The Wife He Thought Was Poor

Synopsis

David Lane made $25,000 a month. I made $10,000. He proposed we split everything 50-50 from now on, separate accounts, separate expenses. I thought about it and agreed. The next morning, a courier delivered a property deed to our door. The 1,720 sqft apartment overlooking the river was registered to one name only: mine. At six o'clock sharp, I came home from work. David was standing in the entryway, the deed crumpled in his hand. His knuckles were white, and a vein at his temple twitched twice. I set my bag down and looked at him. "Separate finances. That was your idea. So when were you planning to settle up the three years of rent you've been living here for free?"