Two months into my pregnancy, my health became so fragile that I had to leave my job to ensure the baby's well-being. My husband insisted that our arrangement to evenly split living expenses must continue, requiring me to cover half of the monthly groceries, around $400, even while pregnant. The next day, his ex-girlfriend flaunted on Instagram: "Celebrating six years with someone special who surprised me with a Louis Vuitton bag to brighten my day." The ring in the photo was unmistakably my husband's.

My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. Kendra Parker's Louis Vuitton bag was like a dagger in my eyes. Six years, Louis Vuitton, and what had I gotten from Waylon in our three years of marriage? I once jokingly told Waylon that owning a Louis Vuitton bag would be a dream. He replied, "Gold digging isn't attractive. We agreed on splitting expenses—you can't expect to use my money for things like that."

Waylon walked in, noticing my pale face. His eyes hinted at something unsaid, but he remained silent and headed to the closet to change. I threw my phone onto the bed. "Waylon George, take a look at this! What's going on here?"

He buttoned his shirt slowly, as if savoring every moment. "It's just something Kendra posted on Instagram. Why are you so upset?"

"Why am I upset? I'm pregnant with your child! I left my job to care for this baby, and you're buying another woman a Louis Vuitton bag? Where's your conscience?"

"What Louis Vuitton? Is the pregnancy clouding your judgment? Stop causing trouble!"

"Waylon George, how long do you plan to keep up this charade? Do you take me for a fool?"

I was shaking with anger, tears streaming down my face.

"Victoria, enough! Don't think just because you're pregnant, I'll tolerate this! Kendra and I have been over for a long time! Keep making a scene, and we might as well get a divorce."

I let out a bitter laugh, feeling resigned and heartbroken. "Fine, then let's get a divorce."

He was momentarily stunned but soon responded with disdain. "Divorce? Have you thought about it? Are you sure you can find someone better than me in your situation?"

At that moment, my phone rang.

"Is this Victoria Robinson? Your mother is in critical condition at the Central Hospital. Please come as soon as possible..."

It felt like a bolt of lightning. Without hesitating, I turned to Waylon. "My mom's in trouble. You need to take me to the hospital, now!"

"Why should I? She's not my mom; it has nothing to do with me. I'm not going," he retorted.

"Waylon George! How can you say that? She's your mother-in-law!"

I looked at him, stunned by his heartlessness.

He glanced at me as if I were crazy. "I'm not her child, so why should I go? And remember, we agreed on splitting expenses. You find a way to pay the medical bills yourself—don't expect me to cover a cent."

I couldn't believe his coldness.

"Stop wasting time. If you want to go, go yourself. Don't count on me."

Without another word, he walked out the door.

I wiped away my tears, quickly gathered my things, and called a cab straight to the hospital. Throughout the ride, my mind was flooded with memories of my relationship with Waylon George, from the time we fell in love to our eventual marriage.

During our courtship, Waylon introduced me to the idea of going Dutch, insisting it was fair for both of us. At the time, I admired his independence and modern thinking, so I agreed. Throughout our dating phase, whenever we went out to eat, watched movies, or even traveled together, we split everything evenly.

Initially, my parents weren't supportive of my relationship with Waylon. They worried about his humble background and feared I might struggle in the future. Yet, blinded by love, I was determined to be with him. Eventually, my parents relented and approved of our marriage.

When we got married, Waylon insisted on splitting all wedding expenses equally. There was no bridal dowry, and the wedding costs were divided between us. Though my parents were uncomfortable with this arrangement, they agreed for my sake.

After marriage, Waylon stuck firmly to his splitting philosophy. Household expenses, the mortgage, utility bills, and even grocery shopping were split down the middle. I believed that since we were married, we should be understanding and supportive of each other. Besides, Waylon treated me well, and I hoped he would change over time. However, reality hit me hard—he only ever loved himself.

When I arrived at the hospital, I rushed through the halls. "Doctor, how's my mom?" I asked, my voice choked with anxiety.

"Are you the patient's family?" the doctor asked. "She has had a sudden brain hemorrhage, and her condition is critical. She needs immediate surgery."

My hands shook as I signed the papers and handed over all my savings, but we were still short about $5,500. Distraught and desperate, I called Waylon.

"Waylon, my mom's in the hospital and needs surgery immediately. Can you please transfer $5,500?"

"I told you, I'm not covering your mom's medical expenses!"

Just then, the doctor stood in front of me, pressing, "Ma'am, when are you going to make the payment? The patient is in critical condition, and we can't delay any longer."

Almost begging, I pleaded, "Just consider it a loan. Please! My mom needs surgery right away!"

"Sure," he replied indifferently, "but you'll need to write me an IOU."

I gritted my teeth and said, "Fine, I'll do it! Just transfer the money now!"

"Hold your horses. First, make sure the IOU is clear," he said, his voice calm and unhurried, not a hint of concern in it. "Write down why you're borrowing, the interest rate, and the payback date. We don't want any hiccups later."

"Okay, just let me know when you're done, and I'll send the money right away."

"Waylon, I'm begging you, please send the money first. My mom can't wait any longer!"

"No way. What if you pretend this never happened? Do the IOU first, and I'll transfer the money immediately." His tone was firm and unyielding.

I couldn't hold back any longer. Tears streamed down my face as I opened the note-taking app on my phone, my hands trembling, and painstakingly typed the IOU. "Forty thousand dollars to be repaid within three months. If overdue..."

At that point, I choked up, unable to continue.

"What's wrong? Why did you stop? And the interest? You're not planning on ditching this, are you?" Waylon's voice was cold, like a blade slicing through my heart.

"Do you have any shame? That's your mother-in-law!" I finally lost it and shouted into the phone.

Just then, the door to the hospital room swung open.

"Victoria, what's going on? What happened?" It was my best friend, Genevieve. As soon as she heard about my mom's hospitalization, she rushed over immediately.

"Genevieve, you're here, I..." I couldn't hold back any longer and collapsed into her arms, sobbing.

"There, there, don't cry. Tell me, what happened?"

I quickly explained the situation to Genevieve, who listened with growing anger, her fists clenching tightly.

"Waylon George is a jerk!" she fumed. "Don't worry, I'll cover the money for now, and we'll sort things out with him later!" Genevieve stepped in, quickly pulling out her phone and tapping away expertly.

"It's done. I've transferred the money to the hospital account. Go take care of the paperwork now!" she said.

I looked at Genevieve with immense gratitude, struggling to find the words.

Just then, a message arrived from Waylon on WhatsApp: "Where's the IOU? Did you finish it?"

I glared at the message, an unprecedented wave of fury rising within me. I picked up my phone and typed back a single word: "Buzz off!"