He Made Me Pay Half the Rent, While Giving Her Every Penny of His Bonus Chapter 02

He Made Me Pay Half the Rent, While Giving Her Every Penny of His Bonus Chapter 02

The year before last, my mother was hospitalized. Her surgery cost eighty thousand dollars. I was short on cash, so I asked Julian if he could lend it to me for the time being.

He said calmly, “We agreed to split everything down the middle. I can lend it to you, but it’ll be treated like a formal loan. Bank interest rate. Paid back within three months.”

I bit back my frustration and nodded. In the end, it was Vivian who lent me fifty thousand. No interest.

I was so grateful I didn’t know how to repay her kindness. I took her out to expensive restaurants three times.

But now that I thought about it, that fifty grand was likely pocket change from Julian’s secret stash he’d funneled her way.

I forced myself to walk home and cooked a full dinner. I planned to confront him when he came back.

Looking at the carefully prepared table, every dish was his favorite. For five years of marriage, Julian and I had always been polite and respectful toward each other.

To outsiders, we were the kind of couple people envied. Deep down, I still held onto a sliver of hope.

I hoped he would tell me it was all a coincidence. I clung to the hope he’d spin some excuse I could swallow.

The clock struck twelve. Julian finally called. “Willow, something came up. I have to work overtime tonight. I won’t be home for dinner.”

In the background, I could faintly hear fireworks exploding. “It might run late, I’ll just stay at a hotel near the office. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.”

I tightened my grip on the phone.

“That company of yours is heartless,” I said. “Making people work on Christmas Eve. Which hotel are you staying at? I could bring you a late-night snack.”

Julian’s tone immediately turned panicked. “No!”

Realizing his reaction was too sharp, he softened his voice at once. “No need. It’s freezing outside. I couldn’t bear to have you out in the cold.”

“Alright,” I said quietly. “Get some rest.”

The moment the call ended, my heart went completely cold. Outside the window, fireworks burst here and there in the distance.

The dishes on the table had already gone cold. I absentmindedly scrolled through Instagram.

My mother-in-law, Mrs. Howard, had posted a photo of dinner. The table was filled with dishes. All of them were my favorites.

The caption read: [Whipped up dinner for my favorite daughter-in-law.]

Someone commented beneath it. [Why bother slaving over a meal for a daughter-in-law? At the end of the day, she had no blood relation with you.]

Mrs. Howard immediately fired back. [A son can’t compare to a daughter-in-law. In our family, we treat the daughter-in-law better than the son.]

Warmth spread quietly through my chest. No matter how Julian treated me, Mrs. Howard had always been on my side.

I remembered the year Julian and I first got married. Mrs. Howard held my hand and cried as she spoke.

“Willow, Julian was sickly when he was little. I spoiled him too much. He’s stubborn and difficult. If he ever treats you badly, you tell me. I’ll scold him for you.”

The next morning, I drove to Julian’s parents’ home. My in-laws lived in an old neighborhood on the outskirts of the city.

The apartment had been purchased by Julian two years earlier. The title was in both his parents’ names. He said it was for his mother’s retirement. I had paid half of the down payment.

Before leaving the house, I took out the truffles I had been saving. I also bought a bottle of red wine that my father-in-law, Mr. Howard, loved.

Over the past five years, the two of them had treated me more warmly than their own son. The first Christmas after I married Julian, Mrs. Howard secretly slipped me an envelope.

“Julian is too proud,” she said quietly. “He insists on splitting everything. Don’t take it to heart. When you build a life together, it can’t always be about fairness.”

Once, after Julian and I had a fight, I refused to visit my in-laws for Christmas out of spite.

Mr. Howard called me. He didn’t ask what had happened. He only said, “Willow, Dad mailed you some pastries. From that bakery you like.”

The day the pastries arrived, I cried. Now, carrying my gifts, I climbed the stairs. Just as I was about to knock, a familiar voice came from inside.

“Mom, don’t bother cooking so much. She’s not picky about food.”

My hand froze around the gift bags. Didn’t he say he was working overtime last night?

Still, I smiled faintly to myself. A small part of me even felt relieved. As long as he hadn’t been with Vivian.

I was about to push the door open when the next sentence nailed me to the spot.