After finally earning a long-overdue promotion in healthcare, I expected my husband to be proud. Instead, he demanded I use my new salary to pay his child support! For a daughter he barely sees. I thought that was the low point… until I found out what he did behind my back.
My feet ached as I climbed the front steps to our suburban two-story. The antiseptic smell from the hospital still clung to my scrubs, but I didn’t care. Today, that smell meant victory.
“Chris?” I called out, dropping my bag by the door. “You home?”
I couldn’t wait to tell him. After six years of missed birthdays, overnight shifts, and eating lunch standing up, I’d finally done it.
I was the hospital’s newest Healthcare Management Supervisor. The position I’d been killing myself for since before we got married.
I found my husband in the living room, barefoot and slouched on the sofa.
His fingers worked the Xbox controller with practiced precision, his eyes never leaving the screen. The faint smell of stale chips hung in the air.
“Hey,” I said, unable to contain my smile. “Guess what happened today?”
Chris glanced up, his eyes taking a moment to focus on me.
“That new MRI machine arrived?” he asked.
“What? No… honey, I had a meeting to discuss my promotion today, and I got the job!”
He paused his game and gave me a half-smile. “That’s great, babe. Really great! Now that you’re making more money, you can pay child support for my daughter.”
The words hit me like ice water.
I blinked, certain I’d misheard.
“You want me to pay child support… for your ex? From my pay rise?” My voice sounded distant, even to my ears.
Chris shrugged like he was suggesting we try a new restaurant. “It’s for my kid, not my ex. Your salary is our money. It’s only fair that you pay more if you’re earning more. I mean, I can’t keep draining my savings.”
The house suddenly felt too small. My skin flushed hot, then cold.
The joy that had carried me home evaporated, replaced by something that bubbled up from my gut — rage, yes, but beneath it, heartbreak.
“What savings?” I asked, my voice painfully controlled. “You haven’t paid a dime for diapers in six months. In fact, I can’t remember the last time you contributed anything around here.”
