Hand Over My Salary? Enjoy the Divorce Instead

Not even five minutes after I left, Vivian started calling me nonstop. I hung up once, and she called again. She persistently dialed as if it were a real emergency.

My phone was down to 5% battery. In the end, I had no choice but to pick up.

"Where are you?" she asked furiously. Before I could answer, she cut in again. "I told you to transfer your salary within a minute. Why didn't you do it?"

It was late at night. One would think her first question would be whether I was safe or where I was. Instead, all she cared about was the money. I hadn't realized how obsessed she was with it until then.

I didn't waste any more words on her and hung up. After finding a chain hotel, I checked in. The moment I lay down, Vivian called again. This time, I tossed the phone aside and let it ring until the battery finally died.

All night, my mind kept replaying everything she had ever said.

She once talked about traveling around the country with me, yet we never even planned a single trip. She once said we would get a villa one day, yet our marital home didn't even have my name on it.

That night, I barely caught a wink.

When I went home the next morning with dark circles under my eyes, Vivian was already waiting at the door. She stopped me from entering.

"Why didn't you send me the money? And where were you last night?"

I pushed past her and sank weakly onto the couch. "Let's talk…"

My eyes landed on our wedding photo. The irony of it hit me all at once.

Other couples spent thousands of dollars on photography packages, polished studios, and coordinated outfits. We just walked into a random photo studio and took two shots. Even my suit was borrowed from her older brother.

Back then, I always told myself the same thing. Her family didn't have much money, so we had to save where we could.

Vivian walked over and sat beside me, her expression dark as she asked, "You think 300 dollars a month is too little for you. Is that it?"

Too little? It was practically pocket change.

"In the countryside, my parents don't even spend 50 dollars a month. What you have is six times that. So, what exactly are you unhappy about?" she asked self-righteously.

"Besides, I'm not saving money for myself, but for our family. How could you throw a tantrum and not come home all night because of that?"

A humorless smile tugged at my lips. "I earn over ten thousand dollars a month, yet I'm living worse than I did as a student. So, tell me, what exactly am I getting out of this? And what makes you think I have to scrimp along with you?"

Vivian stared at me blankly, her expression darkening bit by bit. "You've changed. You're getting cocky because you earn more now."

"Cocky my ass," I spat out. "From now on, I'm not giving you my salary anymore."

She shot up instantly and kicked over a small stool beside her. Then she started venting, listing all the sacrifices she claimed she had made for our family, like how she kept wearing worn-out clothes even after starting her job and refused to buy new ones just to save money.

But what did any of that have to do with me? I never told her not to buy them in the first place.

After the stalemate, Vivian paced back and forth in the living room. "Fine. From now on, I'll let you have 700 dollars. I'll save the rest for us."

"I said I'm not giving you my salary anymore," I repeated. "Don't you understand?"

Vivian stared at me with those deep, unreadable eyes for a long moment. Then, she said something that made me freeze in place. "In that case, start paying rent. This place is mine, after all."

With that, she turned around and left for work, leaving me standing alone in the messy living room.

In her rush, Vivian had left her phone behind. Suddenly, the screen lit up with a message that hit me like a punch. It was a transfer notification from the bank.

It turned out her monthly salary was 50 thousand dollars.

That was how much she made, huh?