Petty Scumbag

The day after giving birth, my husband demanded that we split all the expenses incurred during my pregnancy.

I argued back, but he said, "Stop avoiding responsibility. Men and women are equal. Besides, the child isn't just mine, so don't always expect a free ride, okay?"

Disgusted by his words, I threw the money in his face.

But even though he had the money, he might never have a chance to spend it.

——

As I Emerged from the delivery room, the anesthesia wore off, and I awoke from my slumber.

The first thing I saw was my husband, Nigel Judson, sitting by my bedside, staring intently at me.

When Nigel noticed I was awake, he hurriedly dragged his chair closer to me.

I looked at him in confusion as he grabbed a notebook from the table and quickly flipped it open, thrusting it in front of me.

Smiling, Nigel said, "Honey, now that you've given birth, shouldn't we settle the expenses from your pregnancy and delivery?"

I opened my mouth, trying to argue, but could only produce hoarse 'ah' sounds.

The incision on my abdomen throbbed with pain, and the baby's cries reminded me that I had just given birth.

Yet, this shameless man in front of me only cared about the money.

Seeing that I remained silent, Nigel assumed I agreed and began reciting the bills.

"The first blood test, two hundred dollars. The second hospital stay to prevent miscarriages was one thousand and five hundred dollars. Ultrasound, eight hundred dollars. The third prenatal visit, seven hundred... Then there are the baby's clothes, diapers, formula, your cesarean section fee, surgical dressings, postpartum pads, and the hospital stay. Altogether, it's about fifty thousand dollars.

"Of course, I can't expect you to cover it all since I'm the father too. So, to be fair, we should split it fifty-fifty. What do you think?"

Fairness? He was talking to me about fairness?

Who was going to be fair to me for the ten months of pregnancy suffering?

Now that the child was born, he was here to discuss fairness for money.

It was disgusting. Not wanting to look at Nigel's greedy face, I turned my head toward the crib.

My turning away angered Nigel.

He questioned me sharply. "Julia Hornby, what do you mean? You don't intend to freeload, do you?"

The word 'freeload' from his mouth brought tears to my eyes.

I endured ten months of pregnancy and gave birth, only for him to accuse me of freeloading?

Freeloading what? A belly full of stretch marks and a cesarean scar?

I turned back, glaring at Nigel, hoping to see some careness in his eyes, but I found none.

Faced with the list of expenses, I croaked, "Nigel, don't you have any conscience? I just gave birth to your child, and you're asking me for money now?"

I thought Nigel had some sense of decency, but his next words were even more inhumane.

"Julia, the child isn't just mine. Don't act like giving birth is a great achievement.

"Besides, you're the child's mother. You should also be responsible for raising him. So, you must split these expenses with me. You can't expect me to pay for everything while you freeload a child."

At that moment, I couldn't understand why I ever married someone like him.

His pettiness in everyday matters was one thing, but to haggle over the costs of childbirth was another.

Nigel continued to morally condemn me as if I had committed a grave sin.

It was as if not giving him the money meant I deserved to be hit by a car or struck by lightning.

His incessant nagging gave me a headache, and the baby cried louder due to his shouting.

Fine. If he wanted the money so badly, I would give it to him.

Enduring the pain from my unhealed incision, I forced myself out of bed and struggled to the sofa where my wallet was.

Nigel followed me closely, eagerly watching as I threw the money at him.

He didn't care about the humiliating way I handed over the money. He squatted down, excitedly picking up and counting the bills before leaving the room.

Watching his departing back, I quietly wiped away my tears.

Nigel, I will settle this score with you one day.

After getting the money, Nigel disappeared completely.

It wasn't until the fifth day, after the doctor repeatedly urged him to come and handle the discharge paperwork, that he reluctantly showed up at the hospital.

Nigel scowled at the various items scattered around the room.

"I don't get why you made me come. Gas isn't free, you know. Couldn't you just call a cab if you wanted to go home?"

Ignoring his complaints, I prepared to leave.

With Nigel's begrudging assistance, I managed to take the baby home.

Upon entering the apartment, I was almost knocked out by the sight of the mountainous garbage.

The living room was strewn with Nigel's leftover takeout containers and instant noodle cups. His dirty clothes were everywhere on the couch.

The bathroom wastebasket overflowed with used tissues, taking up half the bathroom space.

Suppressing my anger, I asked, "Where's your mother? Wasn't she supposed to help take care of me during my recovering?"

Mentioning his mother immediately set Nigel off. He threw what he was holding onto the floor and turned to me with extreme annoyance.

"Julia, you're so high-maintenance. It's just childbirth, not some major illness. You seriously expect my mom to wait on you hand and foot? What a joke."

Nigel's words made me realize the importance of education.

Only someone as ignorant as him could say something so foolish.

My abdomen had seven layers of stitches, and the bleeding had just stopped. I could barely move around. Yet, he called me high-maintenance.

Seeing Nigel sprawled on the couch, I let out a cold snort.

For now, having just given birth and feeling weak, I decided not to argue with him.

If Susan Craigie didn't want to help, I wouldn't force it.

Holding back my grievances, I spoke again, "Honey, if your mom isn't coming, can we hire a maternity matron or go to a postpartum care center? You know, my incision hasn't healed yet, and I can't do heavy work. Otherwise, I might suffer long-term effects."

The mention of spending money made Nigel flip out. He jumped up from the couch and screamed at me.

"Julia Hornby, are you never satisfied? My mom had to get up and work the day after giving birth, and she was fine. It's just cooking and cleaning, no heavy lifting. Hiring a nurse or going to a care center costs money. Do you have any idea how hard it is to earn money?"

I wanted to argue, but Nigel cut me off.

Grabbing his coat, he stood by the door and warned me sternly. "Julia, the child is born. If you can raise it, fine. If not, get out. Don't try to pull any tricks. I won't give you another penny."

With that, he stormed out, leaving me and the baby in the chaotic house.

It wasn't until nightfall that Nigel swaggered back home.

Seeing me, he smirked sarcastically. "Oh, so you're done pretending? Nobody's home, and yet you managed to cook a whole meal. I told you, you're just spoiled. You're a mother now. Bear with it and stop relying on others."

Seeing his smug face, I didn't get angry. I just sat at the dining table and focused on eating.

When Nigel saw I wasn't reacting, he shut up, served himself a plate, and started eating voraciously.

Suddenly, he picked up a piece of chicken and examined it closely. "This chicken tastes weird. Is it spoiled?"

I glanced at him and pushed the plate of chicken towards him. "It's chicken with pepper I bought specially. My incision hasn't healed, so I can't eat spicy food. You can have it all."

Reassured by my explanation, Nigel ate the chicken enthusiastically. Soon, he devoured half of it.

Satisfied, he pushed his plate away and went to his room. I tidied up briefly and went to soothe the baby.

In the middle of the night, while I was feeding the baby, I heard Nigel's continuous groans of pain coming from the master bedroom.

Following the sound, I found Nigel writhing on the floor, his forehead covered in large beads of sweat.

I returned to my room and called for an ambulance.

Watching him being carried away, looking frail, I couldn't help but smile.

Some money might be earned, but there was always the risk of not living long enough to spend it.

Early the next morning, I was rudely awakened by a barrage of phone calls from Nigel.

Groggy, I picked up the phone to hear his weak voice on the other end. "Julia, what the hell did you give me last night? Do you know I had to get my appendix removed because of you?"

Hearing he had an appendectomy, I pretended to be shocked.

"How did that happen? Is it serious?"

Nigel, infuriated by my nonchalance, snapped, "They had to cut into my abdomen for surgery. What do you think?"

"Oh, it's just a minor operation. Why are you so angry? After all, you wanted us to split costs. Getting back at you for my C-section scar isn't too much to ask, is it?"

My words made Nigel scream in rage.

Annoyed by his noise, I hung up and went back to sleep, cuddling my baby.

For the next few days, since Nigel was hospitalized, I took the baby and went back to my parents' house.

My mom, upon hearing what had transpired, wept with red eyes.

Upset that I hadn't been properly cared for, she immediately arranged for me to stay at a postpartum care center.

The very day I moved into the care center, Nigel started harassing me again.

He called incessantly, but I declined every call.

When he realized I wouldn't pick up, he began bombarding me with text messages.

[Julia, where the hell are you? Don't you know I'm getting discharged today?]

[Most wives take care of their sick husbands, but you just disappear. Do you even want this marriage anymore?]

[Julia, you better come back immediately. If you apologize and take good care of me, I'll let this hospital stint slide. Otherwise, you'll regret it.]