The Price of a Wife

For my mother-in-law’s 60th birthday, my husband, Liam, approved a million-dollar budget for her gift. His little secretary transferred me one thousand dollars. She even sent a condescending voice memo to educate me: "Mrs. Sterling, Mr. Sterling works incredibly hard for his money. Since you don't work, you should really learn to be more considerate of his expenses."

I clicked on the latest post on her Instagram feed. A private yacht. Dom Pérignon champagne. A brand new Rolex wrapped around her wrist. The caption read: A woman who knows how to manage money is the only one who deserves a good life.

I double-tapped to like her post. Then, I went back to my husband and asked him to approve an additional three hundred thousand dollars.

The little secretary was very satisfied, assuming I had finally learned to play by her rules. She was so emboldened that, on the actual day of the birthday banquet, she dared to take credit right to my face: "Mr. Sterling is so lucky. He has me handling the business, and me handling his household. That’s why his life is so stress-free."

I smiled, grabbed her arm, and pulled her right over to my mother-in-law. "Mom, this year’s birthday gift was entirely arranged by Miss Evans here." "Liam approved 1.3 million dollars for it. Please, swipe the card for whatever you like!" The secretary, cornered, gripped the edge of her blazer. She knew there was less than ten thousand dollars left on that card.