten seconds. Those ten seconds felt longer than all of last night.
*****
I didn't tell anyone about the divorce, not even my mom.
I asked Fernando to meet up and talk. I picked a café in a mall. In a public place, he couldn't lose his temper, and I wouldn't end up crying.
When he saw me, he looked confused. "You said it was something important."
I printed out the spreadsheet, folded it up, and slid it across the table to him. "I don't accept this plan."
He picked it up, glanced at it, and said, "We can change it. Tell me how you want to divide things up."
"I don't want to divide things at all."
He looked up.
"I want a divorce," I continued.
The café's background music ended and was about to switch to the next song, and for two seconds, everything was quiet. The only thing I could hear was someone at the next table stirring their coffee.
Fernando laughed at first, like he thought I was joking. But when he saw I was serious, the smile disappeared from his face. "Over this?"
"Over this," I replied.
"Alivia, calm down. Every couple has to talk about money. You can't bring up divorce every time money comes up."
"It's not about talking about money. It's how you talk about it. That's how I know what I mean to you."
He glanced at the paper again, set it down, and tapped his fingers on the table. "So, what would make you happy?"
"I told you yesterday. Either we pool our money and manage it together, or you put my name on the deed, and we'll pay the mortgage together."
He started shaking his head again, like yesterday, almost reflexively.
I nodded. "Fine, let's get divorced then."
He leaned back, crossed his arms, and stared at me like I was some kind of specimen. "Alivia, do you think that because you married me, you should get a share of my house?"