Eleanor Vance only gave me an allowance of five hours of free personal time each year. Having dinner with me? Deducted forty minutes. Going back to my hometown with me? Deducted two hours. Even our intimacy was on a meter, the clock starting the exact second she kissed me. Eleanor was the youngest senior partner at a prestigious New York law firm. Her private consultation fee was six thousand dollars an hour. I always thought it was just her nature to be obsessively meticulous with time. That was, until the firm’s annual holiday party. Lucas, the junior associate she personally mentored, suddenly smiled and asked: “Eleanor, how much time does your husband have left this year?” Eleanor glanced at her phone. “Seventeen minutes.” The entire table burst into laughter. Lucas tilted his head, looking up at her. “What about me?” Eleanor reached over and ruffled his hair. “You aren't on the clock.” “When I take you watch shopping, grab late-night takeout, or go to midnight movie premieres, have I ever tracked the time?” I swallowed the roar of laughter from the table and quietly guarded my final seventeen minutes. A month later, my father died of a sudden, massive heart attack. I used my last seventeen minutes to ask Eleanor to stay with me while I signed the cremation authorization forms. But I suffered a complete breakdown. I grabbed the cuff of her coat, keeping her there for an extra ten minutes. She didn't push me away. I thought that, in the face of my father's death, she was finally willing to make an exception for me. The next day, her executive assistant emailed me an invoice for three thousand dollars. That same afternoon, I pawned my wedding ring for three thousand, five hundred dollars. I used the three thousand to pay off the invoice in full. With the remaining five hundred, I paid the deposit for an intensive paralegal program overseas. This time, I wouldn't waste another second of her time. And I wouldn't waste any more of my own. ... Just moments after I wired the three thousand dollars, Eleanor’s assistant emailed me a payment confirmation receipt. Attached to it was a document titled: Annual Personal Time Usage Breakdown. January: Anniversary Dinner - 90 minutes. She arrived thirty-five minutes late, spent forty-six minutes taking a phone call from Lucas, and the actual time I spent speaking to her was exactly nine minutes. Total deduction: 90 minutes. May: Hospitalization for High Fever. She stayed in my hospital room for six minutes. That same night, she sat in the ER for four hours with Lucas because he had a 99-degree fever. August: Intimacy - 21 minutes. After it was over, longing for her warmth, I held her for two extra minutes. Those two minutes were itemized separately on the ledger. The original file name of the attachment hadn't been fully deleted. Mr. Five Hours Annual Summary. I stared at those words, my vision blurring. I finally understood. This was what everyone at the firm called me behind my back. Mr. Five Hours. A title I earned with six years of marriage. It felt like a jagged rock was lodged in my throat. It took a very long time to force the tears back down. Also sitting in my inbox was the enrollment confirmation from the paralegal program. Only twelve days left until orientation. I wiped the moisture from the corners of my eyes and drove back to my hometown in Pennsylvania to handle my father's affairs. While processing the burial paperwork, the funeral director glanced at the 'Spouse' section. "Your wife couldn't make it today?" I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My father's oldest friend, Arthur, stepped in to smooth things over. "Eleanor is a high-powered attorney. She's incredibly busy." "Before he passed, old Dave always said we shouldn't let family matters drag down his daughter-in-law's career." The room fell completely silent. Arthur looked at my bloodshot eyes. He hesitated for a long time, before finally speaking in a low voice: "Last winter, your dad heard Eleanor was suffering from severe stomach ulcers. He woke up at 4 AM to slow-cook some chicken soup, and I drove him to her firm in Manhattan." "He waited in the lobby for three hours. He never even got past security." "That young lawyer, Lucas, eventually came downstairs and asked him if he was trying to eat into your five hours. He told your dad that if he didn't have an appointment, he needed to leave and stop causing trouble." My fingernails instantly dug deep into my palms. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" Arthur looked away. "Your dad wouldn't let me." "He said it wasn't easy for you to marry into that world, and he didn't want to make things any harder for you." I lowered my head, the tears falling without warning, smashing against the polished wood of my father’s casket. My father protected my pride until his dying breath. He had no idea that I had absolutely no pride left in the Vance household. I found the insulated soup thermos in the back of my dad’s kitchen cabinet. Taped to the lid was a note in his messy, crooked handwriting. Eleanor's stomach is bad. Less coffee. My phone lit up at that exact moment. Lucas had just posted an update on Instagram. In the photo, Eleanor was holding a sleek black Amex card, smiling faintly as she paid the bill. The caption read: "My first big-boy toy as an adult, gifted by Eleanor." "Cars, watches, apartments, and love—she gives me everything. Try not to be too jealous, someone! ?" I stared at the screen for a very long time, until it went completely black. When I got back to the penthouse that night, the light in the home office was on. Eleanor had claimed she had extra work to catch up on. But as I walked past the door, I heard her warm, indulgent laughter. "You waited in line for two hours and you still aren't satisfied?" "Alright, fine. I'll stay on the phone with you tonight." "No, I won't put it on the clock." I stopped dead in the hallway. A violent, stinging pain flooded my sinuses. Chapter 2 I lowered my eyes and continued walking past the office door. Eleanor saw me, and her smile instantly vanished. She quickly ended the call, followed me into the bedroom, and wrapped her arms around me from behind. Her familiar, expensive perfume washed over me, but my body moved faster than my brain, flinching away from her touch. Eleanor's hands hovered in mid-air. She was silent for a moment before she slowly, methodically adjusted her cuffs. "You are acting highly erratic today." "If you are upset about the three-thousand-dollar invoice, you can simply state it." I gripped my father's old jacket tightly in my hands. I didn't look at her. Eleanor's tone remained perfectly even and clinical. "I understand you are currently in a grieving period, which is why I didn't push you away at the crematorium." "But accommodating an emotional response does not mean established rules can be nullified." She finished speaking, and exactly like she was closing a trivial negotiation, she offered a settlement. "I will increase your allowance by one hour next year." "And I will not bill you for tonight's physical contact. That should be sufficient." My eyes burned hot. "There's no need," I replied softly. Eleanor stared at me for several seconds. That rare, microscopic trace of patience in her eyes completely evaporated. "Rejecting a proposed solution and deploying the silent treatment to express dissatisfaction only renders communication entirely pointless." "Leaving the firm to become a stay-at-home husband was a choice you made based on your own free will." "You actively accepted the parameters of this marriage." "Attempting to reframe these choices as sacrifices now is intellectually dishonest and entirely unfair to me." Every single sentence was rigorous, articulate, and completely bulletproof. She stood in the courtroom of our life, sustaining objections and striking my six years of devotion from the record, line by line. Six years ago, I was also a lawyer at her firm. After I won three consecutive, high-profile cases, Eleanor called me into her office and asked if I was willing to maintain a fixed, exclusive physical relationship with her. "I do not have the time or the bandwidth to vet new men." "You know my habits. You are the most efficient option." I asked her what would happen to my job. She answered without a microsecond of hesitation. "Quit." "When I need you, I do not want to be waiting for you to finish a deposition." I had been in love with her for too long. Ultimately, I surrendered my budding career and stayed by her side. Later on, I snapped out of it once. I packed my bags and went to the train station. Eleanor chased me down. Amidst a sea of people, she grabbed my hand. Her voice, for once, was actually gentle: "Don't go. Come home with me." "I'll give you marriage. And eventually, I will give you my time." I believed her. Today, my wedding ring had bought me exactly ten minutes of her presence. And that career she demanded I execute with my own hands was now categorized as "my own choice." My phone vibrated in my pocket. A new email from the program. Please report for orientation in exactly twelve days. I stared at that sentence, and the tears finally fell. Six years ago, Eleanor knew exactly what train I was on, so she could drag me back. This time, I wouldn't tell her my flight number. My father spent his dying days terrified of wasting her time. My departure wouldn't waste another second of it. Chapter 3 When I clicked 'Confirm Enrollment,' Eleanor was still standing in the bedroom doorway. She glanced at my screen. "That paralegal program in London again?" "Yes." "You applied for that three years ago too." Her tone was dismissive. She clearly wasn't taking it seriously. "There are a massive amount of logistical hurdles between clicking 'confirm' and actually leaving the country. Let me know when you actually finalize the paperwork." She was absolutely certain I couldn't pull it off. And she was absolutely certain I couldn't bear to leave her. As I put my phone away, Eleanor's gaze landed on my left hand. "Where is your wedding ring?" On my ring finger, there was only a pale, faded indent. That ring cost eighty-five thousand dollars. Before we got married, Eleanor specifically took me to Tiffany's on Fifth Avenue. She scanned one display case, pointed at the diamond in the absolute center, and said, "That one." Selecting it took exactly thirty-two seconds. Swiping the card took fourteen seconds. Before the complimentary champagne could even be brought to the VIP room, we were already walking out the door. Back then, the only thing I registered was that she paid the exorbitant price without even blinking. I was secretly thrilled for months. Only later did I realize... she didn't mind spending money. She just minded spending a single minute on me. "I pawned it." Eleanor's brow twitched. "Why?" "To pay the three-thousand-dollar invoice." She was silent for two seconds, rapidly recovering her composure. "If you lack liquidity, you can draw from the supplementary credit card." She didn't even bother to ask if the ring could be retrieved. A sudden knock echoed from the hallway. Without waiting for a response, Lucas pushed the door open and walked right in. "Eleanor, why did you hang up on me?" His tone was intimately casual. His hand naturally landed on Eleanor's forearm. The limited-edition Rolex on his wrist caught the light, gleaming brightly. Last Christmas, my father gave Eleanor an envelope with a thousand dollars in cash as a traditional holiday blessing. Eleanor immediately handed the cash to Lucas. Then, she spent four hours walking around the luxury boutiques with him, covering the massive difference to buy him that exact Rolex. Lucas's watch earned him an entire afternoon of her undivided attention and patience. Noticing my gaze, Lucas lifted his wrist and shook it playfully. "Does my brother-in-law still recognize this?" "The holiday money Uncle Dave gave you went straight toward funding this watch." He paused, as if just suddenly remembering that my father had passed away. "Now that Uncle Dave is gone... does this count as an heirloom?" "You wouldn't ask me to give it back, would you, bro?" Eleanor shot him a warning glance. "Lucas. Watch your phrasing." Her tone held absolutely no actual reprimand. Lucas smiled and casually picked up the glass of water on her nightstand, taking a sip. "I just didn't want him to misunderstand." Eleanor didn't stop him. I looked at the two of them. I suddenly wanted to ask one absolute, final question for the man I was for the past six years. "Why?" Eleanor looked up. "Why what?" "Having dinner with me, coming home with me, going to the hospital with me... it all required strict time-tracking." "But taking him watch shopping, going to the movies, getting late-night takeout... you never once put him on the clock." Eleanor didn't dodge the question. Just like evaluating a complex litigation strategy, she delivered the most clinical, brutal answer possible. "Lucas is an associate the firm is heavily investing in." "His professional growth translates directly into billable hours, which generates long-term, compounding revenue for the firm." She paused, her gaze sweeping over my face. "You currently generate zero professional output." "The time you spend waiting for me holds absolutely zero commercial value." The final, microscopic thread tethering my heart to hers snapped silently in the dark. I lowered my eyes. Even the sorrow felt numb now. Lucas wrapped his arms around her waist, reaching up to adjust her collar. A gesture that would have previously kept me awake in agonizing jealousy for days, now provoked absolutely no reaction in me. Eleanor, however, shot a sharp look at me. It seemed my total lack of a reaction bothered her far more than an argument would have. She pulled out her iPad and AirDropped me the finalized schedule for my personal time allowance for next year. "The five hours have been allocated in advance." "Time blocks have been reserved for your birthday, our anniversary, your annual physical, and two mandatory family dinners." Lucas immediately snatched the iPad out of her hands. "I have a mock trial scheduled for the day of his birthday. Push the dinner to next week." "And the anniversary block needs to be shortened. My flight lands that night, you need to pick me up from JFK." Holding a digital pen, he recklessly scribbled and altered my meticulously planned schedule. Eleanor only offered a mild warning: "Don't pack my itinerary too tightly." Lucas smiled and handed the heavily redacted calendar back to me. "Make sure you confirm the changes, bro." "If you need to make sudden adjustments, it's going to eat into your own allowance."
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