Chapter 3
Chapter 3
And right then, I began discovering an even darker truth about my marriage that would change everything.
At the beginning of October, Gertrude decided that my small work area could no longer exist in the home.
“I need that extra room to store my seasonal decorations and extra boxes,” Gertrude announced casually right after dinner.
I paused, looking up from my laptop in disbelief. “Gertrude, that is my primary workspace where I manage my client files.”
She let out a light, mocking giggle. “Work? Abigail, please stop inflating yourself because everyone knows you just play on the internet.”
Gareth sat on the sofa nearby and did not even bother taking his eyes off the television screen. “My mother is right, Abigail, and if you earn so little doing that, you would be much better off focusing on keeping the house clean.”
Something inside me snapped permanently in that quiet moment. That so-called computer game was actually generating significantly more income than my standard day job salary. In fact, over the past year, my private practice had generated enough money to cover the majority of our living expenses while also building a substantial college fund for our kids. Gareth did not know any of this simply because he had never taken an interest in my life.
A few weeks prior, one of my oldest clients named Howard had recommended my services to three prominent local business owners, all of whom accepted my rate without a single question. For the first time in years, I calculated the true hourly value of my professional labor and realized I had been drastically underestimating myself. I even hired a reliable freelance assistant named Liam to handle basic data entry, which freed up two precious hours of my time every night.
When Brendan noticed me training my new assistant online, his eyes widened with pride. “Mom, you have six major corporate clients and an employee working under you now?”
“Yes, I do,” I smiled softly back at him.
“Mom, this is not just a little side project anymore,” Brendan said happily. “You are running a real business.”
Yet at home, I was still treated as nothing more than the glorified housekeeper who did the dishes.
That dynamic exploded one Saturday morning when Gareth stumbled across our shared bank statement on the kitchen counter.
“We are almost completely out of cash in the checking account again,” Gareth yelled loudly. “What on earth are you spending all of our money on?”
Instead of getting into a screaming match, I walked quietly to my bedroom closet and pulled out nineteen thick spiral notebooks, placing one for each year of our marriage directly onto the kitchen table.
May you like
“Everything we have ever spent is itemized right here,” I said calmly.
Gareth angrily flipped through the pages of the newest notebook while I read the exact monthly totals aloud to him. “Food costs seventeen hundred dollars, mortgage takes thirteen hundred, utilities run five hundred, school supplies and extracurriculars take nine hundred, your mother’s prescriptions cost four hundred, and gas plus maintenance takes the rest.”
