The first week at home felt strange.
My husband helped, but something felt off. He was quiet. Short-tempered. He rushed through tasks and disappeared into his office or left the house whenever he could.
I told myself he was overwhelmed.
Then one evening, about a week later, he sat on the edge of the bed with a serious expression.
“We need to be realistic,” he said.
My stomach tightened.
He explained that caring for me was exhausting. That it was taking over his life. That it felt like a full-time job he never agreed to.
“You agreed to be my husband,” I said softly.
He shook his head.
“This is different.”
I reminded him the doctors believed my condition would improve with time.
He interrupted me.
“Temporary still means months,” he said. “And I can’t do all this without getting something in return.”
That was when he said the words I will never forget.
“If you want me to take care of you,” he said, “I want to be paid.”
When Love Became a Transaction
At first, I laughed, certain it was a poorly timed joke.
It was not.
He calmly explained his terms. A weekly payment. A fixed amount. Like an agreement between strangers.
He said it would prevent resentment. That if he was compensated, he would not feel burdened.
I stared at him, stunned.
I was injured.
I was frightened.
I could not get out of bed alone.
My family lived far away. My sister helped when she could, but she could not move in immediately.
I felt trapped.
So I agreed.
Every Friday, I transferred the money.
Every Friday, he checked his phone and nodded, as if we had finalized a business deal.
What I Paid For
What I received in return was not care.
It was the bare minimum.
He rushed through helping me, sighing as if I were inconveniencing him.
Meals were dropped off without conversation.
I was left alone for long stretches of time.
When I asked for help, he accused me of being demanding.
I began to feel guilty for needing water.
He spent more time on his phone. He left the house often. When I asked who he was talking to, he brushed it off and reminded me he was “allowed to have a life.”
One night, I woke up thirsty. He was not in bed. I heard his voice in the other room. I pressed the call button.
Nothing.
I called his phone. It rang nearby.
He let it ring.
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