Chapter 1My Wife Was Obsessed With Buying Cheap Junk on Temu

When she showed me the clothes she bought for $3.99, I couldn't help but look at her in disgust:

"Can't you learn a thing or two from Vivian downstairs? Stop buying cheap junk!"

She froze.

After a long moment, her lips trembling, she said to me: "Let's get a divorce."

Fine, let's get a divorce!

With a $4,000 a month living allowance, I wasn't worried about finding someone willing to be with me.

A month later, she didn't come crawling back to me.

But as I calculated the mortgage, car insurance, and utility bills, I was the one who started to panic.

* * *

Hazel and I had been married for three years.

I had provided for her for three years.

Out of my $6,000 monthly salary, I transferred $4,000 to her on time every single month.

The remaining $2,000 was my pocket money.

So I honestly couldn't understand why she was so obsessed with buying cheap junk on Temu.

A couple of days ago, she asked me to bring her packages up on my way home.

There were a whopping eight packages, and I was juggling them clumsily.

When I finally got into the apartment, she actually complained that I wasn't paying attention—she had texted me nine pickup codes.

She stayed at home every day, just doing chores and watching the kid. How could she possibly need to buy so many things?!

When I saw what she bought, my vision practically went dark.

A 5-pack of underwear for $2.99, house slippers for $1.99, a 10-pack of tissues for $1.50, and two bottles of shampoo for $5.99.

I specifically remembered telling her that cheap shampoo gives me dandruff and to buy me a name-brand one.

But she stubbornly refused to listen.

And now, she was furiously tapping away on her phone, arguing with a seller over a $1.99 box of 200 trash bags.

Our son was sitting on the toilet, relentlessly yelling, "Mommy, come here! Mommy, come here!"

But she kept her head down, counting the trash bags and waging a war of words with customer service.

Was it really worth arguing over something that cost less than two bucks?

"Hazel, the kid is calling you."

I reminded her, forcing myself to be patient.

In reality, my anger was about to blow the roof off.

What was the difference between 150 bags and 200 bags?!

It was making her neglect our own child!

Hazel didn't even look up. "I'm a little busy right now. Can you go wipe his butt?"

I was extremely reluctant.

I was exhausted from working all day, just hoping to come home and relax for a bit.

But my son's screaming was so piercing that I had no choice but to put my phone down and walk into the bathroom.

I hadn't even started complaining about the smell yet.

The little brat wiggled around on the toilet, complaining that the toilet paper I grabbed was too rough, demanding wet wipes instead.

When I finally managed to dig out the wet wipes, he complained they were too cold and wanted them warmed up with hot water.

I was furious.

This kid was absolutely spoiled rotten by his mother.

It was just wiping his butt, and he was being pickier than my corporate clients.

I threw the wipes onto the counter and yelled at Hazel, who was still warring with the trash bag merchant—

"Your son doesn't want me! Hurry up and come here!"

The chaotic mess of the apartment was driving me insane.

I said, "I'm out of cigarettes. I'm going downstairs to buy a pack."

Hazel, who was rushing toward the bathroom, stopped in her tracks and looked at me.

Her baggy, oversized T-shirt was covered in stains.

Tsk, how did she get so ugly?

She opened her mouth, seeming like she wanted to say something.

It was undoubtedly going to be, "Smoking is bad for your health," "Smoke less," or "We should save that money to buy things for the kid." My ears were getting calluses from hearing it.

I quickly dropped one last sentence: "I'll take the trash out by the door on my way down."