I was taken aback when James demanded that we divide all costs equally after his pay doubled. At his urging, I was working part-time, but I only consented if we put it in writing. He has no idea that my consent is the first step in a plan, not a capitulation.
I never imagined that I would be the type of woman who sacrifice her job for a man. And yet there I was, at our kitchen table, sitting across from James, listening to him explain why it was a good idea for me to work less hours.
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
“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.”
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.
“But these early years with Emily? We’ll never get those back.”
The following six years flew by as we took care of our home, picked up kids from school, and worked part-time as consultants.
However, I sensed that something was lacking. I stayed in touch with a lot of my former coworkers, and occasionally it was painful to hear of their promotions.
As I balanced everything else, James’s career took off.
The night that altered everything then arrived. Excited, James rushed through the front door with a bottle of champagne in his hand.
“I got it!” he announced.
“The promotion. And wait until you hear the salary bump.”
“Now that I’m making this kind of money, we need to formalize our financial arrangement,” he said. “I think it’s only fair we split everything fifty-fifty from now on. Bills, groceries, the mortgage, everything.”
