Chapter 1

1: 1

The baby was eight months old the first time I asked my wife, Joyce James, for money.

A small fan on sale, fifty-nine ninety-nine.

A pack of manual razor blades, nine ninety-nine.

I looked at the balance in my account and explained in a low voice.

"The blades last a long time. It averages out to less than a dollar a month."

"It's hot lately. A cheap fan for the kitchen would do."

"Could you pay for it? Once the baby's older and I'm working again, I'll pay you back."

Joyce scrolled through her social media without looking up.

"If you're hot, deal with it. You don't have a job. Who are you dressing up for anyway?"

My hand stopped. I turned my head and caught her phone screen.

It was a post Duane Gilbert had just put up.

A luxury-brand watch, and Joyce mid-swipe, paying for it.

Back when Joyce's startup failed, I cut every corner I could to save her money.

I hadn't bought new clothes in three years, and I trimmed the everyday spending down to nothing.

At the worst of it, I stayed up all night holding the baby, and I still refused to add the smallest burden to her.

I thought that if we just pulled together, we could get through it.

But in the end, she was still living well.

And I was the only one who'd become a clown who couldn't even afford ten dollars of razor blades.

1.

I stared at the photo for a long time.

"This watch. You bought it for Duane Gilbert?"

Joyce's hand hung in midair.

"You went through my phone?"

"The watch is over twenty thousand. That's half a year of living expenses for this whole family."

Joyce was quiet for a few seconds, then her tone went cold.

"Duane brought an important client to the company. The gift was to keep the relationship solid."

"Do you even understand how business works? All you can do is fixate on this little bit of money."

After the company's funding collapsed, every expense at home had to be counted to the cent.

Formula couldn't run over two hundred, and diapers were rationed by the piece.

This little bit of money she talked about would keep the baby in formula for a long time.

It would keep me in razor blades for the rest of my life.

"If this is only work, then why would he post something like that?"

I pointed at the line under Duane's post. It felt good to be someone's priority.

"I'm going to ask him whether this is a client gift or a personal one."

I pushed the cart toward the elevator.

Joyce blocked the cart and clamped a hand down on the handle.

"Peter Donaldson, can you stop making a scene?"

"Duane is an important partner for the company. You go pick a fight with him over twenty thousand dollars, and how does that make me look?"

"And what about me? You do this, and how does that make me look?"

Before we married, I was a standout graduate working at a foreign firm.

She was the one who talked me into quitting to raise the baby, the one who turned me into a stay-at-home husband cut off from the world.

I gripped the cart and turned to go back.

Joyce thought I really meant to go find Duane, and she planted herself in front of me.

In the struggle, the cart hit a shelf.

Cans and seasoning bottles crashed to the floor one after another.

Stepping back, I trod on a rolling can and went down in the middle of the mess.

My palm burned.

Joyce didn't notice the cut on my hand, or the blood that kept seeping out.

She only looked around anxiously at how people were reacting, and lowered her voice.

"Peter, can you not embarrass me?"

"I let you stay home with the baby, not turn into some useless man who only knows how to hold his hand out for money!"

"One word from Duane brings the company hundreds of thousands in sales. Besides spending money, what use are you to me?"

"Get up now and come home with me. Stop humiliating yourself here!"

My ankle was twisted. I held onto the shelf and couldn't steady myself.

I gritted my teeth and tried to push myself up.

But she only gave me one cold look, then walked off without turning back.

In the end, it was a store employee nearby who pulled me up.

He glanced at the spot where Joyce had already vanished, and looked a little awkward.

"Sir, the damaged goods have to be paid for at full price. It comes to four hundred thirty-six. Card or cash?"

The balance in my account was down to sixteen eighty.

I stood there, mortified.

I scrolled through my contacts a few times before I worked up the nerve to call Hudson Weiss.

He was quiet for a moment. "What happened? Where's your wife?"

I dug my nails into my palm and forced a smile into my voice.

"She's busy."

Busy keeping another man company.

Hudson didn't push it. He just sent the money over.

I clenched my teeth and crouched down to gather up the scattered groceries.

The plastic bag had split.

Two of the discount eggs had cracked, too.

The yolk ran down between my fingers, sticky and pathetic.

The employee couldn't stand watching and bent down to help.

When we got to the fan and the razor blades, he asked me quietly.

"Do you still want these?"

I shook my head.

"No."

Joyce, and this marriage.

I didn't want any of it anymore.

Walking out of the store, the heat hit me in the face.

I stood on the crowded street and, for the first time, seriously thought it through.

If I was going to leave Joyce, how much money would I need to save.