When James’s salary doubled, he shocked me by demanding we split all expenses 50/50. I was working part-time at his insistence, but I agreed under one condition: we formalize it in writing. Little does he know, my agreement isn’t surrender — it’s stage one of a plan.
I never thought I’d be the kind of woman who’d give up her career for a man. Yet there I was, sitting across from James at our kitchen table as he explained why it made perfect sense for me to scale back my hours at work. Our daughter Emily was only three months old, and he painted such a compelling picture of our future together.
“Think about it, Sarah,” he said, reaching across to squeeze my hand. “We’re parents now, and I know you want to spend as much time with Emily as possible. Working part-time will let you do that.”
“I know,” I replied, “but I love my job, James.
I’m not sure I want to make such a drastic change at this point in my career.”
“But do you really want the stress of juggling a full-time job and being a mom?” James frowned. “You can still do what you love and have the flexibility to be there for Emily.”
His smile was warm and confident. I remember staring into my coffee cup, watching the cream create swirling patterns as I stirred.
Something in my gut told me this wasn’t right, but I pushed the feeling aside. “What about my consulting projects? I’ve spent years building these relationships.”
“Those will always be there,” James assured me, his tone smooth as honey.
“But these early years with Emily? We’ll never get those back.”
Looking back now, I should have recognized the manipulation hidden beneath his concern. But I trusted him.
More than that, I believed in us as a team. The next six years passed in a blur of school pickups, part-time consulting work, and maintaining our household. And I was content, mostly.
I still got to do a job I loved and watch my baby grow into a beautiful little girl with a kind heart and keen mind. But I couldn’t stop feeling like something was missing. I kept in touch with many of the people I used to work with, and it hurt sometimes when my former colleagues informed me of their promotions.
I couldn’t help but wonder what rung of the corporate ladder I would’ve been on at that point. James’s career flourished while I juggled everything else, telling myself this was what partnership looked like. Then came the night that changed everything.
James burst through the front door clutching a bottle of champagne, his face flushed with excitement. “I got it!” he announced, already pulling glasses from the cabinet. “The promotion.
And wait until you hear the salary bump.”
I felt genuine joy for him, pride even. “That’s amazing, honey! I knew you could do it.”
“I’ll be earning double my current salary,” he said, popping the cork.
“Double! Which brings me to something we need to discuss.”
The shift in his tone made my stomach clench. He set down his glass and fixed me with what I’d come to think of as his “business face.”
“Now that I’m making this kind of money, we need to formalize our financial arrangement,” he said.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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