He Made Me Pay Half the Rent, While Giving Her Every Penny of His Bonus – In the fifth year of my marriage, Julian Howard and I were still strictly splitting everything fifty-fifty. We each paid half the mortgage. The utility bills were calculated down to the last cent. We even took turns buying condoms. Our friends often joked that we looked less like a married couple and more like roommates sharing an apartment. I always defended him. “Keeping our finances separate keeps things fair and uncomplicated.” Every time I said that, my best friend Vivian Stewart would curse my husband for being shameless, calling him a freeloader. On Christmas Eve, the old phone Julian had left at home suddenly chimed with a notification. Out of curiosity, I glanced at the screen. It was a notice from his company. The annual bonus had been issued. It was a cool million bucks. I was about to call him and share the good news when he beat me to it. “Hey, honey,” Julian said over the phone. “The company didn’t do well this year.
No year-end bonus.” He paused. “So about this month’s utilities… could you cover them for now?” My stomach sank like a stone. After hanging up, I rushed to the bank and checked his transaction records at the counter. Transfers appeared one after another across different dates. There were hundreds of them. Every single one had been sent to the same recipient. The name showed only one letter. “V.” Almost against my will, I opened the Instagram page of my best friend, Vivian Stewart. Her newest post was a screenshot of a bank deposit. One million dollars. The caption read: [My husband’s year-end bonus is in! Straight into the baby’s college fund.] The sender listed beneath the transfer was the very company Julian worked for. … The comment section was full of likes and congratulations from our mutual friends. [Wow! One million! When did you find such an amazing guy?] Vivian replied almost immediately. [Oh no, we’re just dating. We’re not officially together yet. I’m not going to say yes that easily.
He just got promoted to director this year. The company gave him a huge bonus.] Julian had been promoted to director last month. The comments quickly filled with envy. Two of them even tagged me. [@Willow Lawrence-Howard Look at her husband! How much did Mr. Howard get this year?] Vivian replied beneath that comment. [Willow’s family manage their finances separately. It’s different.] Another friend added. [Splitting things that strictly is rare. Willow, you’re just too stubborn.] Vivian responded with a hand-over-mouth laughing emoji. [Yes. Willow likes it that way. She thinks it’s fair.] Someone else commented, [Can’t wait for the baby to arrive! When are you treating us to dinner?] Vivian replied to everyone the same way. [Thank you! Once things settle down, I’ll definitely invite everyone out.] My hands trembled as I scrolled back through photos of Vivian’s so-called ex-boyfriend. One picture showed a man from behind. His silhouette looked eighty percent like Julian.
Another photo showed Vivian’s pregnant belly. In the corner of the picture was a man’s hand resting gently on her stomach. There was a scar on the back of that hand. Julian had the exact same scar in the exact same place. It came from a lab accident during an experiment. I’d run my fingers over that scar a hundred times in bed; no way I’d forget it. The caption beneath the photo read: [The baby’s dad is so excited. He won’t stop holding me.] My phone slipped from my hand and crashed onto the floor. The screen lit up with a photo of the three of us together. For the first time, it looked unbearably glaring. Just a month ago, Vivian had told me she was pregnant.
She said the father was her “useless ex-boyfriend.” They had already broken up. She planned to raise the child alone. I had gone with her to the hospital for her checkups. I had even paid three thousand dollars for her medical bills. “Willow, you’re the only one who treats me this well,” she had said through tears. Now that I thought about it, that hospital bill was probably just another part of the cost of raising someone else’s child.
I turned off my phone and closed my eyes. But memories kept flashing through my mind. Last year on Julian’s birthday, I gave him a two-hundred-dollar fountain pen. He immediately returned the gesture with a silk scarf of equal value. Vivian had been there, watching us with envy. “You two are so lucky. You never have to worry about the price when you exchange gifts.” Now I realized something. Back then, she had probably been laughing at me in her heart.