On the first day of our marriage, my husband threw a greasy dishcloth in my face and said, “From now on, you’re my family’s maid.” I smiled, left my wedding ring on the table, and walked out with my suitcase.

The envelope with the bank paperwork.

And the debit card attached to the account my parents had opened in my name before the wedding.

The balance in that account was enormous.

Mason’s parents had given us $450,000 as a wedding gift.

My parents had added another $200,000.

The idea had been to give us a secure beginning—money for a home, investments, or whatever future we chose together.

My father had insisted that the account remain in my name until Mason and I purchased property jointly.

At the time, I thought Dad was being overly cautious.

Now his words echoed in my head.

“Never let love require financial helplessness.”

I packed the card.

Then I looked at my wedding ring.

It had cost more than my first car.

I removed it.

For a moment, I almost placed it inside my purse.

Then I changed my mind.

I set it on the dresser beside our framed engagement photograph.