Chapter 1 · The Salary War: Give To Our Moms

Chapter 1

My husband, Warren Dawson, earned 6,000 dollars a month, while I made 4,000 dollars. We weren't exactly poor, but our savings were very limited.

This was because Warren handed over all his salary to his mother, Hadley, for "safekeeping," without ever discussing it with me.

That continued until the day I handed my own paycheck to my mom.

When I returned home empty-handed, he said he wanted to eat a meal cooked by me. I replied, "I have no money to buy groceries."

He flew into a rage, only to realize that I was merely mirroring his own behavior.

*****

Early morning, the light was a lifeless gray, slicing through the dim bedroom through the gap in the curtains.

I opened my eyes, and the outline of the ceiling slowly sharpened in my blurry vision, looming over me like an oppressive cave.

Warren was still sound asleep beside me, his breathing steady and heavy, as if the weight of the world didn't touch him.

But for me, the moment I woke up, an invisible pressure clamped down on my chest.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand, the cold glow of the screen stinging my eyes.

Out of habit, I opened my banking app, my fingers trembling uncontrollably as I tapped the "Check Balance" button.

The number popped up: 70 dollars.

Here we go again. At the start of every month, that hollow feeling washed over me, the ridiculous sense of being completely drained.

I closed my eyes and pressed the phone to my chest, the cold metal feeling like it was sucking the last bit of warmth right out of my bones.

Warren and I had been married for three years.

I was Katelyn, thirty years old, a marketing manager at a tech company, making 4000 dollars a month.

Warren was thirty-two, an IT engineer, earning 6000 dollars a month.

Combined, we made close to 100000 dollars a year after taxes.

To everyone else, we were the classic urban white-collar couple living the dream and the kind of pair people looked at with envy.

But only I knew the truth. My life was a joke.

Our savings? Barely anything.

Actually, it was my savings that were basically nonexistent.

Because ever since we got married, Warren's entire paycheck went straight into Hadley's pocket.

Hadley always had an excuse. "I'm keeping it safe for you two. Young people spend money like water. I'm an accountant. I know how to manage it. I'm saving it up so you can buy a bigger place."

That line was like a beautiful frame around a rotten painting.

Not once in three years had I ever laid eyes on that so-called "joint account."

And my paycheck was automatically treated as the money that kept the house running.

I was the one paying the 2000-dollar mortgage every month.

I was the one paying for the utilities, the internet, and the maintenance fees.

I was the one buying groceries for every meal, stocking up on all the essentials.

Even when Warren, on a whim, bought fancy health tonics or cashmere sweaters for Hadley, it was always my card that got charged.

I was like a programmed ATM, dispensing cash every month, never seeing a single deposit.

My phone vibrated. It was a payment reminder text from the credit card company.

Another 3500 dollars this month.

I took a deep breath, the air thick with suffocating heaviness.

"Hey, babe, are you awake?" Warren rolled over, his arm draping across me like it always did, his voice still thick with sleep.

He continued, "What do you want for breakfast? That new sandwich place downstairs looks pretty good."

I didn't move, didn't say a word.

He seemed to notice my silence and propped himself up to look at me. "What's wrong? Not feeling well?"

I turned my head and looked at him. He was still pretty good-looking, but there was a boyish softness to his face from being pampered all these years.

"Warren, we need to talk," I said.

"What do we even need to talk about first thing in the morning?" he yawned, grabbing his phone and mindlessly scrolling. "We've got work soon."

"Just give me a few minutes," I pressed. "Shouldn't we figure out a way to save something this month? If we keep living like this, we're totally exposed if anything goes wrong."

His finger paused mid-scroll on his phone, and he shot me an annoyed frown.

"Seriously, Katelyn, not this again. Why do you always have to make such a fuss about money?" Warren complained.

"Isn't all my cash with my mom? You really think she'd rip us off? You know how she is. She would have split a dime in half if she could. With her in charge, what are you even worried about?"

The same old excuses.

Chapter 1

My husband, Warren Dawson, earned 6,000 dollars a month, while I made 4,000 dollars. We weren't exactly poor, but our savings were very limited.

This was because Warren handed over all his salary to his mother, Hadley, for "safekeeping," without ever discussing it with me.

That continued until the day I handed my own paycheck to my mom.

When I returned home empty-handed, he said he wanted to eat a meal cooked by me. I replied, "I have no money to buy groceries."

He flew into a rage, only to realize that I was merely mirroring his own behavior.

*****

Early morning, the light was a lifeless gray, slicing through the dim bedroom through the gap in the curtains.

I opened my eyes, and the outline of the ceiling slowly sharpened in my blurry vision, looming over me like an oppressive cave.

Warren was still sound asleep beside me, his breathing steady and heavy, as if the weight of the world didn't touch him.

But for me, the moment I woke up, an invisible pressure clamped down on my chest.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand, the cold glow of the screen stinging my eyes.

Out of habit, I opened my banking app, my fingers trembling uncontrollably as I tapped the "Check Balance" button.

The number popped up: 70 dollars.

Here we go again. At the start of every month, that hollow feeling washed over me, the ridiculous sense of being completely drained.

I closed my eyes and pressed the phone to my chest, the cold metal feeling like it was sucking the last bit of warmth right out of my bones.

Warren and I had been married for three years.

I was Katelyn, thirty years old, a marketing manager at a tech company, making 4000 dollars a month.

Warren was thirty-two, an IT engineer, earning 6000 dollars a month.

Combined, we made close to 100000 dollars a year after taxes.

To everyone else, we were the classic urban white-collar couple living the dream and the kind of pair people looked at with envy.

But only I knew the truth. My life was a joke.

Our savings? Barely anything.

Actually, it was my savings that were basically nonexistent.

Because ever since we got married, Warren's entire paycheck went straight into Hadley's pocket.

Hadley always had an excuse. "I'm keeping it safe for you two. Young people spend money like water. I'm an accountant. I know how to manage it. I'm saving it up so you can buy a bigger place."

That line was like a beautiful frame around a rotten painting.

Not once in three years had I ever laid eyes on that so-called "joint account."

And my paycheck was automatically treated as the money that kept the house running.

I was the one paying the 2000-dollar mortgage every month.

I was the one paying for the utilities, the internet, and the maintenance fees.

I was the one buying groceries for every meal, stocking up on all the essentials.

Even when Warren, on a whim, bought fancy health tonics or cashmere sweaters for Hadley, it was always my card that got charged.

I was like a programmed ATM, dispensing cash every month, never seeing a single deposit.

My phone vibrated. It was a payment reminder text from the credit card company.

Another 3500 dollars this month.

I took a deep breath, the air thick with suffocating heaviness.

"Hey, babe, are you awake?" Warren rolled over, his arm draping across me like it always did, his voice still thick with sleep.

He continued, "What do you want for breakfast? That new sandwich place downstairs looks pretty good."

I didn't move, didn't say a word.

He seemed to notice my silence and propped himself up to look at me. "What's wrong? Not feeling well?"

I turned my head and looked at him. He was still pretty good-looking, but there was a boyish softness to his face from being pampered all these years.

"Warren, we need to talk," I said.

"What do we even need to talk about first thing in the morning?" he yawned, grabbing his phone and mindlessly scrolling. "We've got work soon."

"Just give me a few minutes," I pressed. "Shouldn't we figure out a way to save something this month? If we keep living like this, we're totally exposed if anything goes wrong."

His finger paused mid-scroll on his phone, and he shot me an annoyed frown.

"Seriously, Katelyn, not this again. Why do you always have to make such a fuss about money?" Warren complained.

"Isn't all my cash with my mom? You really think she'd rip us off? You know how she is. She would have split a dime in half if she could. With her in charge, what are you even worried about?"

The same old excuses.