My husband set his phone down sharply and said, “From now on, your money is yours, and mine is mine. And please don’t use my money to help your parents anymore.”

118,000 a year.

I earned $176,000.

But because his paycheck usually reached our joint account first each month, Daniel had somehow convinced himself that he was the one supporting us.

There were a few other details he seemed to have forgotten.

The down payment on our home had come from money my grandmother left me.

The investment portfolio that had grown dramatically over the years had existed before our marriage.

And the consulting company Daniel casually referred to as “our business”?

It wasn’t ours.

It was mine.

I