In the supermarket, I stared at the ribs on the shelf. The price tag read $8.99 a pound. My bank app showed an available balance of $12.50. Today is November 27th. There are still four days until next month's $150 grocery allowance. I put down the ribs and grabbed a carton of eggs on sale. $2.99 for a dozen. Enough to last four days. At the checkout counter ahead of me, a middle-aged woman was swiping her card. The card reader beeped, displaying the total: $842. I glanced at her groceries—wagyu beef, king crab, and fresh cherries. I lowered my head and placed my eggs on the conveyor belt. My phone buzzed. A text from Eric: "I have a business dinner tonight, won't be home for food." I replied: "Okay." That was the 147th "won't be home for food" text. I counted. 01 When I got home, my mother-in-law was sitting in the living room. The coffee table was covered with a pile of health supplements, their boxes unopened. "Mom, you're here." Martha barely lifted her eyelids. "You're back? What did you buy?" "Eggs." She scoffed. "Eggs again. My son makes a million a year, and you feed him eggs every day?" I didn't say anything. When I put the eggs in the fridge, I saw that it was completely empty. The groceries I bought last week were long gone. "Chloe," my mother-in-law's voice came from behind me. "A friend of mine recommended something good. Take a look." She handed me a flyer. It was for a brand of goat milk powder. One canister was $180, and a full course was six canisters. "This is good for the health. Buy me two courses." I stared at the number. $180 x 12 = $2,160. My monthly grocery allowance was $150. "Mom, this is too expensive..." "Expensive?" Martha's face immediately fell. "My son makes a million a year, and you say this is expensive? Is this how you treat your mother-in-law?" "No, I mean—" "Enough." She stood up and grabbed her purse. "I'm going to tell Eric. His wife is too stingy to even buy a few health supplements for her mother-in-law." The door slammed shut. The whole house shook. I stood there, still clutching the flyer. $180 x 12 = $2,160. I looked down at my phone. $12.50. At 9:00 PM, Eric came home. He smelled of alcohol. Strongly. "My mom called," he said, tossing his coat on the sofa. "About the goat milk powder." I poked my head out of the kitchen. "Eric, the allowance for this month isn't quite enough..." "Not enough again?" He frowned. "Chloe, isn't $150 enough for you to spend? Back in the day, my mom fed our whole family on $50 a month, and now $150 isn't enough for you?" "Prices are different now—" "Enough." He waved his hand, cutting me off. "Don't play the poverty card with me. I already transferred the money for the milk powder directly to my mom. Don't worry about it." He walked into the bedroom. The door closed. I stood in the kitchen doorway, my apron still on. The fried rice in the pan had gone cold. That was tonight's dinner. Eggs and rice. I gripped my phone and typed a line in my notes app: "Nov 27, Goat milk powder $2,160, transferred directly to mother-in-law." This was the 89th "off-budget expense" I had recorded. The first one was three years ago. Since then, Eric had fixed my monthly allowance at $150. $150. For a month. Enough to buy 15 pounds of ribs, or 50 dozen eggs, or 100 pounds of rice. But not enough to buy one canister of his mother's goat milk powder. 02 The next morning, before Eric left, I stopped him. "Eric, could you... increase the allowance a bit?" He was tying his tie and paused. "Increase it again?" "Everything is getting more expensive, $150 really is—" "Chloe." He turned around and looked at me. "Do you know how much pressure I'm under? The company is swamped, I have to support this family, support my mom, and pay the mortgage. Can't you be a bit more frugal?" "I'm already being very frugal..." "Then be more frugal." He finished tying his tie and grabbed his car keys. "Don't compare yourself to other women. Some women buy bags that cost tens of thousands. At least you're not that kind of person, right?" The door closed. I stood in the entryway, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway. Be more frugal. I hadn't bought a new piece of clothing in a year. My winter coat was from before we got married, and my down jacket was five years old, the fur on the cuffs completely worn off. Last month, during my period, I bought the cheapest pads available. Be more frugal. How else could I be more frugal? At noon, I bought vegetables at the stand outside our complex. The owner knew me. "Mrs. Vance, the cabbage is fresh today, 50 cents a pound." I picked two heads. Less than two dollars. "Is your husband away on business again? Haven't seen him in a while." I froze for a moment. "He's been busy lately." "Yeah, he's a big boss," the owner said with a smile. "I saw his car, that Mercedes, must be at least seventy or eighty thousand, right?" I smiled but didn't reply. He bought that car last year. $95,000. When he bought it, I asked him, "Could you buy me a cheap car just to get around?" He said, "You're a housewife, what do you need a car for? Can't you just take an Uber?" Take an Uber. With a $150 monthly allowance. I never brought it up again. As I was walking back with the vegetables, I ran into my neighbor, Mrs. Lee, at the building entrance. She lived upstairs, and her husband was also a businessman. "Oh, Mrs. Vance, grocery shopping?" "Yes, hello, Mrs. Lee." She glanced at the bags in my hands, her expression a bit complicated. "Mrs. Vance, can I ask you something?" "Go ahead." She lowered her voice and leaned in closer. "Is your husband... seeing someone on the side?" 03 "What?" I froze in place. Mrs. Lee looked around and pulled me into a corner of the stairwell. "I'm not just making this up. Last week, I went to look at apartments at The Pinnacle. When the agent was showing me a model unit, I happened to see your husband." The Pinnacle. That was the most expensive luxury condo building downtown. Averaging a million dollars a unit. "He was with a young woman wearing a mink coat. The agent called her 'Mrs. Vance'." My fingers started to go cold. "Are you... sure you saw clearly?" "I'm sure. It was your husband, I recognize him." Mrs. Lee patted my hand. "I'm not trying to cause trouble, I just thought... you should know." She left. I stood in the stairwell, the bag of cabbage dropping to the floor. Mrs. Vance. The Pinnacle. Mink coat. I crouched down and picked up the cabbage. My hands were shaking. That night, I sat on the sofa waiting for Eric. I waited until 11:00 PM. The door opened. "You're back?" I stood up. "Yeah." He didn't look at me, walking straight toward the bedroom. "Eric." I stopped him. "Did you go look at apartments at The Pinnacle last week?" His footsteps paused. Just for a second. Then he kept walking. "Company business. Showing apartments to a client." "A client?" "Yeah." He opened the bedroom door. "Going to sleep, busy day tomorrow." The door closed. I stood in the middle of the living room, gripping the bag of cabbage. Company business. Client. I opened my phone and found Mrs. Lee on WeChat. "Mrs. Lee, the woman you mentioned the other day, what did she look like?" Three minutes later, she sent a photo. "I took this. She was looking at floor plans with your husband." The photo was a bit blurry. But I could make out the woman's profile. A sharp chin, wavy hair, wearing a mink coat. I didn't recognize her. But the hand resting on Eric's arm—I saw it clearly. There was a small mole on her pinky finger. Very small. But very distinct. 04 The next day, I started investigating. I couldn't access Eric's bank statements. He had passwords on all his cards and never let me touch them. But I knew his brokerage account password. I memorized it six years ago when he asked me to help him make a trade. He forgot to change it. I logged in. The transaction history from January of this year. Jan 3rd, transferred out $50,000. Feb 14th, transferred out $20,000. April, transferred out $30,000. July, transferred out $80,000. The receiving account always had the same name: Mia Thorne. Mia Thorne. I memorized the name. Then I started looking up real estate. I didn't dare go to the sales center at The Pinnacle. But property transactions are public record. I searched all day. Finally, on a real estate forum, I found the transaction record for that unit. The Pinnacle, Unit 1802. Size: 1,800 square feet. Total price: $1.2 million. Buyer: Mia Thorne. Co-signer: Eric Vance. I stared at that line, my heart clenching painfully. 1.2 million. He bought her a 1.2 million dollar condo. While my monthly grocery allowance was $150. I put my phone down. Then picked it up again. My fingers quickly scrolled through the history of the brokerage account. Going back to last year. The money transferred to Mia Thorne totaled over $400,000. $400,000. I stared at that number. And suddenly smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. It was the kind of smile that tightens your throat and burns your eyes. That night, Eric got home at 10:00 PM. I was in the kitchen heating up food. "Another business dinner today?" "Yeah." "Which client?" He paused. "Why are you asking so many questions?" "No reason, just asking." I brought out the heated rice. Scrambled eggs with tomatoes over white rice. He frowned. "This again?" "The allowance is running low, just make do." "Chloe." He put down his chopsticks. "Can you stop bringing up money all the time? I work myself to death out there every day, and when I get home, I just want some peace and quiet. Can't you be a little more understanding?" I didn't say anything. I put down my bowl and chopsticks, turned around, and went back to the kitchen. "Eat up." I stood in front of the stove and heard the sound of chopsticks hitting a bowl from outside. Very light. As if nothing had happened. 05 Weekend. Eric said he had company business and left early in the morning. I waited ten minutes after he left, then went out too. I followed his car. Not too close, not too far. He was driving very slowly, as if waiting for someone. Sure enough. In front of a shopping mall, his car stopped. A woman walked out of the mall. Wavy hair, small face, wearing a camel-colored coat. Mia Thorne. She opened the passenger door and got in. I saw her turn her face and kiss Eric on the cheek. The car started and headed toward The Pinnacle. I followed. The security at The Pinnacle was very tight. But there was a coffee shop next door, with floor-to-ceiling windows that perfectly faced the entrance of Building 1. I sat by the window and ordered the cheapest Americano. $3.50. I counted the money in my wallet. $8.00 left. Enough to survive for four days. For those four days, I came here every day. Americano, Americano, Americano, Americano. $3.50 x 4 = $14.00. I saved the money I would have spent on eggs. For those four days, I watched Eric's car go in and out. Sometimes he came in the morning and left at noon. Sometimes he came in the afternoon and left in the middle of the night. Once, Mia held his arm, and the two of them stood at the building entrance talking for a long time. Her hand rested on her stomach. As if she was telling him something important. I couldn't see their expressions. But I saw Eric's action— He crouched down and pressed his face against her stomach. As if listening for a sound. At that moment, my fingers went ice cold. So that was it. No wonder. No wonder he had been getting colder towards me lately. No wonder he never brought up "having a baby" anymore. He already had a baby. It just wasn't mine. 06 The fifth day. I didn't go back to the coffee shop. I went somewhere else. Vance Tech. Eric's company. More accurately, our company. Eight years ago, he was a poor guy with a startup dream and no money. I was the one who gave him the $200,000 I saved before we got married for his startup capital. At the time, I had just resigned from a research institute and held three patents for optical coating technology. He said, "Chloe, marry me, and I promise to give you a good life." I believed him. I gave him the money, licensed the patents to him, and gave him myself. In exchange for a piece of paper. Party A, Chloe Vance, holds 30% of the shares in Vance Tech. He had probably forgotten about this agreement long ago. I hadn't. It had always been in the hidden compartment of my nightstand. Stored together with those three patent certificates. The receptionist at Vance Tech didn't recognize me. "Hello, who are you looking for?" "I'm looking for Sarah Jenkins." "And you are?" "Her client." Five minutes later, Sarah stepped out of the elevator. She was my college roommate, became a lawyer after graduation, and jumped ship to Vance Tech as Chief Legal Officer three years ago. But Eric didn't know this. He never cared who my college roommates were. "Chloe." Sarah saw me, her brow furrowing slightly. "Let's talk in my office." Her office was on the 23rd floor, with half the city's skyline visible outside the window. I sat down and handed her my phone. "Take a look at this." Photos. Audio recordings. Transfer records. Real estate information. Everything. Sarah looked at it for five minutes. Then she looked up at me. "What are you going to do?" "Divorce." My voice was very calm. "I want back what belongs to me." Sarah nodded. "Do you still have the shareholder agreement?" "Yes. And the patent certificates." "Good." She closed her laptop. "Chloe, I'll be honest with you. This won't be an easy fight. Eric has deep connections in the company, and the board members are on his side. If you want to take him down, you need to be prepared." "I know." "There's one more thing." She paused. "Do you know about Mia's pregnancy?" "Yes." "Then you should also know she's the marketing director here. Eric hired her personally." I didn't say anything. "Over the past year, Eric has handed a lot of core business over to her. Your dividend payments have also bypassed you and gone straight to her accounts." "What do you mean?" Sarah looked at me, her eyes complex. "That 30% stake you hold—have you ever received any dividends?" I froze. Dividends? I hadn't even received a notice for a shareholder meeting. "Eric said the company is still in its growth phase, so there are no dividends..." "He lied to you." Sarah pushed a document across the desk to me. "Vance Tech had a net profit of 15 million last year. Based on your 30%, you should have received 4.5 million." 4.5 million. And my monthly grocery allowance was $150. I stared at the document, my nails digging into my palms. "Where did this money go?" "I checked for you." Sarah pointed at a line of text on the document. "The dividends were transferred to an offshore account. The account holder is Mia Thorne."
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