Sandra believed that the most difficult aspect of marriage would be learning to share space. She was wrong.
A week after their wedding, her husband, Matt, dropped a bombshell: HER PAYCHECK WAS GOING TO HIS MOTHER.
Sandra, sh0cked, refused to be the pushover they expected and had a brilliant strategy.
Matt and I had been together for three years before we tied the wedding. He was amusing, reliable, and someone I absolutely trusted. I’m a graphic designer, and I’ve always been self-sufficient when it comes to paying expenses and saving for my goals.
So, imagine my surprise when, a few days after our marriage, we were wrapped up on the couch watching some reruns, and Matt casually stated, “Oh, by the way, we need to talk about our finances.”
He smiled—not his usual pleasant smile, but a tight, almost scripted one. “We’ll be giving your salary to my mom. She’ll teach you how to spend it properly!”
I blinked. “Wait. What?”
“Yeah,” he said, sitting up straighter like he was about to give a presentation. “Mom has a system that’s worked for years. She’ll divide it up: 50 percent goes to the husband for personal use, 25 percent for household expenses, and 25 percent for gifts to family and relatives.”
My stomach twisted. “You’re telling me I’m supposed to hand over my entire paycheck to your mom so SHE can decide HOW it’s spent? And half of it goes to YOU for ‘personal use’?”
I felt fire rising in my chest. “Matt, I don’t know what kind of person you’re marrying, but this isn’t happening. I’ve worked hard for my independence, and I’m not giving it up so your mom can micromanage my life.”
I looked at him, stunned. The man I thought I knew had suddenly transformed into someone I didn’t recognize.
I tossed and turned in bed all night, repeating the exchange in my thoughts. How had I missed this side of Matt? And Linda, my mother-in-law?
The next morning, I made a decision: if Matt and Linda expected me to mindlessly follow their little plan, they had no idea who they were dealing with.
I said to Matt with a gentle, planned laugh, “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night. I overreacted. If your mom’s system works so well, maybe we should give it a shot.”
By lunchtime, I’d sent my paycheck to our joint account and made sure Matt saw the notification on his phone. I even texted Linda, “Hi, Linda! I’m on board with your system. Let me know how I can help.?”
Her reaction came quickly: “So glad you’re ready to learn, dear. We’ll make a proper wife out of you yet.”
But as I began to prepare my next step, something didn’t feel right. Linda took pride in her ability to save money, constantly lecturing about her ideal budget. But every time I saw her, she had something new—a luxury pocketbook, new jewelry, or the most recent kitchen gadget.
Curiosity got the best of me, and I wanted to investigate further. One evening, as Matt was showering, I noticed his desk in the study. That’s when I noticed it: a small black notepad poking out from beneath a stack of papers. I recall Linda writing down notes in a similar notepad during one of her budgeting “lessons.”
I took the notepad and flipped it open, which verified my suspicions. Linda had been keeping a careful account of her costs, including designer purchases, credit card payments, and, most sh0ckingly, money BORROWED from relatives to fund her excessive spending.
By the end of the week, I was prepared for my next step.
Matt arrived home on Friday evening with Linda in tow. She walked into our living room, holding a folder as if she were preparing to deliver a quarterly earnings report.
She opened her folder and started spouting off numbers, describing how she had distributed my money. “Of course, 50 percent goes to Matt for his personal use,” she remarked, giving me a pointed look.
“Oh, Linda! Before we go any further,” I said, cutting her off, “I think we need to address something.”
I reached under the coffee table and brought out my folder. “THIS.”
I handed it to Matt, who began to flip through the pages. His brow furrowed as he scanned the paperwork, which included credit card statements, late notices, and images of Linda’s lavish internet purchases.
Linda’s face changed from amazement to a deep crimson of wrath.
The silence that followed was electric, with the possibility of an impending explosion. Linda rose from the couch, her hands quivering. “You’re trying to turn my son against me!”
Matt stared at us with perplexity and remorse written all over his face.
Linda’s cheeks flushed as red as a beet when a notification appeared on her phone. I’d opened a new bank account in my name and surreptitiously transferred my paycheck back from the joint account. A notification from the bank appeared on her screen.
Linda grabbed her folder and hurried out of the flat, mumbling under her breath as her heels clicked violently on the floor.
Matt sat with his head in his hands. “Sandra, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…”
He looked up at me, his eyes filled with regret, vulnerability permeating his normally strong manner. “You’re right. I’ve been an idiot. I’ll fix this. I swear.”
