On the first day of our marriage, my husband threw a greasy dishcloth in my face and said, “From now on, you’re my family’s maid.” I smiled, left my wedding ring on the table, and walked out with my suitcase.

To help us get started, Brandon’s family had given us 450,000 dollars as a wedding gift. My parents did not keep any of that money, but instead deposited the whole amount into an account in my name and added 200,000 dollars from their own savings.

“I am giving you this so that you never have to depend on anyone,” my dad had told me gently while handing me the bank card.

Until that morning, I had thought he was exaggerating the dangers of marriage.

I looked at the kitchen sink overflowing with dirty dishes, burnt pots, and the cups the family had used that morning. Then I forced a calm smile onto my face.

“Understood,” I replied as I looked Brandon straight in the eyes. “I will cook, wash, serve, and earn the right to eat.”

Brandon seemed disappointed by my quiet response because he had clearly expected tears, a loud argument, or a pathetic plea for mercy.