I quit my high-paying job to support my husband Mark’s startup for three years, but I never took a single cent from the company’s accounts. On our third wedding anniversary, I spotted a designer bag that cost a few thousand dollars. Mark told me the company was at a critical stage and money was tight. He promised to make it up to me next year. I believed him, my heart aching for his stress. But the very next moment, I scrolled across a through a post from his secretary’s, Chloe Davis. She was showing off the exact same bag, captioned: “OMG! Thank you boss for remembering my birthday! Super touched by the amazing gift!” I let out a bitter laugh, then immediately called my best friend, Sarah Jensen, who’s a lawyer. “Sarah, help me draft a divorce agreement!” “I’m going to make Mark pay back every single thing he owes me, with interest!” …… “Sweetheart, I heard the foie gras here is amazing. How about we celebrate our anniversary here?” Mark held his phone out to me, the screen displaying a promotional page for a high-end French restaurant. The ambiance was elegant, and the prices were equally ‘beautiful’. I hesitated. “You decide, just don’t splurge too much. Doesn’t the company need cash flow right now?” Mark squeezed my hand, his eyes filled with apology. “Recently, to secure that downtown development project, money’s been tight everywhere. I’ve really put you through a lot, sweetheart. Once the company is doing better next year, I promise I’ll make it up to you with a grander anniversary celebration!” I smiled and nodded. In these past three years, Mark went from absolutely nothing to owning a company with dozens of employees. I knew better than anyone the struggles he’d faced. When he first decided to start his business, I didn’t hesitate. I quit my job, one that paid a six-figure salary, to handle all the internal affairs and poured all my savings into his company. For three years, I hadn’t bought a single decent new outfit. My skincare routine went from high-end brands to drugstore basics. Even when grocery shopping, I’d haggle for what felt like ages over a few cents. Everyone said I was foolish, but I believed we were partners, through thick and thin. I trusted him, and I trusted our relationship. But on our anniversary day, we still didn’t make it to that high-end restaurant. Mark claimed he had an urgent client meeting and had to change our plans to a casual diner near the office. While waiting for him, I passed a luxury store on the ground floor of a mall. In the display window sat a black quilted Chanel bag, classic and versatile. I couldn’t help but stare for a moment, then snapped a photo and sent it to Mark. He replied instantly, “Like it? I’ll definitely buy it for you once the company’s cash flow improves next year!” In that moment, I truly believed him. I even started mentally planning to find another job, even if the pay was lower, just to help ease his burden. But the very next second, I saw Chloe Davis’ latest SnapChat story. It was a beaming selfie of her holding that Chanel bag. “OMG! Thank you, boss, for remembering my birthday in your busy schedule, and for getting me the Chanel bag I’ve been dreaming of! So touched! I’ll definitely work even harder from now on to ease the boss’s burdens!” The location tag was a top-tier Japanese restaurant in the city where a meal cost at least two hundred dollars per person. Chloe Davis was Mark Harrison’s secretary. And that bag was identical to the one I’d just seen in the display window. I stood there, frozen in the cool night air. So, this was what ‘tight on cash’ meant. No money to buy his wife a designer bag for their anniversary. But he could casually gift his female secretary an identical one and take her to a two-hundred-dollar-a-head Japanese dinner to celebrate her birthday. Looking at Chloe’s youthful, radiant smile on my phone screen, then at my own reflection in the glass – a tired, slightly haggard woman in a three-year-old coat, worn out from all the work. I let out a bitter laugh, then immediately called my lawyer best friend. “Sarah, help me draft a divorce agreement.” “He’s going to pay back every single cent he owes me, with interest!”
When Mark arrived at our agreed meeting spot, it was already ten o’clock at night. He clearly hadn’t realized what had happened. His face showed the slight fatigue of a long business dinner. He habitually reached out to pull me into a hug. “Sorry I kept you waiting, sweetheart? That client was just so difficult…” I subtly took a step back. “Oh, really? I saw Secretary Davis’ SnapChat story. Weren’t you eating Japanese food together earlier? Or was the difficult client actually Chloe, your secretary?” Mark froze. A flicker of panic crossed his face, but he quickly composed himself. “You saw Chloe’s SnapChat? Sweetheart, please don’t misunderstand! Let me explain!” “Explain what?” I tilted my head, looking at him, a bitter smile on my lips. “Explain why you have money to take your secretary to a two-hundred-dollar-a-head Japanese dinner, and buy her a three-thousand-dollar bag, but no money to buy your wife the same bag for our anniversary, or even a decent meal?” “It’s not what you think!” Mark’s voice was urgent. “That bag was for PR, for building relationships with important clients! As for the dinner, it was her birthday today, and as her boss, showing a gesture of care is perfectly normal, right? Sweetheart, you have to understand me. In business, sometimes these social engagements are necessary!” “PR? A gesture of care?” Hearing those words, I felt nothing but utter scorn. “Using a limited-edition designer bag to ‘do PR’ for a freshly graduated junior secretary? And showing ‘care’ at a top-tier Japanese restaurant requires a SnapChat story for the whole world to see? Mark Harrison, do you take me for a fool?” Mark bristled, his voice rising a few notches. “Sarah! Can you stop being so irrational?! I’m out there busting my ass every day, isn’t it all for this family? Can’t you be a little understanding of my difficulties? It’s just a bag, are you really going to make such a big deal out of it?” I laughed. “Oh, right. For ‘Mr. Mark Harrison, CEO,’ it’s ‘just a bag’ for his secretary. But for me, his wife, it’s ‘company difficulties, maybe next year’.” I turned away, no longer looking at him, my voice turning ice-cold. “Mark Harrison, let’s get a divorce.” Mark stared at me, disbelief etched on his face. “Sarah, are you insane?! You want to divorce me just for a bag?!” I looked at him, my gaze calm. “Yes, just for a bag.”
In the days that followed, Mark clearly didn’t take my words seriously. He probably thought it was just another one of my typical tantrums. After all, for the past three years, though I occasionally felt wronged, I always ended up sacrificing my own feelings for the ‘bigger picture’. First, he tried to use the silent treatment to gloss things over. When I remained unmoved, he started to play the sympathy card. “Sweetheart, I know I messed up. I was wrong that day; I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” I was leaning against the headboard, scrolling through my phone, and didn’t even lift my eyelids. “That bag, I’ll get it back tomorrow and give it to you! No, right now!” He pulled out his phone, pretending to make a call. “No need,” I said flatly. “I find things others have used… dirty. From now on, anything I want, I’ll buy myself.” He awkwardly lowered his phone and leaned in, trying to hug me. “Sweetheart, please don’t be angry anymore. Can’t we just go back to living our lives together? I promise, I’ll never have any contact with Chloe outside of work again, I…” I threw back the covers, got out of bed, and avoided his touch. “Mr. Harrison, this is the master bedroom. You reek of someone else’s perfume, and I’m allergic. Could you please sleep in the guest room until the divorce is finalized?” Mark’s face finally darkened. “Sarah, do you have to be like this? Without me, how will you live? You’ve been out of the workforce for three years! Do you really think you’re still that ‘Ms. Stevens’ with a six-figure salary from back then?” This was the man I had given my heart and soul to. In his eyes, I was already devalued, a parasite who needed to cling to him to survive. I let out a bitter laugh. Before I could speak, Mark’s phone rang. He glanced at it, instinctively turned away to answer, his voice a deliberately softened tone. “Hello? Chloe? Don’t cry… send me the address, I’m coming right over!” He hung up, then turned around, his eyes meeting my mocking gaze. For a moment, his expression froze. “Mr. Harrison, you’re truly a busy man. Done comforting your wife, now off to comfort your secretary?” “Don’t worry, soon, you won’t have to work so hard.” Mark flew into a rage. “Sarah! Don’t push your luck! Divorce? Forget it! The company’s on an upswing, and you pulling this now is deliberately trying to ruin me! I’m telling you, if we divorce, you won’t get a single cent!” I walked to the door, a faint smile on my lips. “Really? Well then, let’s see about that.”
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