Daniel turned pale.
“I… I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know because you never asked. You assumed I was fine, that I was happy, that taking care of your kids and cleaning your house was enough purpose for me.”
I stood up and went to my purse.
I took out the hardcover notebook.
I placed it on the coffee table.
“Open it.”
With trembling hands, Daniel opened the notebook and began to read.
Page after page of taped receipts.
Proof of transfers.
Notes in my handwriting.
Refrigerator, $1,890.
Washer and dryer, $2,450.
Complete living room set, $3,200.
Master bathroom remodel, $6,500.
TV for living room, $2,200.
His voice was a whisper.
“My god.”
“Keep reading.”
He reached the final pages.
The monthly calculations.
Thirty-six months of contributions.
The final total.
“Over $130,000,” he whispered.
“And that’s not counting,” I added coldly, “the three meals a day I cooked, the cleaning, the child care, the laundry, the ironing. If we put a price on all that work at the rate of a live-in domestic worker, that’s another $40,000 approximately.”
