Three days after my hysterectomy, still sore and exhausted, I shuffled into the kitchen hoping for comfort. Instead, I found an invoice taped to the fridge. In Daniel’s neat accountant handwriting, it read: “Itemized Costs of Caring for You — Please Reimburse ASAP.” He had listed everything — driving me to the hospital, making meals, even “emotional support.” At the bottom: $2,105 due.
I stood frozen, realizing my husband was keeping score of what should have been love. But if he wanted to turn care into a business, I could out-account him. Over the next weeks, I created my own spreadsheet. Every dinner cooked, every errand run, every emotional burden carried — all priced and logged.
I even added “listening to complaints” and “supporting family drama.” By the end, Daniel’s “balance” came to over $18,000. One Saturday, I handed him the invoice. He laughed at first — until he saw I was serious. His face drained as he read line after line. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
“So was billing your wife for needing help,” I replied. Silence hung heavy. Then, finally, he whispered: “I’m sorry.” I told him the truth: love isn’t a transaction, and if he ever treated me like a burden again, the next bill would come from a divorce attorney. From that day on, no more invoices appeared on our fridge. Daniel learned that some debts can’t be tallied in numbers — and that keeping score in marriage costs more than anyone can afford.
